From: s14335rd@UMASSD.EDU (W'zup)
Subject: Beasties
Reply-To: s14335rd@UMASSD.EDU
Organization: UMASS DARTMOUTH, NO. DARTMOUTH, MA.
Date: Thu, 19 Nov 1992 17:00:31 GMT

Check this out:

******  Now this wasn't originally meant to be posted to alt.rap but 
anyone with an open mind who is well rounded in their musical 
experience (as I am) should read on...

  Oh, and since this is about 
the B-boys, I might as well add that I agree with the whoever it was 
that said that the war between the Beasties and 3rdBass should stop.  
It is kinda silly considering they represent two different kinds of 
music.  So, in regard to someone's statement about the Beastie Boys' 
lyrical content, it doesn't conform to the same standards as 3rdBass's 
so it's stupid to compare them really.  The Beastie Boys kind of 
reflect the old rock attitude (like Run-DMC, etc... did) where lyrics 
didn't mean shit, while 3rdBass goes by a whole different set of 
rules.  (personally, the style I like more depends on the kind of mood 
I'm in, which is why I don't tie myself into one kind of music or 
group.  Try it.)


I don't know if anyone's ever seen this book (the name is at the end of 
each article) but remember, while you're reading his rhetorical attack 
on the b-boys, that "License..." was number 30 on his top 500 list. 
He has a unique way of expressing his appreciation for the Beasties. 
(and everyone else on his top 500 list!)  Well, here it is:


BEASTIE BOYS, License to Ill, Def Jam, 1986

"Fueled by alcohol and junk food and angel dust, three white Brooklyn Heights
and Manhattan smartasses, let loose in their wildest and most diseased day-
dreams, piss all over the sober face of socially acceptable adult decorum.
Reveling in orgiastic fantasies of next-big-thing rock stardom, they pillage
with hammer-of-the-gods riffs burglarized from Tony Iommi and Jimmy Page, all
atop Bronxzilla beats enormous enough to turn skateboards into rocket ships.
Laying claim to the collective bravado of Bill Haley and Bobby Fuller and
Brownsville Station and Johnny Rotten, demanding a riot of its own like the
reggae-enamored early Clash, this suburban saturnalia hoards the irreverent
cool of black and white kid-rebellion, cross-ethnically merging symbols of
American adolescence like nobody before or since.
  Ad-Rock, Mike D, and MCA inhabit a teenage wasteland of swirlies and Wiffle-
ball bats and ripped-off ten-speeds, Colonel Sanders and Rice-a-Roni, Ed
Norton and Phyllis Diller, Old Crow and Budweiser and Thunderbird wine; their
signifying monkey is the Brass kind.  They do the wild thing with "ladies of
the eighties" and "classy hos," dance the smurf and freak and Popeye and Jerry
Lewis, hang perfume pines from rearview mirrors so their Lincoln Continentals
won't smell, get ill eyein' homehards shootin' jive turkeys in the back.  They
turn Richard Pryor's "Bicentennial Nigger" inside out.
  Rick Rubin plunders the hard-rock past like nobody's business: massive skins
from "When the Levee Breaks," crude jolts from "Sweet Leaf," snippets from
"The Ocean" and War's "Low Rider" and Creedence and Barry White and Mr. Ed
here, verbals from "Fly Like an Eagle" and "Take the Money and Run" and "No
More No More" there.  All these salvaged shards are used to make connections,
to outline youthcult perimeters.  And when the brattiness falls together into
a delerious delinquent anthem like "Fight for Your Right (to Party)," or "No
Sleep 'til Brooklyn" (phrase from Motorhead, glaciated guitar from Slayer's
Kerry King), or a google-eyed ghetto-gangster brag like "The New Style," I
can't figure why even a black supremacist would resist."

    -- from "Stairway to Hell" (c) 1989 by Chuck Eddy
       ("The 500 Best Heavy Metal Albums in the Universe" -- this was #30)


BEASTIE BOYS, Rock Hard, Def Jam EP, 1985

"The mightiest rap record of its year, an inept, idiotic, sniveling, parodic,
brutish, grating circus-of-fleas backed by AC/DC's "Back in Black" and Zep's
"Black Dog" (note the fixation on nonwhite hue), with technoburban cultural
referents galore: TV test patterns, cumulus clouds on the Weather Channel,
B-boys too dumb to play their own instruments, big tools of reproduction doing
the Alamo.  The full-throttle tempo in "Beastie Groove" originates from
Treacherous Three's "The New Rap Language," but the attitudes-at-large conjure
an image largely comprising two hairy palms protecting future film star
Ad-Rock's urinary plumbing, where he deserves to get kicked silly."

    -- from "Stairway to Hell" (c) 1991 by Chuck Eddy
       ("The 500 Best Heavy Metal Albums in the Universe" -- this was #79)



				Later,
				ROB