Song of the Day: PTB, "Dark Horse"

Seven albums into the peerless career, Converge released their best-yet record, Axe to Fall. The kickoff track, "Dark Horse," is a beautifully violent pit-starter, a thrashcore slice of urgency.



Not since Reign in Blood has a metal record opened so ferociously. The main riff imagines a mathier, heavier Black Flag, propelled by a galloping rhythm section. Most bands need two singers to match how Jacob Bannon sings the verses and screams the chorus. The moment where Ben Koller's drums cut out for a split second before going right into blast beats may be the most adrenalizing note on record.

Punk is almost by definition too raw and sparse to lend itself to orchestration. You won't see a String Quartet Tribute to Minor Threat available anytime soon. Yet this keyboard orchestral arrangement of "Dark Horse" has my head moving up and down repeatedly.



Someone calling himself (I assume) PTB recorded this version with a Yamaha MO8 Synth. Programmed orchestras obviously aren't as exciting as the real thing, but even through a synthesizer it's revelatory to hear how well "Dark Horse" translates to an orchestral arrangement. I like how the piano, horns and strings all take parts of Kurt Ballou's guitar line--PTB's choices work, but they also leave room to wonder how much further "Dark Horse" can be explored. Maybe classical punk isn't such a bad idea.

For Johnny Tapia

Absent is a recent documentary that stars two of my artistic heroes, future Boxing Hall of Famer Johnny Tapia and Metallica's James Hetfield. Somehow, the big names haven't helped much with the movie's distribution--it's currently missing from Netflix and has only one comment on IMDB. Public interest in Absent will probably pick up now that Tapia has been found dead in his Albuquerque home.

Absent looks like a sad alternative to The Other F Word, a portrait of the emotional damage that comes with growing up without a father.



Tapia's demons gave the sweet science one of its most captivating stars, a throwback to the hard-living athletes of the early 20th century. He did backflips in the ring, cried in postfight interviews and won titles in three different weight classes. He willed himself to victory against bigger opponents and often helped his victims off the floor at the end of his fights. Remember Johnny Tapia today with this video of him overcoming a three-year suspension for cocaine abuse to win the WBO Super Flyweight title by a knockout.

"Start counting, and he'll get up at nine." 

--Wilson Mizner

The Other F Word

Even if Warped Tour bands leave you cold, or if you can't tell the difference between Black Flag and Blink 182, you'll find something to like about The Other F Word.



Directed by Andrea Blaugrund Nevins and distributed by Oscilloscope (Adam Yauch's company), The Other F Word follows Fat Mike, Lars Frederiksen, Jim Lindberg and several other punk rock dads while they balance their anti-authority principles with their authoritative new roles as parents. Watching conspicuously pierced and tattooed dudes taking their kids to the park and singing "Wheels on the Bus" should be a novelty, but thankfully the film never gets sappy. Instead, we get a thoughtful look at punk rock growing up, told with respect for both the genre and the families.

I love this clip with Flea and his daughter, Clara. I've been following the Red Hot Chili Peppers for long enough to know what a smart guy he is, but hearing him talk about "the classic parent attitude" vs. his own gave me a new level of respect for him. What a champ.



Mall-punks will watch the trailer and assume that this is an anti-punk, pro-families doctrine. They can stick to Hot Topic while the rest of us enjoy The Other F Word. Stream the full movie below:

Iron Maiden Memorial Day Playlist

Anti-war rallies would be more effective if they played more metal. Why is it always "Get Up, Stand Up" and never "War Pigs," "One" or "Civil War?" Few arts can depict the brutality of the battlefield as unnervingly as metal.

Bands have built careers on protesting war (Rage Against the Machine, System of a Down, Misery Index), even when the songs don't reflect their creator's own beliefs (Megadeth). Every time Lamb of God decry the government for mistreating its military, they are stepping into a pool with Slayer's "War Ensemble" and Sepultura's "Territory."

But before we get to an anti-war metal mix CD, remember that today is not about chickenhawk politicians who sacrifice the working class and stigmatize anti-war sentiments as being anti-troops. Today is about the brave men and women who risked and gave their lives in wars that, to paraphrase Trotsky, were interested in them, even if the fighters weren't interested in war. In modern music, no great band has honored these heroes more than Iron Maiden. Here's a playlist for today.

1. "Aces High" (from Powerslave, 1984)

Maiden's best show-opener starts with a history lesson (Churchill's "We Shall Fight on the Beaches" speech) and peaks with a chorus that soars as high as a Battle for Britain pilot. Watch out.



