So it would seem that the position of Pernice Brothers’ biggest fan is open now, with the untimely passing of Tim Haslett. Tim was an insatiable music fan, a crusader for social justice, and a lovely man. He was brilliant, but not condescending, committed but not close-minded. His passing leaves me full of regret, as he was one of those people I always meant to spend more time with and never did. It is entirely possible that many of you reading this learned about the band from Tim; he was something of a zealot when it came to the Pernices. I went to his memorial service today in Cambridge, where “Our Time Has Passed” was played, and it was nice to hear the varied perspectives on his too-short time on earth.

My fondest memory of Tim happened around the time we released The World Won’t End. As is our custom, we offered a special home made fan club-only CD, the “Sandwich” EP, with a pre-order of the record. He’d been assigned by Spin to review the record, so he already had an advance, but he insisted on paying for another copy with the bonus CD. But, he wanted to get it as soon as possible. I assured him that I would mail him the first one I made. He asked if he could please come pick it up the minute it was done. So he drove to Dorchester to get the first one off the burner.

On second thought, maybe the position of biggest Pernice fan isn’t open. On second thought, I think we’ll just retire Tim’s number, which, as I recall, was 1/893.

Joyce
Dorchester, MA

I know we’ve been quiet. You know how I know? Because we’ve been so quiet that even the “why are you guys so quiet?” emails have stopped. I suppose I could take that as a sign that all of you have moved on to the next “best band you’ve never heard of,” which would be okay - we certainly didn’t ask for or expect product exclusivity. But since at some point, Ashmont Industries will release some kind of pop culture artifact - format, artist name, medium, etc. to be determined - I figured I should write. Plus I miss (most of) you. As you’ve heard from both Joe and me before, there has some kind of clandestine recording going on in fits and starts at our state of the art (for 1996) recording studio in an undisclosed location that my neighbors are nice enough not to complain about. At this point, things have been quiet up there, because we’re waiting for our economic stimulus refund checks to arrive before we can afford to turn on the electricity again. We may not need record labels, but we do need electricity to manufacture the rock. What I can tell you with unequivocal certainty and unwavering faith, is the sometime in the future, something will happen. Also, just to get in front of the story, I want to make it perfectly clear that outside of Joe’s and my time as a signed artist and an A&R rep respectively, we have never been with or been a prostitute, respectively. In the meantime, Joe is still holed up in the NorthMidwest Territories somewhere, working on the great Canadian novel. He’ll be making the trek down south to the resort town (in 1649) of Dorchester, Massachusetts to do what will probably by the first public reading of the new material. On May 29, he will appear with the most gifted writers whose personal emails we have, at a benefit for a local halfway house for alcoholics and drug addicts. Michael Patrick MacDonald, George Pelecanos and Tom Perotta will also appear, and it will be hosted by our pal Neal Huff, whose recent turn as Michael Steintorf on The Wire has made it difficult for me to believe his self-serving lies ever again. But I think he’s telling me the truth when he says he’ll be there, despite the fact that there’s no quid pro quo. Anyway, if you have any interest in attending, follow the link below. Tickets are a little steep - $50 - but it’s for a very good cause.

http://www.ashmontrecords.com/raisetheroof/ Also, we’re reprinting the Charlie Ashmont shirt, which is the best-selling t-shirt in the history of our company, having just surpassed “I Hate My Life.” Please don’t tell Joe that the dog is more popular than he is. Don’t tell the dog either, because frankly, he has become impossible, and his contract is almost up. I don’t want to get into a protracted negotiation about use of his likeness. Anyway, there were many of you who asked to be notified when it’s back in stock, and now’s your chance if you wanted a particular color. Check out the American Apparel web site for shirts in THESE STYLES ONLY: men’s 2001 and women’s 4305. Please note that this design (which can be seen in the store at www.pernicebrothers.com) only looks good on a light colored shirt. If you are interested in a particular color, let me know. I want to place the order next week, but I won’t be looking for payment until the shirts are actually in. Or ever really. It’s not like I have any recourse except for NOT sending you a shirt. I haven’t heard from any of the guys in the Pernice Brothers touring and/or recording bands, except for Bob, who hates me because I no longer have the juice in Boston to procure tickets to sold-out shows at the Middle East, and thus, he probably missed Jonathan Richman. There is nothing sadder than the formerly powerful, not matter how tiny their former fiefdom actually was. Anyway, if you see any of the other guys, tell them I said hello. As for me, I am recovering from St. Patrick’s Day, having heard one too may bad jokes at the South Boston St. Patrick’s Day breakfast. I keep meaning to ask Joe if they celebrate St. Patrick’s Day in Toronto, but I honestly think it was that very holiday that chased him out of Boston in the first place.

Anyway that’s it for my not-very-informational non-update. Just didn’t want you thinking we were idle. JL

Dorchester, Mass.

www.pernicebrothers.com

Greetings Everyone,

I have not been this far out of the loop since before I was ever in any loop. I beg your pardon. For an overwhelming majority of the last twelve years, I’ve thought about little more than writing, recording and playing music. As most people reading this already know, I signed a book deal with Riverhead/Penguin Books last summer. Since then, I’ve been chipping away at a novel and an album. It goes without saying, in addition to the aforementioned artistic endeavors, I have also been an exemplary father, a model husband, a co-captain of industry and the possessor of a Cal Ripkenesque, unblemished driving record.

I’ll begin by talking about the book. There’s isn’t much I can say, except that it’s written in the first person, is set in the mid 1990s on Cape Cod in the off-season. And my narrator doesn’t have a name. I might name him Joe just to beat to the punch anyone who thinks (incorrectly) he’s me. Or I might name him Bob and let my brother mop up for once.

