transcript
Speaker 1:
[00:00] Hey, Disgos, welcome in for another fantastic voyage into the Disgraceland Archive this week to rewind to our Beastie Boys episode. Originally released on January 21st, 2025, this was a difficult episode for me to write. I love the Beastie Boys. They're one of my favorite groups, all timers. And I wanted to celebrate that and to bring to the forefront some of the crime that's part of their history. But I also wanted to fairly reckon with who the Beasties really are, and most ingloriously, how they became the joke that they were trying to make about misogyny, and then later how the group faced that regrettable part of their past and overcame it. So not the easiest episode to contend with, but also the story in terms of crime, it's truly revelatory. I mean, who knew that the Beastie Boys inspired a literal crime wave? I didn't until I get into the research. Anyways, it's all here in this episode, plus a bit of a dive back into the band's hardcore roots, and also the way in which my favorite Beastie Boys album, Paul's Boutique, came to be. I hope you dig this. I want to hear what you think, so leave a review for Disgraceland on Apple Podcasts, or just give me a call at 617-906-6638. Rock a roll. Disgraceland is a production of Double Elvis. This is a story about three bad brothers you know so well. It started way back in history with Ad Rock, MCA, and me, Jake B. I mean, and Mike D. This is a story about a crime wave, an arrest, a lot of arrests. It's a story about three friends who became one of the most influential groups of all time, and this is a story about Beastie Boys. A group that made great music, music influenced by great music, and of course, music that influence other great music. That music I played for you at the top of the show, that wasn't great music. That was a preset loop from my mellotron called Snakefoot Rat Jam MK1. I played you that loop because I can't afford the rights to Amanda by Boston. And why would I play you that specific slice of Rockman headphone cheese? Could I afford it? Because that was the number one song in America on November 15th, 1986, and that was the day Beastie Boys released their album Licensed to Ill, an album that would not only bring unimagined success to the Beasties, but an album that would almost also destroy them. On this episode, how the three bad brothers avoided self-destruction, a crime wave, an arrest, other arrests, a wide array of incredible influence in the Beastie Boys. I'm Jake Brennan and this is Disgraceland.
Speaker 2:
[03:41] Hey, man, don't you realize that for us to make this thing work, man, we've got to get rid of the pimps, the pushers in the process, and then start all over again cleaning.
Speaker 1:
[03:58] New York City is one of the most influential cities in the world. Art, dance, film, food. New York's cultural impact has always been significant, and its influence as a music mecca spans back to the beginning of the 20th century. Most notably, for my tastes anyway, back from the dawn of hip hop and punk in the 70s, all the way to the jazz of the 1920s and 30s. During that time, the Harlem Renaissance gave the world Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, and Billie Holiday. Artists who migrated to a city that made them and then exported them back to the rest of the world as stars. But by the 1970s, there wasn't much being exported out of Harlem besides heroin. And the drugs' influence, like jazz in the 20s and 30s, could be felt throughout the rest of America. Back in Harlem, heroin was big business, with manufacturing centers spread throughout the city at large. New York City heroin, whether it was China White from Southeast Asia or Blue Magic from Harlem gangster Frank Lucas, required cutting or dilution from its original pure state, in part so that it didn't kill the customer, but also so the dealer could retain more of the profit. Heroin can be cut with many different ingredients, quinine, caffeine, even strychnine. That's right, rat poison. If you're booting up the brown boys and girls, you're likely injecting yourself with low levels of rat poison. Heroin is also sometimes cut with another drug called mannitol, a substance banned on the street in part because though it was developed to treat various ailments, by the late 1970s, mannitol was mostly used to cut heroin, which is exactly what it was being used for in 1976, at 171 Avenue A in New York's East Village. 