It's really this simple: as a high school rebel in Newport, Rhode Island,
Pawnshop founder Sean Smith took a good long look at Aerosmith and knew
that that was what he wanted to do with his life. And unlike so many armchair
rock and rollers, he went out and did it.
The clock has moved into alarmingly small numbers since it was last checked, and Sean clambers into a bar stool at d.b.a., the unofficial second home of Home Office Records. He's taking a break from managing the bar and keeping the night rolling smoothly. A few late-nighters are wandering in and out, half of them with guitars strapped to their backs. We're talking about the long, strange and wonderful road it's been since the seminal days of Burner, the compilation drawn from the friends and regulars at this warm, ragged and fascinating beer bar in the East Village and the project which brought Pawnshop and HO together in the first place.
It's a few weeks before the release of Three Brass Balls, the debut Pawnshop CD, and we're all getting a bit threadbare. The graphics were a last-minute sprint to the deadline and the mastering turned out fine but you can't get a lot closer to the wire than we did. There's a warm, settled weariness in the air, the bone-tired joy that you get at the closing stretch of a good job well done.
Sean has moved his gear into the rehearsal studio on a semi-permanent basis
rather than trucking everything back and forth every day. He's enthusing
about his new Danelectro reissue electric guitar; he's retelling the events
of the gala opening of the new downtown Virgin megastore, with its
fire-breathing drag queens, dancing policemen, bagpipers and white stallions
(and, of course, the brief champagne-popping ribbon-cutting cameo by Marilyn
Manson). "It's spectacle, just pure spectacle," he says. "It's what I love
about New York. We need more of that in music. Just pure, ridiculous
spectacle."
He's been in and out of bands as far back as he can remember, and Pawnshop is the answer to questions he starting asking long ago. Here's the short version: Punk band (Bored Youth) in Newport, with a life to match. Opened for Dead Boys, stuff like that, ancient history. Moved to New York, worked in the glitzy clubs, managed Mars in its day. Amused by glitterati, shakes his head at the memories. ("It was silly. Just silly. Everything you heard about it, it's all true.") Started band. Worked at The Levee. Played around town, recorded first releases (for sale here in the HO on-line store). Played more. Shared bills with Jewel. Levee burned down. Got job at d.b.a. Some of band became God's Child (now now Joe 90) and signed with majors. Wrote new songs. Played out of town some. Got radio time in Philly, in Rhode Island, here and there. Met Home Office Records. And here we are.
Back to the Future (summer, 1999): The album did well with regional college radio, and the intricacies of our new national distribution toy are still in part mysterious; after a regimen of shows in the City and up in Rhode Island (Providence, Newport, Narragansett), August is beach and break time. This fall there are plans afoot which may range from Washington, D.C. up to Maine, and new songs are starting to poke out and demand some attention. In the meantime, though, it's summer. Time to do summer things.
To book Pawnshop in your area or to sell Three Brass Balls in your city or town, please email Home Office Records or call (718) 858-3174. We aim to please. But not too early in the morning.