2. "The Trooper" (from Piece of Mind, 1983)

Inspired by Lord Tennyson's The Charge of the Light Brigade, "The Trooper" memorializes the British soldiers who died in the failed Crimean War charge. History books aren't as kind as they should be, so thank Steve Harris for taking it into his hands.



3. "Women in Uniform" (single, 1980)

Maiden hadn't found their best voice yet--they were still employing singer Paul Di'Anno and covering bands like Skyhooks, who wrote this well-meaning but stupid ode to a group that never gets enough credit. Some day women in combat will get the anthem that they deserve, but until then the least someone can do is Maidenize it.



4. "Where Eagles Dare" (from Piece of Mind, 1983)

"The world is grown so bad, that wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch," quoth the Bard in Richard III. Centuries later, the Shakespeare of Metal sung of those who are boldest when the world is at its worst.



5. "Die With Your Boots On" (from Piece of Mind, 1983)

A modern twist on the "With your shield or on it" adage? A tribute to a comically inaccurate Errol Flynn movie? This fan favorite is up for interpretation, but hear it today as a salute to the fearless armed forces.




Download here: Iron Maiden Memorial Day Playlist

Appetite for Destruction: "Paradise City"

Want to hear what a perfect song sounds like?



The day that aliens invade the Earth and threaten us with extinction unless we provide them with our greatest rock song, this is what I'll offer them. Hopefully the extra-terrestrials will have good taste.

How did a motley (not Mötley) band of gentlemen stumble onto a song like this? Who gave these guys seven minutes and a synthesizer and told them to not screw it up? The now iconic chorus was fought over and almost didn't make it to the record. Somehow it did, and note-for-note, every moment comes in at exactly the right time--the whistle, the "So far away" part, the false ending, the glorious two-minute outro. As a band, it's GNR's greatest performance, their audition for rock immortality.

There isn't much hope in following up "Paradise City" without getting obliterated. The players seem to know this--both Axl and Slash's projects having been closing shows with "Paradise City" for decades now. But on Appetite for Destruction, we're just six songs in, and haven't even gotten to their biggest hit yet. If it had all ended here, Guns N' Roses still would've claimed the most dynamite metal release in history. But even when they've created the perfect rock anthem, GNR are still five guys who don't know when to stop.

Song of the Day: Fishbone, "Sunless Saturday"

No one still needs to learn that happy music isn't written by happy people. Yet there's something shocking about all the misery in Everyday Sunshine: The Story of Fishbone, the Laurence Fishburne-narrated documentary about the world's most transcendent ska band. 



Onstage, Fishbone are a jubilant blast of acrobatics, stage dives and and singalongs, sons of James Brown and fathers of Andrew W.K. Watching peers (Red Hot Chili Peppers, Primus) and followers (Sublime, No Doubt) find the success that eludes Fishbone is sad, but seeing middle-aged Angelo Moore move back in with his mom, bassist Norwood Fisher charged with kidnapping the band's Rapture-pushing guitarist and nearly-empty record store signings for a band that once performed on SNL is downright disheartening. It's funny to watch no one show up to an Anvil show, but only because Anvil got a second chance.

Before Kendall Jones started believing that his bandmates were demons, he wrote one of Fishbone's best songs, "Sunless Saturday."



Fishbone were on a major label (but not for much longer) and had the budget to get Spike Lee to direct their music video. To Lee's credit, it catches some of the frenzied excitement of a Fishbone show without ever looking like a concert movie.

"Sunless Saturday" is heavy, in the way that something with horns and major key progressions can still sound like helter skelter. The melody's controlled chaos makes me wonder how the band lasted ten years before someone went insane.

It's isn't punk, funk, metal or ska--Wikipedia calls it "alternative," which confirms that no one really knew what to do with Fishbone. Everyday Sunshine interviewees argue that they "were too black," "weren't black enough," "were too ahead of their time" or "should have been less of a democracy," the latter point being the only one that Fishbone's records back up. But everyone seems to agree on "Sunless Saturday."

Appetite for Destruction: "Mr. Browsntone"

What is the secret to Guns N' Roses?

Answer: Izzy Stradlin.

Sure, Axl and Slash are the icons, Duff is the anchor and Steve Adler is the Ringo. But outside of the redhead, Izzy is the best writer. He also was the first to leave the band intentionally, but he left them with one of the best songwriting records in rock history--"Patience," "Think About You," "Pretty Tied Up," "14 Years," "Bad Obssesion" and even "Mr. Brownstone." Want to know how a band with three ex-Gunners could be as boring as Velvet Revolver? Because they don't have Izzy Stradlin.