2,400 pounds of mannitol or mannite, as it was called on the street, was seized from the owner of the abandoned, burnt-out six-story building. The street value of the illegal cutting agent was estimated to be half a million dollars, likely more than the value of the building they found the stash in. 171 Avenue A, the building, survived that mini-scandal, and by 1981 it had become an unofficial clubhouse for the burgeoning New York hardcore scene. A group of disaffected, lower-Eastside punk kids, influenced more by the rage of Black Flag than the outlandish put-on of the Sex Pistols, were using the building now commonly referred to as 171A to put on shows, record demos, and just to hang out. Soon, a record store, The Rat Cage, opened in the basement. Inside 171A, youthful optimism and punk entrepreneurialism thrived. Records by The Exploited, The Business, Discharge, and others were imported from the UK and sold at The Rat Cage. A demo by Washington, DC's Mighty Bad Brains, the infamous Roar demo, was recorded upstairs in the makeshift studio. And shows were happening weekly, attracting hordes of punk-obsessed short-haired trench coat wearing Doc Marten booted street hoods from all over the city. Even from the Upper East Side, it is far afield as Brooklyn. Inside the doors of 171A, you could feel the headiness of a new style of music and a new scene being alchemized. Hardcore, aggressive music blasted. Kids obsessed over 7-inch singles and cassettes. Some geeked out on subversion by going straight edge. Others burnt brain cells on gorilla biscuits and brass monkey. The youthful positive energy was infectious. And this was a new kind of punk. Just as important as what came from London a few years prior, and twice as dangerous. But not nearly as scary as the hardcore reality that was happening outside the doors of 171A. Where New York City's Lower East Side in 1981 was sometimes as violent a war zone as the Southeast Asian origins of the China white that was plaguing New York streets. The door wouldn't stay shut, and it needed to. If the punk rocker on the other side of that door pushed his way into 171A, then the Puerto Rican street gang that was trying to kill him would also make its way into the club. And this bad-brained show wouldn't be the joyous hardcore event it was meant to be. Instead, Blood Clot would progress to a literal bloodbath, and the couple dozen kids inside who were losing their shit to the blast fury of the greatest hardcore band on the planet would surely be massacred. 17-year-old Adam Yalke, bass player for the four-piece hardcore band Beastie Boys, a band who had just been kicked out of the 171A studio after spending too many days tracking their Polywog Stew EP, was using every muscle in his body to press the door shut. Others were behind him helping pressing their weight into the door, which remained open a crack, refusing to shut due to the manic fury of the punk rocker on the other side trying to muscle his way into 171A. The Puerto Ricans meant business. The punk was a dead man if he didn't get in. He did get in, past Adam Yalke, but not before getting stabbed in the shoulder by one of the gang members. In the end, the gang was shut out, and that punk rocker who escaped into 171A was John Joseph, friend and roadie to the Bad Brains and later the frontman for one of the most influential New York hardcore bands of all time, the Cromax, who, like the Beastie Boys and like other hardcore pioneers, Agnostic Front and Warzone, would become mainstays at 171A. To understand the Beastie Boys, side note, it's Beastie Boys, not the Beastie Boys. I'm fully aware. But even though that's how the Beasties, Adam Yokes, surviving bandmates Michael Diamond and Adam Harvitz say it, I just can't do it. Maybe it's because I'm a suburban kid who didn't get into the Beasties until they hit MTV after completely shedding their hardcore roots for whatever the hell genre you want to call Fight for Your Right to Party was. I can't do it. So sue me. It's the Beastie Boys. But back to our story. To understand the Beastie Boys, you have to understand hardcore. It's where they came from. And you have to understand New York City because, well, duh. You also have to understand hip hop or rap, as it was almost exclusively referred to back then during the days of Grandmaster Flash and The Furious Five, The Funky Four plus one more and so many others. And to the extent that it's possible, you have to understand any and all soulful music released between the years 1967 and 1987. Alphonse Mouzon, Os Mutantes, Public Image Limited, Afrika Bambaataa, Malcolm McLaren, and so many others. The Beastie Boys were simultaneously captivated by two genres of music that were being invented right there in that moment in New York. Hardcore and hip hop. And they were fully aware of and captivated by the music that was influencing those genres, particularly the sounds influencing hip hop. All of the cooler than cool music that was present on every radio in the city, pumping out of every downtown club and filling every record store. Spoonie G, Butthole Surfers, Sheik, Blondie, Run DMC, Napalm Death, Curtis Blow, Tana Gardner, Tom Tom Club, Black Flag, Nico, even Tito Puente. To put it simply, to understand the Beastie Boys, you have to understand the concept of influence. Real influence. As in the art that influences us. Not some above average looking 20 something in front of a camera beneath a ring light on your Instagram page. Real influence. Because that's what's at the heart of the Beastie Boys. Influence. The influence of the music they loved. The influence of the city they grew up in. And the influence each member of the band, each a great friend to one another, had on each other. You also have to understand the influence the Beastie Boys, a band that by 1987 had grown from the crime and grime of the hardcore subgenre into a chart topping cultural phenomenon. You have to