It’s unclear whether the Ramones were aware of the departed-talent implication inherent in their album’s title. Marky Ramone was back, after all, replacing Richie, who was fed up with his bandmates’ refusing to grant him respect and, more importantly, a better cut of the profits. At the same time, Dee Dee was on his way out. Though he swore fealty to the band in interviews, he’d experienced an artistic epiphany during a 1987 hospital stay. He adopted his best approximation of a hip-hop nickname — Dee Dee King — and sound, recording the “Funky Man” single. Over palm muting and ominous synth buzz, the mainlining MC big-ups his punk credentials and thanks God for his blonde wife. It sounds a little like a serrated version of Inner Circle, and a lot like a Malcolm McLaren wet dream. The first original Ramone to undertake a solo project, Dee Dee’s Standing In The Spotlight came out around the same time as Brain Drain. In a 1990 Rolling Stone piece, Chuck Eddy chided the Ramones for slagging off the kids today, rather than “learning from Bon Jovi or New Kids On The Block, the way they once learned from the Ohio Express and the Trashmen.” In a weird way, Dee Dee’s po-faced flow, as corny as it was, was more in step with the times than his compatriots would ever be.

The ’80s Ramones formula holds: a decent rocker to start the first side, a pop tune for the second. If you can tune out the constant cymbal hiss, there’s something really vital about “I Believe In Miracles,” with its hard-won optimism and taut solo from Daniel Rey. “Pet Sematary,” commissioned by Stephen King for the film adaptation of his book, is a kind of song out of time, a sparkling pop-rock number with a glumly resigned vocal from Joey. Sonically, it might as well have come out five years before; nevertheless, it became their highest-charting Modern Rock single (#4). Another would-be hit, “Merry Christmas (I Don’t Wanna Fight Tonight),” closes the set. Released as a B-side in 1987, it filled out VH1 holiday playlists for years thanks to a mean-spirited video intro that padded the record’s two-minute runtime. Yet another Spector homage, it’s a lyrical hash sung bashfully by Joey, who wrote it. It’s no “Oi To The World,” but it is one more Ramones nugget that contributed to their long-tail life.

A late-period Ramones album carries the feeling of timeshift. In one respect, they ran ahead: having run out of walls to pose in front of, the band commissioned a sweet Giger-meets-Munch painting from Matt Mahurin. Once the listener got past the proto-grunge artwork, though, she was confronted with the same old gang, content to be out of touch. “Punishment Fits The Crime,” Dee Dee’s only lead vocal, is a psych-punk meditation on prison. Prescriptive and inscrutable, it comes off as third-rate Rush. Corn’s aplenty, from “Don’t Bust My Chops” (who even says that?!) to “Learn To Listen” (a moralizing anti-drug hardcore number that took four guys to write) to “Come Back, Baby,” which sees the return of Vocally Shot Joey, seesawing uneasily from lean punk rock to sunshine pop. The band even resurrected their practice of covering the oldies, refitting Freddy Cannon’s nightmarish “Palisades Park” as a creaky wooden coaster, in which Joey’s girl almost vomits and they end up moshing near the hot dog stand. Finally tired of the ride, Dee Dee quit the band. Having lost the heart of the band — and, arguably, their best songwriter — this could have been the end. But Johnny wanted to bank a million bucks for retirement, and days after Dee Dee’s departure, he commenced a search for the Ramones’ next bass player, a search that would end up giving the band one final lease on life.