"Mr. Brownstone" rides a Bo Diddley beat into an enticingly strange riff that sounds even more stoned than its narrator. It's a fabulous blend of the most-copied rhythm in rock music and an otherworldly Stradlin phrase, weirder than anything that The Clash, Stooges, Hüsker Dü or Led Zeppelin ever did with the Diddley measure.

The lyrics are a day-in-the-life-of-GNR story that probably left a few casualties. "Mr. Brownstone" is slang for heroin, although everyone that I've met who knows that learned about it from GNR. The chorus ("I used to do a little but a little wouldn't do it, so the little got more and more/I just keep trying to get a little better, said a little better than before") may be the definitive lyric for anyone who has ever lost self control.



Yowza, indeed.

Three years ago, my roommate and I saw a death metal show at Europa, with about five other attendees. The first act, Revocation, were months away from being America's best new metal band, as we learned while watching them honor "Mr. Brownstone" at the tail of their own terrific "Exhumed Identity." Kind of like how Bo Diddley surfaces on Appetite for Destruction.

Fun with Nirvana

Thank you, Richard.

Fun with "Sabotage"

With kids:



With legos:
Thank you, welltailoredsuit.

Fun with Slayer

Every song from Reign in Blood played at the same time:



The Tom Araya High-Pitched Scream Anthology:



Divine "Intervention:"

Appetite for Destruction: "Out ta Get Me"

"Out ta Get Me" is the first valley on Appetite for Destruction. Most great albums, and all the best ones, have a few songs that change the pace, direction and quality. These moments emphasize the best parts of the album by not being one of them.

Out of context, "Out ta Get Me" is one of the best rock songs of the '80s. The bridge could teach a class on guitar harmonies.



I wonder how many people took Axl's paranoid lyrics seriously when Appetite came out. In 1987, folks were probably pumping their fists to the "They won't catch me" chorus, but now that we've heard "One in a Million" and "Coma," "Out ta Get Me" reads more like a response to the Miranda rights than a barroom chant.

On Appetite, "Out ta Get Me" is the action movie sequence where the bad guy introduces himself by torturing and killing his first onscreen victim. It's unsettling, exciting and nobody's favorite part of the movie, but it builds the story and adds character. As much as I'd enjoy a movie of all action scenes, or an album of all "Nightrains," neither would be entirely effective. Die Hard needs Hans Gruber to kill Mr. Tagaki, and Appetite for Destruction needs "Out ta Get Me."

Acid Mothers Temple at the Mercury Lounge

"Last Tour in US & Canada" read the t-shirts at the Mercury Lounge's merch booth. Of course, these things have a way of changing, but for an underground band like Acid Mothers Temple dealing with the cost of flying over from Japan, it's a claim worth taking seriously.



It'll be the States' loss. AMT are best in the flesh, boiling down their unwieldy discography to its best songs and gracing their experiments with a mesmerizing performance. Songs that create a stoner background on tape catapult into a sampler-heavy improv, where Hawkwind is king and recorders are cool. Clad in Druid wear, and offering no hint that any of them had ever seen This is Spinal Tap, Acid Mothers Temple employed space rock riffage from planet free-psych to create a gnarly two-hour riff cycle.

Unlike nearly every American drone-metal act, there are no pretenses in the Temple. Rather than fall into Stephen O'Malley's real-metal-is-too-stupid-for-me shtick, Acid Mothers Temple are unabashed fans of their art. Like a psychedelic Guided by Voices, AMT perform like a middle-aged team of average Joes pretending to be rock stars in a garage after their 9-5s, practicing Ritchie Blackmore's stage moves while looking like they've raided his closet. The audience, exactly the kind of folks you'd expect to pick up acid rock vinyls with 20-minute songs, hung on to every note.

Openers The Phantom Family Halo played a likable form of alt-psychedelic rock, following a Jesus-pushing noise rocker whose act stopped being interesting when irony kicked in.

A Brief History of MCA

Metalhead of the Day: Lady Gaga

Say what you will about Lady Gaga, she loves her metal. And not in an ironic way.

Yes, that's an Anthrax shirt.

I like this interview for Rolling Stone where she talks about her experience at an Iron Maiden show. Hearing the Gaga rant about the devotion and cordiality of Maiden fans, the band's international success without ever having a "hit song" and box seats being "so not metal" makes her sound like the kind of girl you'd meet at Lucky 13. Listen to her stand her ground when the interviewer tries to goad her into the omnipresent Priest vs. Maiden argument, and hear her reach the logical conclusion, "Maiden changed my life."

On a recent tour, she performed a dance routine to the music of Metallica. "Enter Sandman," right? Nope, she dusted off "Metal Militia," the blistering final track from Metallica's most aggressive album, Kill 'Em All.