understand the influence the Beastie Boys had on mainstream culture. Influence that resulted in the makeup of huge parts of our record collections. Influence that resulted in new laws being written. Influence that resulted in clandestine espionage and beatdowns and riots. Influence that even resulted in a crime wave. I didn't grow up in Manhattan in the 70s and 80s, which, let's be honest, would have been the best time anyone could grow up in Manhattan. But I'm happy that I didn't. I'm not sure I would have had the discipline or parenting required at such a young age to survive. The Beastie Boys, though, they're a different story. Adam Yalke, Michael Diamond, and the Beasties' two other original members, Kate Schellenbach on drums, who would eventually depart and years later go on to form the excellent group, Luscious Jackson, and John Barry, an early friend, whose departure would make way for Adam Horowitz to join the group, cementing the classic Beasties lineup of Ad Rock, Mike Dee, and MCA. All of these kids were raised inside a cultural hothouse in which every day, the most incredible music on the planet was not only available to purchase in record stores all over the city, but also available to witness and experience in clubs throughout Manhattan. The aforementioned 171A where hardcore was basically invented. Dance Atteria where Madonna, Basquiat, Sade, and Debbie Mazer performed, worked, and partied. Max's Kansas City, The Warhol Haunt where the Beasties played one of their first shows opening for The Bad Brains, which was actually the last show ever at Max's. All of this incredible exposure forged the Beasties. You can hear early 1980s New York City and the absolute coolness of the Beasties' orbit all over their records. From early hardcore to the rap rock of their smash debut LP, Licensed to Ill, to Paul's boutique, Check Your Head, and throughout the rest of their storied catalog.
Speaker 2:
[15:39] She's calling you, man!
Speaker 1:
[15:43] My parents didn't raise me in New York City in the 70s and 80s. Like most of you, I wasn't exposed to the root level musical coolness that the three eventual members of the Beastie Boys were exposed to at such a young age. But what I did have was a father with an insane record collection. My old man wasn't raised in New York City either, but you wouldn't know that by cruising through his records. By the time I started reading interviews with the Beasties in which they listed their influences, I didn't need to go to the record store and spend money to check out those records that were influencing one of my favorite bands. No, I just needed to go to my dad's on the weekend, be careful not to annoy his girlfriend, and I was free to sit in his music room with a new stack of 90-minute Maxell XL2 cassette tapes and record whatever the hell I wanted. Oh, the Beastie Boys are into this New Orleans funk band called The Meters? Let me check the M section of my dad's records. Yep, there's The Meters' self-titled debut. Holy shit. This is where the Beasties got that instrumental vibe from Check Your Head. I'm going to tape this. And yeah, that Get Funky sample from Paul's Boutique is James Brown. So let's go to the B section. Holy shit. There's a lot of James Brown records here. What are these JB's albums? I'm going to tape this Doin It to Death record because I like the cover. And I have the whole other side of my New Meters Maxell to fill. Now where are those Sly and the Family Stone records? Because my buddy Stax was telling me that that's where the Shadrack sample comes from. Wait, my dad has a Slayer album? That guitar player is all over Licensed to Hell. Everyone knows that. My dad took me to see Slayer last year at the Orpheum, but I still don't have a copy of Rain and Blood, so I'm going to tape this too. Influence. So much of my record collection is influenced by the Beastie Boys. And as I mentioned before, once the Beasties hit, they began to influence culture in ways even they never could have imagined. Blood Claw. It was a classic crime wave, a whodunit as compelling as the mutilated bodies they found out on the moors during the past century, or those mysterious crop circles out in Hampshire, or the cows the Bexley farming community reported disemboweled with surgical-like precision and drained of all their blood. The newspapers suspected satanists, but the locals had more supernatural suspicions. The crime wave that was currently capturing Brennan's collective imagination involved a rash of mysterious robberies, the theft of a specific item, an item that confounded local authorities, the front-grill badge of local Volkswagen owners, the iconic VW logo, big, round, and metallic, the low-rent version of the iconic Mercedes and Cadillac hood ornaments. Volkswagen didn't even mount their hoods with their logo. They placed it in the grill on the front of the car. It was cheaper, I guess. Which was kind of the point of a Volkswagen. It was cheaper. But why were Volkswagen hood badges being stolen off of cars throughout London and beyond during the summer of 1987? The newspapers and nightly news programs became obsessed with this mystery. Even Volkswagen, the company, wanted