The Beasties and me

When I informed a friend of mine that the first Beastie Boys album in six years was to be released this month, I was shocked and appalled by his instant response. It went something to the tune of, "Man, are they still around? I thought they were all still trying to free Tibet or some shit, still learning to be monks. They probably suck now anyway." Now keep in mind that insinuating to me that the Boys of Beastie could ever possibly squeeze out a bad note or rhyme, let alone him uttering to me that they could somehow suck, is akin to insulting my family or my (somewhat) good name.\nMy love affair with the Beastie Boys started near the culmination of my secondary schooling. I first discovered them during my senior year of high school, upon hearing their 1989 sophomore album, Paul's Boutique. I came upon a cassette tape copy of it, which I found at an antique shop while browsing for beer mirrors with my mother. It was the best 25 cents I have ever spent. At the time of purchase, the only track by the group that I was immediately familiar with was their breakout single, "Fight for Your Right." Since, that particular ditty has become my least favorite offering in their entire canon.\nOne week after my 25 cent purchase, I had been officially blown away. You see, Paul's Boutique takes some time to assimilate, especially for an 18-year-old guy who was simultaneously discovering the wonders of early '70s Elton John. It reveals itself in layers, as all great albums do. It's an endless mish-mash of samples and cultural references that has the rare ability to overwhelm effortlessly. To take in all 13 minutes of "B-Boy Bouillabaisse" is an out of body experience. Like Dark Side of the Moon was to so many in the '70s, this was my personal headphone masterpiece.\nAfter Paul's, I regressed to their 1986 debut, Licensed to Ill. Being the first ever rap album to sell over 1 million copies, and that it made rap music accessible and acceptable to all races beyond African-American, I was aware that Licensed was essential listening. As fun and spirited as it was, it paled in comparison to the sonic experimentation of it's follow-up. Bought at Sam Goody at (an outrageous) suggested retail price, I enjoyed the call and response delivery and stomping beats, but I craved more substance from my Boys. It didn't take me long to find it.\nTheir fourth disc, Ill Communication, was next in line, and I wasn't quite prepared. I found a copy in a used record store in Florida during Spring Break. No experience compared to driving up and down the beachfront streets blasting the absolute crap out of "Flute Loop" and "The Update" in my hooptie-ass blue 1994 Chevy Lumina. The irony that these songs sound just as awesome in my new Impala does not go unnoticed. Everybody knows the album's big hit, "Sabotage," but as cool as that track is, deeper tracks like "Root Down," "B-Boys Makin' With the Freak Freak" and "Sure Shot" are essential fodder for your woofers. Their instrumental work on Ill (yes, they play their own instruments), with the exception of the Roots, is without prowess in the rap world.\nThe third offering from the Beasties, Check Your Head, was purchased from my local mall at a discount rate. I was quickly enamored by the album, and marveled at how it drew equally from its predecessor and foreshadowed its successor stanza after stanza. Many nights were spent with Check and my stereo on volume level 11. "Namasté" became my temporary mantra. It proved that not only could the Beasties rap and produce with all their might, but they could create a breathtaking soundscape and let it blossom out of itself.\nAlbum five came to me by surprise one day while preparing for a spring garage sale. While looking through a pile of old albums that Karma wouldn't accept for trade, I found Hello Nasty. After some memory jogging, I recalled buying the record back before I learned to drive, because of the song "Intergalactic." I'd apparently listened to the hit a few times and naively shelved the album out of ignorance. Upon spinning it anew, I was amazed that I'd allowed myself to miss out on this material. Each of its 75 minutes, lorded over by master DJ Mix Master Mike, is a constant flow of diverse styles and inspired silliness. No rap album released since has surpassed its unabashed creativity.\nI just bought their brand new disc, To the 5 Boroughs, two weeks ago from a local record store that allows me the pleasure of buying records a few days before their official release date, and I was not disappointed. In fact, I was extremely pleased. I've yet to dissect it fully, but it's a refreshing return to the Boys' New York roots, and contains some mighty infectious rhymes and electronic beats. "Oh Word?" is vintage Boys, and "3 the Hard Way" and "Crawlspace" are two of their finest tracks ever.\nMCA, Ad-Rock and Mike D have gone from beer guzzling party boys to L.A. acid head experimentalists to N.Y.C./Tibetan political activists to elder statesmen of rap in their 18 year career, and they've left six brilliant albums in their wake. Whether more are to come is up for debate, but I'll welcome each one with open arms and starving ears. The sheer joy of being able to put any of their records on and hear something new, even the fortieth time through, is a testament to my undying devotion to the Boys.