I’ve been enjoying writing the book a lot. I have never worked ostensibly alone on a project of this size. Making a record involves—thankfully—a good number of people busting their humps. As for the book, it’s just me, the odd sounding board friend, and my editor. (The latter, outside of being a woman less than half his age and not Italian, reminds me of my father and his approach to my adolescent love life: If you want my advice, I’ll gladly give it. Otherwise, I’ll be over here watching Wild World of Animals until the shit hits the fan.) 

When will the book be done? Though my deadline is a handful of months away, I like to think of that deadline not so much as a soft one, but as one on wheels.

Speaking of I-don’t-know-when-it-will-be-finished-or-when-it’s-coming-out-or-what-it’s-called, a record inches its way toward completion. All kidding aside, vocals, mixing and mastering are all that remain. After that, it becomes more Joyce’s problem than mine.

When Chappaquiddick Skyline and Big Tobacco came out, I answered a ton of questions—way more than I had figured—about why they were called what they were. Fair enough. Some people wanted to know. That doesn’t mean I feel like going through that again. I’m going to think long and hard before I put a band name on this little honey.

With the exception of a track here and there, Ric Menck, James Walbourne and I played the instruments. My brother recorded it. It’s my most spare album since Chappaquiddick. I like the songs a lot, especially: “I Can’t be around People,” “Easy to Leave,” “She Should of Came,” and “The Adulterer’s Moustache.” I’m sure you can tell by the titles, we’re shooting for stardom with this one. I’m tired of making a living releasing my own records and being respected by a coterie of people I respect. I want to be adored. I gave up reading while I’m writing my book, just so I don’t steal by mistake. (The same way I don’t listen to The Beatles or Dylan while I’m making a record.) So, I got into TV more, just to unwind, The Next Great American Band in particular. Loved it. I realized more than ever, the music I make has more in common with the reconditioned auto parts industry than it does with mainstream music. And thank God for that. I live for rebuilt alternators.

I guess that’s about it. I’ve said too much already. Joyce gets nervous when I talk about stuff that isn’t finished yet. Nervousness leads to irritability which leads to poor physical health which leads to…you see where I’m going with this? 

JP

Toronto 1/28/08

Since bringing up the subject of the Island of Misfit Toys the other day, I have received quite a bit of email about the scene where Charlie-in-the-box throws the bird that can’t fly off the sleigh without an umbrella.  I need to spend a bit more time parsing this out (and I hope Bob, the other resident R/B specialist on our panel will weigh in), but I think perhaps we can trace the decline of western civilization to this one scene in this one beloved and terrifying stop-motion animated Christmas special, and the effect that it had on the national childhood psyche from the mid-sixties to the mid-seventies.  I think you can essentially divide people our age into three categories:  1) people who were terrified that the bird was abondoned, 2) people who believe the bird could always fly but just needed someone to believe in him and 3) people who didn’t give a rat’s ass if the bird could fly.  There might be a few non-classifiable people, like those who believe an umbrella is not a parachute, but they’re no fun anyway.

Hello everyone. Just a reminder that the extra special sale on all of the merchandise in the Pernice Brothers store ends on Monday Dec. 10, 2007 (provided I can tear myself away from all the holiday revelry around here to actually raise the prices on Monday). The original cutoff day was Saturday, but I think I can handle the post office on Dec. 11 without killing anyone. But that’s really going to be it.

After my last email to the esteemed list, there were some very clever replies. (If you have no idea what I’m on about and you’re curious, go to http://www.pernicebrothers.com/) My two favorites were 1) “Love the emails, hate the band. Unsubscribe” and 2) “Love the band, can’t stand the emails. Unsubscribe.” A couple of people, including Joe’s mother, were concerned that he and I had a falling out. Let me be very clear. Joe and I have never been friends. There’s nothing to fall out of. We’re business associates, plain and simple. He produces a commodity, and I get that commodity to the marketplace (that’s you). We don’t exchange Christmas gifts and we are not involved in each other’s personal lives. Any time we share a meal, it’s tax-deductible to the full extent allowed by law.

As I’ve written before, Joe is working on the great Canadian landed immigrant novel. Joe’s people did call last week though to let me know that he was planning to be at Ashmont HQ at the end of the month, conveniently at the same time when I will be holed up at a downtown hotel trying to make sure First Night Boston, one of my dozens of day jobs, gets some media coverage. His people are telling me he’ll be here to audit the Ashmont books (and by books I mean the piles of receipts under Charlie Ashmont’s mattress), but I think he’s secretly planning to do some recording. When I get my December electric bill, I’ll let you know.

And Joe’s not the only one around here writing a book. Bob Pernice and I have been working on a book since 1985. It’s called “The Commodification of Outsiders: An Exploration of the Misogynistic Subtext of Rankin and Bass.” It’s all about how the thing that was wrong with Dolly was actually that there was nothing wrong with her. Which of course, on the Island of Misfit Toys, made her the only authentic misfit, or the ultimate outsider. We have some great marketing ideas for the book as well. In answer to a recent spate of gun violence here in our own neighborhood, we’ll launch an initiative asking people who have guns to load them up with jelly. Anyone with jelly in the chamber gets a free book. We’ll also put some rouge and a funny hat on Charlie Ashmont, the American Money Pit Bull Terrier and put him in a wind-up box. He’ll LOVE that.

Speaking of holiday revelry, my friend Tom and I will of course be hosting our annual Orphans and Jews Christmas Eve in Chinatown holiday spectacular, which is really only spectacular in that we stuff our faces with Chinese food in a restaurant that looks like the set of a Sean Connery James Bond movie. You don’t actually have to be an orphan or a Jew to come, but you do have to dress like one or the other. Feel free to join us. Or not. I’m not sure what Joe is doing. I think I read somewhere that Christmas is on a different day in Canada.

Happy holidays!
JL & CA, Sombertown USA