answers. For those answers, one needed to look no further than the pop charts. Where three young hardcore kids from America, who had recently become obsessed with rap, had a top ten album in the UK with license to Ill, propelled by the single You Got a Fight for Your Right to Party, which had taken over the airwaves. The video for Fight for Your Right was being played everywhere, non-stop. And in that video, Mike D took the piss, as they say across the pond, out of those super-serious rappers with their luxury brand hood ornaments hanging from their necks. Mike opted for a more sensible, affordable necklace. He jammed a Kano, sporting the Volkswagen logo as a joke. And that act inspired, yes, a literal London crime wave. The news reported the mysteriously missing VW badges was a quote unquote, epidemic. The BBC reported that 250 Volkswagen customers were requesting replacement badges daily. But once it was discovered that it was the Beasties and their Fight For Your Right video that inspired the mass transgression, Volkswagen got in on the action. The company launched an ad campaign with the tagline, designer labels always get ripped off. Never let it be said that we are averse to youth cults. The company joked. It went on. After all, who brought you the Beatles? B-E-E-T-L-E-S. No sooner did the crime wave quell and the Beasties were caught up in another UK controversy. This one had much more potentially dire consequences. Adam Horowitz had no idea how long he was going to be in jail. He was arrested in London and jailed back in Liverpool for allegedly assaulting a concertgoer. Specifically, he was being accused of whipping a full beer can into the crowd from the stage of one of their shows. The beer can, unfortunately, hit a young girl in the face. Since the Beasties had arrived in the UK to promote License to Ill, the tabloids had seized on this riotous band of American hooligans, the likes of which they hadn't seen since the Sex Pistols. Every single day the English tabloids printed libelous headlines about the Beastie Boys' hooligan behavior. In return, English fans were determined to show the Beasties what real hooliganism was all about. Their shows became unruly. And in Liverpool, the shit, as they say in America, hit the fan. For whatever reason, youthful stupidity misplaced punk rock anger. When MCA took the stage, he screamed, fuck you, Liverpool, into the mic. Immediately, the vibe shifted from eager rock and roll live show anticipation to who the fuck does this wanker think he is? And shit was on. Beer cans rocketed from the dance floor onto the stage. Booze rang out from the audience. More beer cans rained down from the fans in the balcony. MCA freaked and called for the house lights to be turned on. The go-go dancer inside the giant go-go dancer cage on stage cowered. That's right. On this tour, the Beasties were rocking a giant go-go cage flanked by two massive Bud Tallboy cans as stage props. The Beasties DJ, DJ Hurricane, who is standing on a different riser, took a flying beer can to the head. Security rushed the stage to protect the Beasties and to get them to safety. Then Ad Rock re-emerged from stage left with a baseball bat in his hand. The crowd calmed for a moment. Until Ad Rock dug in and stood his ground like a defiant Lenny Dykstra at the plate under the lights at Shea. The angry crowd obliged the young punk, launching more full beer cans. Ad Rock hung in there, swatting as many cans as he could with the baseball bat, sending them back into the crowd. Security re-emerged and pulled Ad Rock off stage. The crowd had won. A chant of We Tamed the Beasties rang out as a triumphant fight song gang vocal. The Beasties hightailed it back to London. In their wake, the crowd was left to riot amongst itself, brawling on the dance floor with Roman gladiator fury, for no reason at all other than there was nowhere to place the anger that the Beasties had inspired. The cops were called in. Tear gas was dispensed. Many were injured, and the riot was eventually quelled. Before the night ended, back in London, Adam Horowitz, aka the King Ad Rock, would be cuffed in his hotel room, driven back to Liverpool, fingerprinted, and jailed for four days to await his court appearance. This would result in a trial at a later date for which his semi-famous father, the playwright Israel Horowitz, would provide a celebrity lawyer to get his son acquitted of the assault charge, an allegation which he still denies to this day. The larger point in the aftermath of this event, and more broadly speaking, in the aftermath of a full year of touring to support the post-Hardcore version of the Beastie Boys, the rap rock Rick Rubin produced version of the Beastie Boys, the riotous pro-wrestling caricature version of the Beastie Boys, a group that toured in support of Madonna, yes, Madonna, while managing to offend 12 and 13-year-old girls on a nightly basis, and to tour with their heroes in Def Jam Records label mates run DMC, and to hit the road on a headlining tour and support the first number one rap record in history. A tour that included not only go-go dancers in cages flanked by giant bud tall boys, but eventually featured