"a fish, a barrel, and a smoking gun"
There's a significant argument among those who
follow such things as to
whether the Beastie
Boys' journey from assholes
to artistes is best expressed by the contrast between the
Licensed to Ill tour's inflatable
penis and the Free Tibet concerts' penetrating afflatus, or by
the difference between "Brass
Monkey" and "I Don't Know," the tuneless quasi-love
song from Hello Nasty.
the real sign that the Beasties have come perilously close to
squandering their lifetime supply of cred is the fact that their latest
albums have included lyric sheets.
The assumption that we might care what the Boys were actually trying to say (instead of simply being amused by the noises they made in attempting to say it) has threaded through their anarcho-capitalist approach to empire since day one, of course. We suffered Grand Royal the magazine because its ineptness (bad writing, slovenly scheduling, addled subject matter) was genuine (not some Urban Outfitted sneak attack on authenticity). We suffered X-Large because its ineptness seemed designed to take hard-earned money out of the pockets of suburban moms and dads via the children they supported. We even suffered Grand Royal the label because we kind of like the idea of child labor.
But lyric sheets? Isn't it enough that they made the '70s cool to a generation of Beavis and Butt-heads? Given the extent of their aesthetic and cultural leadership, it's conceivable that they could bring back the '80s as well - all it would take is one well-placed photo of Ad-Rock in a Member's Only jacket, of Mike D in a mullet, and soon we'd have the Spin fashion spread that takes place on the set of Heavy Metal Parking Lot. They have that kind of power, we've seen it at work, and they give us lyric sheets. We had hoped for more from the boys who once dared to mock-fuck cans of Bud onstage, who sang odes to Carvel ice cream cakes, who embraced stupid so hard we forgot what it meant to be smart.
courtesy of the Sucksters