Pete Nice: From Hip-Hop Prime Minister to Baseball Historian Extraordinaire

Of all the personalities encountered throughout a 17-year journalism career, Pete Nash, famously known as Prime Minister Pete Nice, stands out as a true favorite. Describing him, words like smart, determined, wise, and detailed immediately come to mind. But perhaps the most fitting descriptor, especially for fans of a certain era, is simply: dope.

Before establishing himself as a leading baseball historian, Pete Nice was the charismatic frontman of the groundbreaking rap trio, 3rd Bass, alongside MC Serch and DJ Richie Rich. For those who grew up in the late 80s and early 90s and were immersed in the hip-hop scene, 3rd Bass was unavoidable. Their anthem, “Pop Goes the Weasel,” remains the quintessential diss track aimed at Vanilla Ice, a cultural moment amplified by its iconic music video. 3rd Bass was a fixture in pop culture, from late-night TV appearances on Arsenio Hall to international tours with Public Enemy, their influence was undeniable and their presence felt across magazine covers and airwaves.

Today, Pete Nice continues to be a force, albeit in different arenas. He is an accomplished author with numerous books to his name, recently completing “Hauls of Shame: The Cooperstown Conspiracy and the Madoff of Memorabilia.” Adding to his diverse portfolio, he owns McGreevy’s 3rd Base Bar in Boston and is a respected voice in the effort to reform the sports memorabilia industry, documented on his website, Hauls of Shame.

In this exclusive interview, Pete Nice delves into his multifaceted life, reflecting on moments with Flavor Flav, sharing anecdotes about Joel Youngblood, and offering his perspective on why the golden age of rap remains unmatched.

Prime Minister Pete Nice, welcome to the conversation.

JEFF PEARLMAN: The transition from Prime Minister Pete Nice, the dynamic New York MC, to Pete Nash, the insightful baseball historian, feels almost like a superhero transformation. Is the Clark Kent/Superman analogy apt for your journey?

PETER NASH: That’s an interesting parallel, especially considering my radio DJ in the past was actually named DJ Clark Kent. Looking back to those high-energy performance days, the idea of superheroic MC battles seems distant now. And contrary to the image, I was never one for rolling blunts. However, touring with Redman and Cypress Hill for extended periods definitely offered its own set of surreal experiences.

The shift from the rap world to my current pursuits might seem unexpected. But the persona of Prime Minister Pete Nice was always genuinely me. When you’re on stage, delivering lyrics to a crowd, there’s an amplified version of yourself, a charisma that might not always be present in everyday life. Most MCs have this stage presence that differs from their off-stage demeanor. Of course, I’ve evolved since those days. It would be strange if I hadn’t; I’m now 44, and it’s been a while since I held a mic professionally. There’s something to be said for knowing when to step away from the mic. But even during my Prime Minister Pete Nice era, the underlying baseball fanatic was always there, just beneath the surface.

J.P.: When did you last perform rap in front of an audience?

P.N.: Off the record, I did a brief freestyle at a neighbor’s birthday party a couple of years ago. You can actually include that. But as for official performances, Woodstock 1999 in Utica, NY, with Serch, was likely the last major show. We performed before Kid Rock and Funkadelic. Oh, and we also played at Tommy Hilfiger’s birthday party around that time, a gig we landed through his brother, Andy, who knew Serch. We even got some free suits out of it, which I still have. Our final tour was a European run, hitting a few festivals in Norway and Sweden.

J.P.: What signaled that it was time to move on from the rap scene?

P.N.: Primarily, the absence of new music creation was a key indicator. Also, family life played a significant role. Being married, and Serch having children at the time, made the touring lifestyle increasingly challenging. There’s a natural point of maturation where priorities shift.

J.P.: Reflecting on 3rd Bass’s impact, how do you perceive its legacy compared to, say, Blind Melon, whose drummer downplayed their band’s significance?

P.N.: We could have undoubtedly released more albums and solidified our mark further within the genre. However, in our active period in the studio and on stage, we made notable contributions, particularly concerning race relations in music. While the Beastie Boys preceded us as a white group, one could argue that 3rd Bass was the first genuinely integrated group to achieve mainstream recognition. These are significant milestones in terms of race relations in hip-hop. Perhaps it’s a bit self-centered, but I believe our impact is more than just a footnote in music history.

J.P.: Do you still listen to contemporary rap music?