By now, she's probably played that song in more arenas than Metallica has. Can you imagine telling these gangly teenagers who are still getting their instruments stolen that the world's biggest pop star will be introducing their song to thousands of people every night in 30 years?



Thank you, Lady Gaga, for making the world a safer place for metal, and for keeping it raw, raw, raw-raw-raw.

Six Worst Mother's Day Songs

Mother's Day mixes are as much fun to make as they are to listen to, mainly for rediscovering the trove of great songs that would be terrible for the final playlist. Some of these songs are better than ones that made the cut, just not the kind of music that I'd dedicate to Ma Apatoff. One day these will get their own mix CD, but until then, here are the six worst Mother's Day songs.

Body Count, "Momma's Gotta Die Tonight"

Body Count's first LP is the Scarface of metal--too over the top to take seriously (no matter what Dan Quayle says) and somehow enduring. Ice-T's monologue is about four minutes too long, yet the song would be much worse without it.



Guns N' Roses, "Mama Kin"

Want to make it to hard rock stardom? Put "Mama Kin" on your first record--it worked for Aerosmith and Guns N' Roses. GNR improve on the original by picking up speed and removing the sucksophone, giving us a Stonesy rocker that might actually work on a Mother's Day mix, if not for Axl's introduction.



Mastodon, "Mother Puncher"

I love hearing Mastodon throw all their weight into a progression that plays like it's about to sweep your feet out from under you. From the sound of this song, a mother puncher is a hurricane at sea.



Misfits, "Mommy, Can I Go Out and Kill Tonight?"

"May I?"



Suicidal Tendencies, "I Saw Your Mommy"

"...and your mommy's dead." The second-most popular song from ST's first and best album is a gleeful exercise in good taste. In high school I put this on a mix for a girl, and learned to never do that again. 



Queen, "Tie Your Mother Down"

Proof that if not for all that ambition, Queen would've made a pretty great AC/DC. And that Freddie Mercury and Brian May can make anything sound like fun.

Boyz II Mom

My mom doesn't ask for much, except for a mix CD two days of the year. One of these days comes on a Sunday in May.



Boyz II Mom

1. The Beatles, "Mother Nature's Son"
2. Warren Zevon, "Mama Couldn't Be Persuaded"
3. Mr. T, "Treat Your Mother Right"
4. Ozzy Osbourne, "Mama, I'm Coming Home"
5. Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention, "Motherly Love"
6. Waylon Jennings & Willie Nelson, "Mammas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys"
7. Bob Dylan, "Mama, You Been on My Mind"
8. Funkadelic, "Cosmic Slop"
9. Marc Rizzo, "Mamasita"
10. John Lee Hooker, "Mama, You've Got a Daughter"
11. The Rolling Stones, "Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby, Standing in the Shadow?"
12. Neil Young, "New Mama"
13. Danzig, "Mother"
14. The Jackson 5, "Mama's Pearl"
15. 2pac, "Dear Mama"
16. Pink Floyd, "Mother"
17. Merle Haggard, "Mother Tried"
18. John Lennon, "Mother"
19. Johnny Cash, "Send a Picture of Mother"
20. Paul Simon, "That Was Your Mother"
21. The Beach Boys, "Mama Says"
22. Stevie Wonder, "Easy Goin' Evening (My Mama's Call)"

22 recordings of boys honoring moms in song.

With my mom's preferences in mind, metal is at a minimum. Ozzy was of course the first to spring up, and Danzig's "Mother" is almost as cuddly these days. Marc Rizzo from Soulfly pulls off an impressive flamenco number on "Mamasita," but Mom's tastes are more reflected in the Beatles and Stevie Wonder picks.

Of course a Mother's Day mix needs a lot of country ("Mama Tried" being the one I can relate to most,) and I got to rescue 2Pac and Pink Floyd tracks from records that I used to bother Mom with. I actually like both of them better in this context, and I'm hoping she will, too. With the Stones and Beatles, I shunned the obvious choices ("Mother's Little Helper," "Your Mother Should Know") and wound up with better songs. Not that I'm elitist enough to admit it.

Luckily, two of my favorite sources for music, Rob Sheffield and Sound Opinions, also came up with playlists for me to cherry pick from. This resulted in Funkadelic's terrific "Cosmic Slop," which I hadn't realized counts as a mom song, a wistful a capella number from the Beach Boys and most notably, "Treat Your Mother Right," which could not exist if not for mixes like this one.

Listening again, I'm wondering if the Zappa and John Lennon choices were appropriate. I guess that many boys have complicated feelings about their mommies.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom Apatoff.