a giant 20-foot inflatable penis, complete with a pulsing vein to add that Warhol influenced dose of realism. Behind a band spitting nursery rhymes meant as satire, but that played as juvenile misogyny. Girls to do the dishes. Girls to do the laundry. Girls to clean up my room. The larger point was what the hell happened to the Beastie Boys? The giant penis, the fight for your right to party video in which the Beasties gleefully trashed a friend's apartment, all the Moe, Larry, and Curling through MTV interviews, the Archie bunkering their way through a Village Voice interview in which Ad Rock claimed he hated quote unquote faggots, and MCA clumsily trying to clean up his bandmate's quote with even more homophobic comments. The Beasties had fully become the assholes they meant to lampoon on license to ill. How did this happen? The Beasties were hardcore kids from a scene that promoted feminism, equality, and an updated version of the liberal ideas their Upper East Side parents championed. Now the Beastie Boys were literally the butt of a dick joke. They couldn't blame their producer, Rick Rubin, who, yes, encouraged them to lean into the WWF side of their image, an image that paired perfectly with the classic rock guitar samples and Slayer riffs that chugged through license to ill. Then they made the choice to go along with Rick's creative and commercial genius, no matter how crass. But classic rock riffs? They didn't even like classic rock. They grew up on Malcolm McLaren and Oingo fucking Boingo. They couldn't blame their manager, hip hop empresario Russell Simmons, the other half of Rick Rubin's Def Jam records. Russell wanted the band to do whatever they could to be as commercial as they could. But Russell also hooked the Beasties up with his brother DJ Run's group, Run DMC, literally the biggest rap group on the planet, who provided a steady aspirational influence. An older group who knew how to act, a group that, no exaggeration, was selling out stadiums. Run DMC took the Beasties under their collective wing. The Beasties had every influence they needed to stay true. But somehow they lost the script. They had become what they hated. Success will fuck you harder than a giant 20-foot inflatable cock. And that's kind of what happened when, in 1987, Licensed to Ill became the first hip hop album to go to number one on the Billboard charts. That bears repeating. Licensed to Ill became the first rap album to go to number one on the Billboard charts. A rap album by three white hardcore kids went to number one. All the benefits that came along with that success, all the beer, all the pussy, the press, the adulation, it fucked the Beasties up and the Beasties shit up in response. In August of 1987, rapper LL Cool J was arrested in Columbus, Georgia for pantomiming sex on stage. In 1988, Kisses Gene Simmons was arrested in Columbus, Georgia for as he claimed, adjusting his crotch on stage. In 1989, Boston pop sensation Bobby Brown was arrested in Columbus, Georgia in mid performance right there on stage for dry-humping a girl he'd invited on stage to dance. Why were all these artists arrested in Columbus, Georgia in the late 80s? Well, because of the influence of the Beastie Boys. Because in 1987, Columbus authorities were so offended by the Beasties' performance, by their inflatable penis and their encouragement of young women in the crowd to bear their breasts, that Columbus, Georgia passed an anti-ludeness law prohibiting nudity and simulated sex at any show attended by minors. What in the hell have the Beastie Boys become? We'll be right back after this word, word, word. New York City was too hot. The Beastie Boys needed a change of environment. Los Angeles, it was decided, was where the Beasties would take it on the lam while the lawyers decided the group's creative fate. Turns out that greed is a greater influence than friendship. At least when it concerned the Beasties' friend, Russell Simmons, who ran Def Jam Records and refused to pay the band royalties for their mega-selling album, Licensed Ill, Insisting that the group was in breach of contract for not recording their second album on time. A deadline that was impossible due to the fact that the band was constantly touring to support the sales of their first album. Sales that benefited the record label, not them. It was a wicked irony. One that only sunshine and weed and skateboards and great music could cure. Music that couldn't be found anywhere but in LA. At least it couldn't be found in this way, in any place but LA. Because LA was where the Dust Brothers were making music. In a grimy apartment on the wrong side of sunset. In a neighborhood where you'd maybe get shot if you weren't careful. One in which you'd most definitely get proposition. The dangers reminded Adam Yalke of Back Home in New York. One of those street corners where your whole life could change in an instant. Depending on the type of mood the city was in. Yalke saw it differently though, as he did most things. This wasn't something to be feared. It was something to be celebrated because that danger, that tension sprung from 8 million different personalities. Each with their own influence to