P.N.: I do, but not with the same depth as before, where I knew all the album tracks. Much of today’s rap feels formulaic and safe. The prevalence of sung choruses makes a lot of it sound somewhat manufactured. However, occasionally, a track emerges that would be outstanding in any era. Jay-Z, for example, consistently creates such music. I still appreciate good work, but I generally find myself gravitating more towards classic old-school hip-hop.

J.P.: Touring extensively with Public Enemy during their peak must have been an incredible experience. Can you describe that time?

P.N.: It was absolutely phenomenal. We toured Europe with P.E. at least twice. The energy of the crowds was unbelievable—people fainting, venues packed beyond capacity. It was intense. Ironically, this was during the period when Public Enemy was facing controversy over Professor Griff’s remarks, which alienated some white audiences. Yet, here we were, a group of white rappers touring with them. And you know what? They were fantastic guys, genuinely great.

I recall a conversation with Chuck D in a hotel lobby, waiting for the tour bus. He was asking about our new album, back when cassettes were still prominent. He advised, “Make sure the A-side of a single is the same length as the B-side. That way, when the tape finishes, it flips and immediately plays the other song, without giving the listener a chance to switch to something else.” He was incredibly astute about promotion and marketing, way ahead of his time. Simultaneously, he had to manage Flavor Flav, who was… well, Flav. I loved that guy; he’d give you the shirt off his back. But he also struggled with addiction, which is devastating. I remember a phone bill incident in Scotland where Flav had racked up 10,000 pounds in calls to various baby mamas over two days. He was unpredictable. He’d knock on our hotel door at 6 AM, wanting Serch and me to explore the town with him, often taking dozens of random kids to McDonald’s just because. Once, at an airport in Germany, Flav collapsed near security, feigning convulsions and spitting fake blood—which he dramatically revealed was from a magic store he’d visited with Serch and me, shouting, “Fake blood, G! Yeah BOYEEE!”

Public Enemy’s message was powerful and rooted in black self-reliance, but it was also about entertainment. We connected well with them.

J.P.: Do you consider your career to have been in the heart of rap’s golden age, or did it precede or follow your time?

P.N.: I’ll adopt the grumpy old rapper stance and say the golden age has passed—roughly from the early to mid-1980s up to 1992-93. There was an explosion of innovation then, particularly in creativity and sampling techniques, which is less common now. The artistry in beat creation, the integral role of DJs, the use of vinyl—it was a unique era. Computers and digital technology are great, but they can’t replicate the magic of what was.

J.P.: 3rd Bass had a notable feud with Vanilla Ice, didn’t you?

P.N.: Not really a feud. We dissed Ice in “Ace in the Hole,” but it was more playful than aggressive. A funny incident did occur: a friend of our producer lived across from John’s Pizza in New York. When Vanilla Ice was in town for the Grammys, he coincidentally stopped at John’s for a slice. As he got out of his limo and posed for press, this kid opened his window across the street and shot Vanilla Ice three times with a BB gun. Ice quickly retreated to his limo and sped off.

Our real issue was more with MC Hammer. He had dissed Run DMC in an interview. We were managed by Russell Simmons, and we were close to Run, Jay, and DMC, who had mentored us early on. They are, after all, the godfathers of rap. So, during a recording session, I included lines in “Gas Face” like, “Hammer, shut the f— up.” And in “The Cactus,” I rapped, “The Cactus turned Hammer’s mother out,” a wordplay on his song title, not intended as a literal insult to his mother. However, Calvin, Hammer’s brother, called Def Jam, furious and making threats. When we went to Los Angeles for an album party at the Ritz, Russell warned us, “Hammer has put a hit out on you guys with a gang.” He was serious. We were assigned extra security and had to meet with someone who could mediate gang conflicts to call off the threat.

J.P.: So, if Hammer walked into your bar today, how would you greet him?

P.N.: Vanilla Ice, definitely warmly. But Hammer put a hit out on me. That’s a bit harder to overlook.

J.P.: Today, white rappers are generally accepted without much fanfare. Back when 3rd Bass emerged, the landscape was different. Do you think being white MCs was beneficial or detrimental to your career?

P.N.: It’s hard for people now to grasp the environment back then. When we started, there were virtually no other white rappers in the mainstream. Serch and I were preceded by Lord Scotch, also known as Kid Benneton, who was arguably the first white MC. I was in a group with Scotch before forming 3rd Bass with Serch. Serch and Scotch had connections from Music and Art High School, where they’d rhyme with Slick Rick and Dana Dane. Initially, there was a novelty factor to seeing white kids rap, but that fades quickly. Ultimately, hits are hits. Being “mighty whiteys” actually hindered our initial attempts to get a record deal.

