For 100 nights a year over three decades, punk-rock guiterrorist Johnny Ramone stood with his head down, face in an intense scowl of concentration, legs shoulder-width apart, hammering at his blue Mosrite with a blurry right hand. The cacophony was pure bliss, a white noise ringing that punched holes in all that was peaceful, shards of the power chords busting into little aural stars, like the lights you see when you smack your head, only in your ears. It was such good, loud pain. Johnny dropped his job as a construction worker in 1974 and held down stage right for...