offer. New York City was about layers. A multitude of creative offerings. Each intertwined with the other. All of it there for the mining. You could try on whatever you wanted. Wear this hat for a while or that coat. Check out this used record or try your hand at someone else's cast off and consigned vintage instrument. You could experiment with these layers until you got it right. It, of course, being you. Or more specifically, your style. Ad Rock, who was in LA before his bandmates filling a movie with Donald Sutherland called Lost Angels, heard this music first. Somehow, underground LA DJ and delicious vinyl mastermind Matt Dyke got into Adam's ears with this music he was making with a set of Pomoma College radio station kids, Michael Simpson and John King, who were calling themselves the Dust Brothers. The music Dyke and the Dust Brothers were making was like nothing the young Beastie had ever heard. The samples weren't obvious. They weren't blocked off meat and potatoes classic rock style. They were soundscapes, precisely stitched together to create their own arrangements. It wasn't about a lone breakbeat looped for 16 bars to create room for a rhymed verse. It was about 4 seconds of a drum fill that segued into 10 seconds of a beat from another tune with a keyboard sample on top of that beat that quickly gave way to a guitar riff from another song over a different beat and bass line from another tune in the same key, which was then accentuated by a clip from a fucking Spielberg movie which disappeared before you even knew it had shown up, and it then swung straight back into the top-of-the-layered verse you just heard leaving you spellbound by a collage of samples to rhyme over rather than one Led Zeppelin drum beat and one looped Kerry King riff. It was that feeling you get when you land at LAX and jump in the back of a cab with that sunshine beating down on your face as you race through Englewood toward Hollywood. All that promise, all that hope for whatever bounties your stay in this ridiculous town is going to bring your way. The music the Dust Brothers was making sounded like all that but on tape. Adam Yalke and Mike D were way down when Ad Rock brought them out to LA to hear what he discovered. And the Beastie Boys, with their new producers, set out to make their second album with a new record label, the storied Capitol Records, while their old record label back in New York City plotted out ways to stop them. Poolside at the Mondrian Hotel on the Sunset Strip. The hotel was the brainchild of Ian Schrager, former partner of Steve Rubell, the studio 54 impresario. With its New York roots, the Mondrian was as good a place as any for the Beasties and their friends to hole up during the day while they worked on their next record at night elsewhere. The Beasties may have begun to grow out of their misogynistic professional wrestler caricatures of the first album, but that didn't make them any less mischievous. They ordered lavish, expensive meals on Capital's Dime and had them sent to the room of Bret Michaels from Poison, and they launched eggs from their balcony down onto the strip, pelting cars and the heads of scenesters waiting behind velvet ropes, and they got way stoned and super paranoid. Who were those dudes? The dudes in the cheap suits, in the black shoes and white socks? Yeah, those dudes who were dressed kind of like Ricky Powell's nerd character from the Fight for Your Right to Party video. And they were there, a couple of feet from the pool over by the bar, but then after you'd set eyes on them, they'd be gone. They seemed to be watching, always waiting, looking for something. The Beasties were convinced they were going to be served, or worse. Served papers to appear in court back in New York to settle this beef with Russell Simmons in Def Jam, or maybe served up some violence, some sort of old school roulette records retribution. Who knew what Russell was capable of? What was that dude up to at night anyway? Where did he go? What did he do? And with who? Russell was Shady. The Beasties, along with their entourage, which included Ad Rock's girlfriend, Yoni Sky and her brother, Donovan Leach, and the excellent character actor, Max Perlick, who you might recognize from movies like Drugstore Cowboy and Rush, and perhaps also from the Young MC video, Bust a Move. They all bounced from the Mondrian to get out from under the prying eyes of Russell Simmons' spies, or the eyes of those who The Beasties and all of their stone paranoia imagined to be Russell's spies. They rented a house up near the Griffith Observatory, a home they would soon dub The G-Spot. It belonged to TV producer Alex Grashof and his wife, Marilyn. Mrs. Grashof's wardrobe was a treasure trove of 70s clothes. Dolomite, Rudy Ray Moore, Pam Grier, Shaft. All the blaxploitation films The Beasties vived on in New York seemed to physically come to life inside of Marilyn Grashof's closet. And The Beasties got down on all of it, trying on the clothes and taking inspiration from the feel of the vintage threads. A vintage that suited the music they were making perfectly. And the music was not Def Jam fare. This music was something