And I’m heart broken. I hate cancer.
Just last night some friends and I were talking about what makes you a grown-up. Someone mentioned that when the toilet paper, napkins, tissues, and paper towels are all separate things, that makes you a grown-up. Another mentioned that buying a mini-van means you’re a grown-up. Today, I think that when the idols of your youthful rebellion start passing away, that means you’re a grown-up.
It says so much about the Beastie Boys that all of us at Todaysmama, grown-ups with kids, mortgages, bills, car pools, and professional careers, are still fans. We all remember License to Ill, Paul’s Boutique, Check Your Head, Ill Communication, Hello Nasty, To the Five Boroughs. We were kids and the Beasties were our music. MCA, along with Mike D, Ad-Rock, as well as Run DMC, LL Cool J, KRS-One, Queen Latifah, Eric B and Rakim, and the powerful Public Enemy, brought New York to the rest of America.
The Beastie Boys , our snot-nosed party kids, grew up, started championing the causes of human rights across the globe: advocating for women, the people of Tibet, and the down trodden. MCA was an activist, not just an artist. He encouraged us to look beyond our right to party, to fight to help each other.
We’re the first generation of parents who listened to Hip-Hop. Rock-n-Roll wasn’t ours, but Hip-Hop was. Our parents didn’t get it, told us it wasn’t music, but we knew better.
Thank you, MCA, for all the years of ill communication. You made it OK for white kids to like Hip-Hop, too.
A little Sabotage
YO, WHERE MY BEAT BOX AT?