By Dew Ailes
By Chad Garrison
By Mabel Suen
By Chris Kornelis
By Mike Seely
By Daniel Hill
By Allison Babka
By Daniel Hill
Joe Pernice has a kind of Clark Kent/Superman dichotomy to him, a surreptitious strength under a sensitive façade. In most photographs, the 35-year-old frontman looks like he just stepped out of a television police drama -- tough, a little sensitive, very urban and very ethnic, which shouldn't surprise if you know his background. Pernice is Italian, "a little Irish" and Catholic-schooled. He's quick to dispel certain standing ideas about Catholic schooling and original sin. "I think a lot of that Catholic sin psychology is a myth," Pernice says. "It's played up. I didn't know anybody in Catholic school who didn't think they were going to get laid before they got married. The whole premarital sex hang-up idea is a bunch of crap."
When asked if he's a "Southie" (i.e., part of that bunch of South Boston Irish folk that we sometimes see in movies such as Good Will Hunting), Pernice says, "Nah -- I'm even farther south of that. A place called South Shore, or what we call the Irish Riviera."
He sounds tough, but there's another side of Pernice, something that happens when he puts on his glasses. Suddenly, he looks like a member of the Elvis Costello Bittersweet Songwriters Academy, or maybe a graduate of the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poets. Kerouac, after all, came from Massachusetts, too. He also lived for a while in Manhattan; Pernice, for his part, mostly lives in Brooklyn now. So much for the parallels.
The fact is, Pernice, who just released his latest CD as the Pernice Brothers, Yours, Mine & Ours, on his own label, Ashmont Records, is one of the great secret practitioners of pop music. His music is wistful, pretty and loaded with pop hooks that dig deeper under the skin with repeated listening. "I'm as lonely as the Irish Sea," he sings on "The Weakest Shade of Blue," the album's lead track, "and as willing as the sand." This is the bespectacled, mild-mannered side of Pernice, a side that's reflected in a voice that's soft and melodic, often compared to that of '60s singers such as Colin Bluestone of the Zombies.
Pernice multitracks his own harmonies, and his music is textured in a way that makes such comparisons apt, if a bit short of the mark. There are other influences at work -- Morrissey, the Feelies, the dBs and perhaps a smidgen of R.E.M. Lyrically, Pernice tends to eschew simple pop formulas; although he can be close-mouthed on the subject, the influence of Leonard Cohen and other more cryptic songwriters, such as Michael Stipe, is apparent. Pernice once said during an interview that he wondered if anybody has ever sat and listened to Cohen's brilliant 1971 existential dirge "Famous Blue Raincoat" for an entire day, but Pernice obviously has; traces of that song and others can be found in lyrics such as those in the tune "Number Two." Cohen, however, never wrote a line quite as blunt as "You were my life-sucking power monger/You're a total mess/Can you admit that yet?"
Pernice's music is curious that way: It's pretty -- lush even, especially on his 2001 record The World Won't End -- but beneath the sweetness is a serious undertow of irony and rancor, even depression. It's a heady mix. Nevertheless, his isn't the brand of fashionable melancholia sported by disaffected youth in their bitter bedrooms.
The new disc is every bit as pop as the last but for a few minor details. "This one's more of a guitar record," Pernice says. "We decided to leave out a lot of the strings and so forth that were on the last disc. We wanted the new record to have more power, more kick than the last couple, which were predominantly string-centric."
At the time of this interview, Pernice is two weeks into his current tour, and he and the band are driving through the south, having just played a gig in Atlanta. Now, deep in the heart of Mississippi, he admits to a case of the Mississippi Delta cell-phone blues. The reception is poor, his bandmates surround him in the van and he's clearly a tad shy about answering questions about himself while everyone listens. Two new musicians are touring with him: Pat Berkery of the Philadelphia Berkerys, who usually drums for the Bigger Lovers, and James Walbourne, a London guitarist. The presence of Walbourne affords Pernice the opportunity to joke about the British predilection for bathroom humor and bad dentistry; when Pernice's guitarist, Peyton Pinkerton, comes up as a topic of conversation, Pernice remarks that Pinkerton is a fabulous guitarist. "Now, if only he'd learn some better hygiene," he adds with a laugh. Pinkerton sits beside him in the van, the recipient of his mild-mannered friend's good-natured barbs.
The one actual Pernice brother, Bob, is an adjunct member, but he's not to be found on this tour. "He's some kind of vice-president of some digital-ink company, I believe is what it is. No kidding," Joe says.
After beginning his recording career with the Scud Mountain Boys, Pernice went on to form the Pernice Brothers and signed a deal with Sub Pop. The label released an album called Overcome By Happiness and reissued several of his older records and some unreleased material. Pernice decided then to pull out of the deal and form his own label, Ashmont, which has released the last two Pernice Brothers records. "Sub Pop was like a bad flu," Pernice says. "Everyone's got it. But you do eventually become immune to it, or more like a tolerance."