different. Fortunately, the beef between The Beasties and Russell Simmons was eventually resolved and the group was allowed to pursue the new music they were making. And it was great, unlike anything unlicensed to Ill. Together with the inspired production of Matt Dyke and the Dust Brothers, these new songs, for The Beasties' first Capitol Records effort, sounded different than anything that had been recorded not only in hip hop up to that point, but in all of popular music. This music had more in common with the layered pop symphonies of Sgt. Pepper's and Pet than it did classic rock and professional wrestling. It was a totality of influence reborn into something completely its own. It was the JB's and funky snakefoot fusion and melancholic Donny Hathaway and Curtis' superfly and AJ Scratch by Curtis with a K and Steven Spielberg needing a bigger boat and Lennon and McCartney playing their way out of Abbey Road and Loggins and Messina and the fucking Eagles, man. The Eagles, BDP and yes, of course, Run DMC, Machine Guns and Holy Ghosts, More Bounce to the Ounce and Getting Arrested and Mardi Gras for jumping off the Float and Your Man MCA with his beard like a Billy Goat, the Disco Call, the Car Wash, the Funky Drummer, Go Go, the Levee Breaking, Mr. Big Stuff, Suzy, Your Mama, Sergeant Pepper, Mojo, Sport, Sharon, Miss America, Shadrack, Meshack, A Bed and a Go and so much more. It was the sound of that corner back in New York in MCA's mind. Rivington and Ludlow on the Lower East Side. More specifically, it was the sound of the store on that corner, a thrift store. The sound of all of its items come to life. The vintage 70s clothing, the disco polyester, the Westside's rough trade leather, the punk denim, the classic rock studs. It was the sound of the forgotten vinyl in the dollar bin, the sticks and seeds in the crease, the dusty banjo in the corner, the racks of gin-soaked coke-dusted memories from 8 million influences, from an infinite number of crazy nights that happen only in New York.
Speaker 2:
[38:56] It was the best in men's clothing. Call Paul's Boutique at the Janice of the members at 718-498-1043.
Speaker 1:
[39:06] That's Paul's Boutique and they're in Brooklyn. For as great as Paul's Boutique was, it was not received well. Critics were lukewarm, and the record didn't sell, and Capitol Records nearly dropped the Beastie Boys. Mainly because of the money the label had already sunk into the group, a large portion of which went to clearing the almost immeasurable amount of samples on Paul's Boutique. Capitol was forced to keep the Beasties signed and to go for one more album to recoup their losses. But this time, it would be different. The next Beastie Boys record would have to be constructed and produced differently. Clearing the same number of samples as Paul's Boutique was financially impossible. Despite the failure of Paul's Boutique, the Beastie Boys were a household name, and the obscure artists the Beasties sampled had the group's representatives over a barrel when it came time to negotiate sampling fees. Rightfully so. The older artists whose influence constitutes so much of Paul's Boutique wanted to get paid. And they did. But this wasn't a sustainable way to make records. There would never be another Paul's Boutique, which is a shame. Imagine if the Beatles weren't allowed to make Sgt. Pepper's after hearing pet sounds. We'll never know what greatness could have sprung from one of the Beastie's contemporaries. Or perhaps how the Beasties would have followed up Paul's Boutique had they been afforded the opportunity to make another record in the same way. Instead, the group's limitations forced them to dig deep. Not into the record crates hidden in the back of downtown vintage shops, but through the classified pages listing vintage instruments. Because for the Beastie Boys' next record, the musical group would do something truly revolutionary. They would play their own instruments. The next Beastie's album was another wild creative swing, and also a make-or-break business endeavor. Had it not worked out, Capitol Records would have dropped the band, and they'd likely be working for tech firms or Hollywood production companies right now. But the Beastie Boys didn't let that happen. Plato said that necessity is the mother of invention. HR from Bad Brain said, Don't care what they may say, we got that attitude. Don't care what they may do, we got that attitude. And Adam Yowak said that Bad Brains created the quote unquote best hardcore album of all time, The Roar demo, the feature C4 mentioned lyric. Adam Horowitz and Michael Diamond themselves will tell you that Adam Yowak was a different kind of kid. He was the mother of invention, at least in their band. He was the type of kid who, according to Ad Rock, said things like, I'm going to walk up to the top of the Empire State Building with cameras taped to my shoes. I'll carry you up piggyback style. It'll be funny. Let's go. Most people conform to the obstacles they encounter. They either find their way around them or find a way to avoid them altogether. It's the rare cats who find their way through. Usually, the great ones look at a set of challenging