J.P.: In 1994, you released your solo album, Dust to Dust. Having experienced albums that didn’t achieve commercial success, how did it feel to have Dust to Dust not sell well? And in retrospect, how do you evaluate that album, and your rapping abilities overall?

P.N.: Daddy Rich and I were very proud of Dust to Dust and the critical acclaim it received. However, in the music industry, sales are the bottom line. I’m not sure Russell Simmons fully supported our solo projects; I think they were hoping for a quick 3rd Bass reunion, which didn’t materialize.

There’s a certain badge of honor in having an album that ends up in the rare record bins. I’d rate Dust to Dust a solid B. And regarding my MC skills, maybe a B+ according to Miss Crabtree’s grading scale.

J.P.: Purely based on your writing skill—and not just because you’re here—you are an excellent baseball writer. Your work is detailed and rich with analogies. Do you see lyric writing and essay/book writing as fundamentally similar?

P.N.: Thank you. Writing is definitely writing, but crafting rhymes offers a different kind of creative outlet compared to my current writing. I suppose I am finally putting my English degree to good use. Lyric writing also requires less proofreading, thankfully. Baseball historian Dorothy Seymour Mills is kind enough to proofread much of my work, and her edits suggest I might need to revisit some grammar basics, Dangerfield-style.

Pete Nice in his element, surrounded by baseball memorabilia.

J.P.: What fuels your passion for baseball? How do you explain such deep devotion to what is, after all, just a game?

P.N.: Growing up in Queens, with a father who was a lifelong Dodgers fan from Brooklyn’s Ebbets Field era, it was almost inevitable to be drawn into baseball’s nostalgia and history. Beyond that, it’s just an inherently great game in its simplest form. Plus, some early experiences cemented my love. My Uncle Roger took my dad and me to Shea Stadium for my first game in 1973 against the Cubs. Uncle Rog was friends with Fergie Jenkins, and I ended up in the visitors’ clubhouse, where Fergie, in his jockstrap, gave me a Cubs team-signed ball. Need I say more?

J.P.: You co-own McGreevy’s 3rd Base Bar in Boston with Ken Casey of the Dropkick Murphys. Operating bars/restaurants often seems like a dream turned into a logistical nightmare. Do you agree? And do you perpetually smell like Budweiser?

P.N.: We have managers who handle the day-to-day operations, so thankfully, I’m not directly pouring pints. My biggest issue is managing my weight due to the Beckett-Burgers. We feature a large burger named after Josh Beckett, with proceeds going to his charity, but it’s definitely adding pounds to me.

Pete Nice today and a throwback to his 3rd Bass days.

QUAZ EXPRESS WITH PETER NASH

• MC Serch and you agree to a 12-round boxing match: Who wins, and how?: How could I hit a guy with glasses?

• Same question, only insert “Vanilla Ice” for Serch: Can I use a Louisville Slugger?

• How much would you pay for a Ken Griffey, Jr. Upper Deck rookie card?: I’ll give you five bucks for one with nice rounded corners. Card grading is the biggest scam in history.

• Any chance—ever—of a rap comeback? Why or why not?: I almost thought you were asking if rap as a music form would come back. Yes, I will come back when hip-hop does.

• Would you rather spend two weeks in isolation with an eternally singing Celine Dion or a seven-headed cow who can’t control his bladder?: You could still milk the cow, right? Throw in two weeks’ worth of Lucky Charms and Capt. Crunch, and I’ll take the cow.

• Best five rappers of all time?: Rakim, Big Daddy Kane, Biggie Smalls, Grand Puba, Just-Ice (honorable mention: Sir Ibu)

• Is it true 3rd Bass had a reunion with a fake you?: No, it was Serch’s 40th Birthday Party in Brooklyn, and I couldn’t make it. And, yes, a fake Pete Nice was in the house, but no performance.

• You’re starting a baseball team—who do you take first: Joel Youngblood, Bobby Meacham or Wayne Krenchicky?: I’ll go with Youngblood, but I was really hoping you were going to say Steve Henderson. Now he had potential.

• What song do you approach the plate to?: Bucktown by Smif-n-Wessun.

QUAZ DATABASE:

Quaz 1: Wendy Hagen

Quaz 2: Chris Burgess

Quaz 3: Tommy Shaw

Quaz 4: Russ Ortiz

Quaz 5: Don McPherson

Quaz 6: Manny Mota

Quaz 7: Geoff Rodkey

Quaz 8: Meeno Peluce

Quaz 9: Karl Mecklenburg

Quaz 10: Amra-Faye Wright