It's a little more than a two-hour drive from the Big Apple up the New York State Thruway, into the Catskills and just past Woodstock to reach the tiny town of Phoenicia, N.Y.

It's a world away from the early '70s New York City punk scene where Tommy Erdelyi, along with friends Johnny Cummings, Douglas Colvin and Jeffrey Hyman co-founded The Ramones. Yet Erdelyi, the only surviving original member of the legendary punk group, has called this pastoral village home for the past 13 years.

Erdelyi still goes by his band name Tommy Ramone, though he hasn't exactly settled for a quiet retirement in an artsy community in upstate New York. Instead, Ramone's music these days as half of the duo Uncle Monk reflects little Phoenicia, rising above the din of gritty New York punk and plunking itself squarely in the midst of the old timey world of folk.

But it was some three decades ago, amid the angst-ridden, multi-pierced punkers screaming out their three-chord rage, that Erdelyi, the band's first manager and producer, quickly realized his group of unknowns from Queens had something no other act - not the New York Dolls, the Stooges or even Lou Reed - could match.

Erdelyi, who worked as an engineer at the Record Plant recording studio in New York, morphed into Tommy Ramone and took over as drummer when they realized Hyman, who became Joey Ramone, couldn't keep up with the rapid-fire tunes. It was 1974, and the punk movement was in its infancy as Joey became lead singer, Cummings as Johnny Ramone played guitar and Colvin as Dee Dee Ramone was on bass.

The Ramones went on to influence an entire generation of rockers, creating a sound more polished than the Sex Pistols, yet rawer than anything on the stagnant Top 40 play list that had become submissive to a factory machine churning out overly produced vocalists, preening glam stars and self-indulgent prog rockers.

Tommy Ramone is justifiably proud of his past, but that was a long time ago, he says during a phone interview from his home. Along with longtime friend and fellow Uncle Monk member Claudia Tienan, Ramone has cultivated a mellow, thoughtful blend of folk and bluegrass, which some have begun calling bluepunk.

No doubt the "punk" in Uncle Monk is more an homage to Ramone's musical heritage than the rebellious, snarling nature of their current music. Yet he contends there are ties between the two disparate styles.

"Punk and old time music have similarities," says the native of Hungary, who grew up in middle-class Forest Hills, Queens. "You pick up an instrument and play to release emotions through music. One's loud, the other is acoustic. It's pretty simple in that respect."

Uncle Monk's debut album, out in May, is the culmination of nearly 2 decades of performing together, said Ramone, 55. The band's name is more word play than anything else, he says, adding it's also something of a tribute to musician Thelonious Monk and German painter Edvard Munch.

"We've had the name for decades," he says. "Claudia and I started out in the early '90s as a jam band. It was electric, but it was mainly stuff like (the new album) except with extended solos."

Tienan hails from Minneapolis, where she was part of the local music scene and came to New York to study philosophy at Hunter College. She was later a member of the Simplistics and joined with Ramone about two years ago.

Strange as it may sound, and considering his legacy, it wasn't Chuck Berry and Jerry Lee Lewis that enriched Ramone's early appreciation of music. Instead, he says, string bands and folk were among Ramone's earliest musical influences. His brother would bring home folk records from the library, and the pair would make tapes and listen for hours on end. Rather than mimic their predecessors, Ramone wants Uncle Monk to add something more.

"A lot of old time bands today re-create old records word for word," Ramone says. "We have a deep respect for the music. But for many groups, it's almost like a religion. There used to be a time when it was necessary, and it served a purpose to keep the music going. But there are a lot of different mediums available now."

Ramone has discovered that many bluegrass groups find imitation is a quick path to success. Experimentation is the exception, rather than the rule, he says.

"Newgrass took the music in a different direction, but then others followed," he says. "They all influence each other, then keep playing the same riffs. Then someone like Chris Thile came along, and now everyone imitates him."

Ramone says Uncle Monk's music harkens back to folk pioneers like the Carter family, Uncle Dave Macon and the Skillet Lickers. Those artists created a framework for the music that is inescapable, he notes.

"We created new lyrics," he says. Ramone wrote 8 of the self-titled album's 14 songs, Tienan penned 1 tune and the pair co-wrote the other 5. Ramone's self-written "Mr. Endicott" is actually a song that goes back several years and wasn't written specifically for the album.

"He was an old boss of mine when I was working at a film studio," Ramone says. "It's not about him. But he inspired it. It's a play on words. It's what it's like to work when you're low on the totem pole, which I'm sure a lot of people can relate to."