fundamentals and decide to change the fundamentals to find their way through the obstacle. Oh, we can't rely on samples to make our next hip hop record because it's now too expensive? No problem. We'll just play our own instruments. It's hard to overstate how insane this concept was, I guess still is, for a rap group in 1990. But that's what the Beasties decided to do, largely, I believe, through the influence of Adam Yowk. And the gambit worked. The Beastie Boys' next album, Check Your Head, was a turn inward. It was a completely authentic representation of all of what influenced the Beastie Boys. Not just the downtown New York coolness, not only the Hollywood kid absurdity, and not just the larger-than-life, licensed-to-ill caricature charisma. It was all of those things, but it was also all of the little things that made the Beastie Boys tick. Skateboarding, basketball, spirituality, a return to their hardcore roots, an instrumental reach toward Floyd's metal, and a New Orleans sissy strut. It was bad 70s television, John Coltrane, Japanese baseball references, so bad they're good buddy cop movies, and a constant effort by each band member to make the others laugh. It was as close a representation as an album can get to the entire picture of the artists who made it. And because of that, Check Your Head had a much broader appeal than its predecessor. And because of that and the band's relentless touring behind the album, Check Your Head became the massive hit it deserved to be. As did its successor, Ill Communication. A record that is really a continuation of Check Your Head. Made in the same way and within the same whirlwind of creative time and place and circumstance. So much so, that these two albums now, together, sound like one of music history's greatest double albums. This time period for the Beastie Boys was also a reckoning. A chance for the group to right the wrongs of their misogynistic past. To show who they were at their core. Hardcore kids. Not dickhead frat boys. Dudes who may have lost the plot at one point, but who had finally had an understanding not only of who they were, but who they were meant to be. On Ill Communication's sure shot, Adam Yalck raps, I want to say a little something that's long overdue. The disrespect to women has got to be through. To all the mothers and the sisters and the wives and friends, I want to offer my love and respect to the end. But the end, unfortunately, would come too soon for MCA. There would be four more full-length albums, the most excellent Hello Nasty, To the Five Burrows, The Mix-Up and Hot Sauce Committee Part 2. Before, in 2012, Adam Yalck would succumb to cancer, dying at the age of just 47. The Beastie Boys moved beyond the crime and grime of late 70s and early 80s New York City, beyond the arrest and dick jokes of License to Ill, through the absurd Hollywood headiness of Paul's Boutique, and to the twin triumph of Check Your Head and Ill Communication, powered by Influence. The Influence of Great Music. Influence that led to the continued creation of great music through the end of the Beastie's career. A career that influenced culture in real time. A career that left the legacy of Influence to be mined for years to come. But the Beastie Boys couldn't move through the loss of Adam Yalke, whose influence on his bandmates was not only immeasurable, but also irreplaceable. I'm Jake Brennan, and this is Disgraceland. All right, I hope you guys dug this story on the Beastie Boys. The theme of this episode is obviously influence. So this week's question of the week is, which musician has had the most influence on you and why? And maybe the way they've lived their life, or the songs, their lyrics, the way they conduct themselves, their style, the type of influence can be anything, but we're all influenced by the music we listen to, even if we're not musicians. So think about it. Which musician has most influenced you and in what way? I want to know. Hit me up at 617-906-6638. Ask for Cookie Puss. Leave me a voicemail or a text for the best of men's clothing. That's at DisgracelandPod on the socials, Instagram, Facebook, X and DisgracelandPod at gmail.com. All right. Here comes some credits. Disgraceland was created by yours truly and is produced in partnership with Double Elvis, the Exactly Right Network and iHeart Podcasts. Credits for this episode can be found on the show notes page at disgracelandpod.com. If you're listening as a Disgraceland All Access member, thank you for supporting the show. We really appreciate it. And if not, you can become a member right now by going to disgracelandpod.com/membership. Members can listen to every episode of Disgraceland ad free. Rate and review the show and follow us on Instagram, TikTok, Twitter, and Facebook at DisgracelandPod and on YouTube at youtube.com/atdisgracelandpod. Rock-a-Rolla. All right, Disgos, what did you think of our crime and grime inspired Beastie Boys episode 6179066638 to let us know via voicemail and text or at DisgracelandPod on the socials. Dive into the Disgraceland Podcast archive of over 250 episodes. Guys, if you got questions on artists we may or may not have covered, hit me up. Rock-a-Roll-a.