Beastie Boys

If you read the new book Def Jam: The First 25 Years, available now, you can read in black and white how much disdain I have for these cats. When I was coming up and was dying to have Red Alert play my song in the LQ, the Beasties were getting the club poppin’ with "Hold It Now, Hit It."

Even worse, black girls LOVED THEM. Let's be 100 about things, that is the most important part of this game called rap: having hot black and Latino chicks want you. (Due to the overwhelming growth of hip-hop culture these days you have your pick of hot chicks who dig an emcee, but back in my day it was either Chocolate or Butter Pecan—and that is that).

Our issues with the Beasties continued after meeting them, spilling over into diss records and spewing venom in articles. When my dear friend Q-Tip went and did songs with them, I cut him off, thinking he had no loyalty. But Tip was right to do joints with them. They were dope, and I was a hater when I should have been an appreciator.

If Mike D is the Leader, and Yauch is the Coach, then MCA is the Frat Boy. His infectious nasal delivery makes you want to grab someone by the neck and either toss a beer down their throat and just bug out and dance with them.

Look, you can argue that their brand of hip-hop was frat-boy party rap, that it was not as distinguished as the type of emcees I admired—Rakim, Big Daddy Kane, Chuck D, and KRS. But one thing is clear: they B-Boys are dope and their music is timeless, including their new album and the joints they did with Nas and my personal favorite "Don't Play No Game That I Can't Win" featuring Santi Gold. I tip my glass of Lemon NUVO to you boys. Shalom Biotch.

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