"Happy Tune," Ramone says, was written more recently and was inspired by an old comedy routine by actor Steve Martin. "You can't play a sad song on the banjo; I thought of that routine, and it inspired me," he says.

Despite the spontaneous vibe that naturally accompanies old time bluegrass music, the album was recorded and mixed over several months' time. Uncle Monk's simple arrangements and stripped-down instrumentation belie Ramone's meticulous production. His reputation for perfection in the studio dates back to his days producing The Ramones' first three albums and later, Talking Heads and The Replacements.

Perhaps it's all those years spent behind a mixing board that makes the album sound so seamless. Ramone picks mandolin, banjo, Dobro, fiddle and guitar, while Tienan plays guitar and bass.

"It's the convenience of modern recording," Ramone says. "I try to make it feel as natural as possible. There was some experimentation, and I tried out some new ideas."

With no pressure from a record label, Ramone simply took his time. "I wasn't pressed to finish it," he says. "But eventually the project gained momentum, and I really concentrated on it."

Ramone merely chuckles about his reputation as a stickler for perfection in the studio. "I like things tidy and neat," he says. "I have a certain way of working. I care about how things fit in."

Again, Ramone points toward the similarities between punk and folk. "In a lot of ways, the same process goes on in your head," he says. "I'm using little effects on this one. And if I didn't like the way it sounded, I'd strip it away until it sounded right."

Ramone wanted to capture not only the live feel, but the warmth that inevitably radiates from an acoustic duo. It took some effort, since he was working in a digital format.

"I recorded in digital, but I wanted to make the stuff sound warm," he says. "It's the first time I tried this. Most artists like the analog sound, though some bluegrass artists like it really clean and pristine, which is what you get in digital."

"I think digital is great; it's less expensive, and you can experiment and do all kinds of things in it," he says. "There's always been a drive to keep analog. I used certain types of mikes and preamps to make it sound analog. What I did is a hybrid. But the future of recording is heading toward digital."

The transition from punk drummer to multi-instrumental string master is nearly as radical as the move from inner city New York to bucolic Phoenicia. Much like Ramone was driven to perfection in the studio, he's also worked tirelessly to become an accomplished musician.

"About 15 years ago, I picked up the banjo," he says. "I began plunking on it. It's a tough instrument - different from the guitar. But it was exciting for me because it was different. Then I got a mandolin. I've been working on that. I'm very serious about my music."

How does he rate his abilities? "Oh, there's always a long way to go," he says. "But I keep getting better and better. You can never really master them, though."

Ramone, of course, is light years away from his past. Yet, he affably recalls his early days as a founder of The Ramones. Not that it was all kisses and hugs. In fact, it was an incredibly turbulent group of people, Ramone says.

"It was a great privilege to be involved in that group," he says. "It was one of those things. It's amazing that it worked out as well as it did."

Don't let him fool you, though. The then-Tommy Erdelyi knew what he had. "I was aware of what was going on when it happened," he says. "I saw the New York Dolls and how entertaining they were. But they were not virtuosos. It was exciting and interesting, but I thought about these guys I knew in Queens. I wanted to see what would happen with them."

Ramone decided to bring them across the harbor to rehearse at Performance Studios on East 20th Street in New York. "I was going to be their manager," he recalls. "So I brought them down. They had all these songs. I'd never heard anything like this. I thought, 'This is revolutionary.' This is totally new."

The cache of songs took Ramone completely by surprise. Ultimately writing several songs for the band, including the rock anthem "Blitzkrieg Bop" and "I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend," he nonetheless was shocked by the quantity and quality of their music.

"What made them original also made it hard to deal with them," Ramone says. "They were artistically neurotic and volatile. But they were interesting people. My role was to shape them so it made sense to present them to others. For me, it was a creative process."

After such an incredible high, it would seem nothing could ever again match it. Yet, Ramone contends he is absolutely content with his current lot in life. "It's a continuation artistically," he says. "It's much easier not to be in control of more things."

Uncle Monk will tour once the album is released, touring the east coast and then heading west to California, hitting Los Angeles, Sacramento, Berkeley and San Francisco.

"We do some covers in the live set," he says. "Some old time bluegrass. And we'll play a lot of the record."

And, perhaps an acoustic version of "Blitzkrieg Bop"? "We probably won't be doing and Ramones songs for a long time," he says. "We want people to see what we're doing now."