News / Blog

July 19, 2009

Funny story

My dearest friend:

Funny story. The little posters we had made that Joe is going to sign for you were shipped to Toronto from Pawtucket on July 10 via expedited US mail, and they still haven’t arrived.  Not that I’m nervous.  He just has to get them, sign them, and send them back to Boston, where I am personally going to package them up, with aplomb, and send them off to you. I have this picture in my head of this big, graying Canadian customs guy with a walrus mustache telling a buddy over a cup of Tim Horton’s coffee that he’s sitting on the shipment because he really hasn’t liked anything Joe has done since the Scud Mountain Boys. Then I think that maybe the customs guy is out to get me personally because once, in Windsor, back when I was a “lower level music executive” (as described by Courtney Love) he gave me a demo tape, and then saw me leave it on the bar next to the empty glass that earlier held the very expensive cocktail I made him buy me in order to take the demo tape.  (Illegal in the US, but not in Canadian border towns.) Anyway, if you see that guy, tell him he can’t hold Joe’s growth as an artist against the fans, and that if he’s still interested, I’ll do a split 7” with his band and either Cheticamp or Tag on the B-side.

I have unwavering faith, give or take, that they’ll arrive and the shipment will go off without a hitch. If it doesn’t, Joe will personally call you and sing all of the songs to you, so you can at least hear what it sounds like until it arrives. Or if he’s not available, I’ll do it, so you can hear what it would sound like if you made a turkey sing it as you were chasing him/her around the backyard.

If you have not yet pre-ordered the CD, which comes with a special gift, Canadian customs permitting, you might want to, despite all I’ve written above.  The offer expires on July 27. Details about how to do that here:

You can also direct money to the formidable coffers of Ashmont Records, Inc. by pre-ordering Joe’s book here:

Also, if you’ve been here a while, you know there is some limited touring scheduled. Tickets are generally selling well, so don’t sit on your hands for too long if you think you’re coming. If it makes any difference at all in whether or not you’ll come, I will personally be at Boston, Philadelphia and Arlington. That’s right, my ankle monitor has been removed and I’m now unstoppable. All dates and venues here:

I’ve enjoyed reading all of the little notes you guys have inserted into your orders, to brighten my otherwise mundane days. Because I’m so busy scratching Charlie’s belly and finding Joe and aeron chair, I can’t answer each one, but I have replied to some of you below. 

Personal to:

Christopher in Spencertown: Seriously, you want me to put yours on the top of the pile after you confessed that you’d never root for the Red Sox?  You have a lot to learn about sweet talking women from Red Sox Nation.

Sharif in California: I also love you. But ours is a forbidden love, OK?  So shhhhh.

Alan in Georgia: Absolutely, I will send you the best one I’ve got.

Greg in Kentucky: Cold-hearted? Where did you get that idea? I am the Mother Teresa of indie rock.  I don’t know why people don’t get that.

Kevin in Sacramento: That Indian woman was having a go at you.  When I charged my new plasma TV to your credit card, I didn’t need the whatchamacallit code.  Also, I don’t believe that it was your wife who wanted to see Bruno. Thanks!

Ryan in St. Paul: despite the fact without you we’d never have been able to rise through the ranks of bittersweet rockers, and you’ve been a shoulder to lean on, and  saved us with the Heimlich maneuver those four times, your CD will not be personally autographed.

Tony in Sacramento and Mark in Evanston: I can’t marry you, because I detect some Mediterranean ethnicity in your surnames. It’s not that I dislike any particular group of people – you know well that I dislike pretty much all people. It’s just that I must marry within my shockingly pale tribe of Irish, for I dream of giving birth to the world’s first translucent baby, and then selling him/her to one of those “Bodies in Motion” exhibitions.  Of course, I may be thwarted by the fact that I am nearly 70 now, but I have to respect my dream. You understand. Also, I live in Massachusetts, where only gay people can get married.

Jim in Bridgewater: You’re not annoying guy. There’s absolutely NOTHING I love more than wonky accounting questions.  Seriously.

Steve in Missouri: I don’t need to know about the smirk on your face.  You’re creeping me out. But yes, I’ll be your facebook friend.

Johnny in Somerville: I’m glad you feel your investment has been worthwhile.  Soon, you will own 10% of the company, which is worth, well, nothing.

Alice in Toronto: if you mention Phish and Pernice in the same email ever again, there might be a problem. Also, Sam and Dean are cute.

JB: Really? You’re going to go with a shining light in the sea of shit that is the music industry? You are truly a wordsmith.

Amy in Denton: Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?

Tom: Cheeky? No.

Melissa in Portland, Maine: Scorpio, but that of course means I don’t believe in astrology.

Stephen in Ireland: Well then stop asking. You come here!  It’ll be easier for everyone.  I’ll personally take you on a tour of Dorchester Avenue Irish pubs.

Mike in Manchester: I’m sorry you’ve forgotten what Joe looks like. His beard has gotten long. I would be happy to send you a picture, but he is not playing there.

Thierry in Toronto: Yes, of course I’ll have Joe just drop them off, but I warn you – he looks like the post man. He’s also a little skittish, so when you run up to him and say “Oh Joe, thanks for personally delivering your music to me,” and he looks at you like you’re a nutjob, don’t worry about it.  OK?

Beth in Phoenixville: Though I’ve been roundly criticized for it, I’m with you on the fried clams WITH bellies. I really don’t know what’s wrong with people.

Ken in New Jersey: I will not refer to you as “his excellency” unless you want to pay extra.

Gerard from Ireland: Yes, bring cash, and I’ll meet you in Scollay Square, in Boston’s West End. You’ll see lots of people there who look familiar and answer to “Murph” and “Sully.”

Stuart in London: What the hell is 20 knicker? I live in America where we speak English. But if my emails are worth that, please send it along.

To those of you who told me to give Charlie a treat on your behalf, his fat ass thanks you, and he wants you to know that if he ever gets the opportunity, he would be very happy to lick your exposed toes.

You guys are the best. Joe thinks so too.

Dorchester, Mass.

Joyce @ 9:25 pm