Download here: Boyz II Mom

For Maurice Sendak

Metallica, "Where the Wild Things Are:"




Maurice Sendak, interviewed by metalhead Stephen Colbert:

The Colbert Report
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The Colbert Report
Get More: Colbert Report Full Episodes,Political Humor & Satire Blog,Video Archive

Beastie Week: "Too Many Rappers"

The Beastie Boys are famous for shining a light on rising hip-hop talents. They've taken The Roots and Talib Kweli on tour, rhymed with Q-Tip and Pharcyde and even let Kanye West appear in their "Triple Trouble" video in 2004. Less appreciated is the Beasties' tendency to enlist rap veterans and bring out the best in them, as they did with Nas on the Hot Sauce Committee Part Two.



Nas is a Queens-based rapper who gets great reviews for his street poet lyrics. Less commendable are his usually rhythmless, unimaginative beats. With the Beasties in tow, he's served with the kind of track his lyrics deserve, a bouncy Mix Master Mike beat with percussion that sounds like Stomp with trash can lids. The Beasties selflessly give Nas the chorus, although they're all included in the rejoinder, "One, two three/Too many rappers and there's still not enough MCs/It goes three, two, one/MCA, Ad-Rock, Mike D that's how we get it done."

The Beastie Boys were right, there are not enough MCs. And now there are even fewer.

Beastie Week: "Ch-Check It Out"

"Ch-Check It Out" was the first single from To the 5 Boroughs. It's a lovably mature, old school record for the 21st century, reverting to sparse production and relatively PG boasts. Some listeners accused the Beasties of playing it safe, although I'd argue that the album's divisiveness proves the critics wrong.

The New York Times' Stephanie Zacharek was one such critic, trashing "Ch-Check It Out" and its music video upon release and causing director Nathaniel Hornblower to write in.



To the Editor:

I had the great pleasure of reading your unsolicited critique of the ''Ch-Check It Out'' music video [''Licensed to Stand Still'' by Stephanie Zacharek, May 16]. It took some time to get to me, as it had to be curried (sp?) on goatback through the fjords of my homeland, the Oppenzell. And in the process the goat died, and then I had to give the mailman one of my goats, so remember, you owe me a goat.

Anyway, that video is big time good. Pauline Kael is spinning over in her grave. My film technique is clearly too advanced for your small way of looking at it. Someday you will be yelling out to the streets below your windows: ''He is the chancellor of all the big ones! I love his genius! I am the most his close personal friend!''

You journalists are ever lying. I remember people like you laughing at me at the university, and now they are all eating off of my feet. You make this same unkind laughter at the Jerry Lewis for his Das Verruckte Professor and now look, he is respected as a French-clown. And you so-call New York Times smarties are giving love to the U2 because they are dressing as the Amish and singing songs about America? (Must I dress as the Leprechaun to sing songs about Ireland so that you will love me? You know the point I make here is true!)

In concluding, ''Ch-Check It Out'' is the always best music film and you will be realizing this too far passing. As ever I now wrap my dead goat carcass in the soiled New York Times -- and you are not forgetting to buy me a replacement! Please send that one more goat to me now!

Eight years later, Zacharek has posted the following tweets:

In memory of Adam Yauch, a hilarious letter he wrote to the NYTimes in response to a review I wrote. (He was right.) http://nyti.ms/JSdXWK

@KateAurthur And that letter was two years before Borat, too. Genius
 
@SamuelAAdams I still owe him one goat, big-time.

Beastie Week: "Super Disco Breakin'"

Only a band as great as the Beastie Boys could release dozens of singles, two best-ofs and an extensive video collection without ever including "Super Disco Breakin'."

And your weekend starts in 5, 4, 3...



Reliving all the Beastie Boys records this week, I can say that Hello Nasty is my favorite. It's a culmination of the first four albums, building on elements of Licensed to Ill, Paul's Boutique, Check Your Head and Ill Communication while tying them together in a 22-song masterpiece that keeps on giving. How did I miss out on "Unite" over the first thousand listens?

The best part of "Super Disco Breakin'" and Hello Nasty is the chemistry. The Boys always flowed well together, but fifteen years into their adventure the Beastie Men are sharing punchlines, finishing each others' verses and cutting in and out of rhymes with professional deftness. On "Super Disco Breakin'," Mix Master Mike drives the beat, taking the wheel and letting the Beasties go nuts riding shotgun. Ever hear anyone try late '90s Beasties karaoke? It's hard enough for one guy, let alone three bouncing off each other.

Beastie Week: "Sabotage"

"Sabotage," how art thou so great? Is it the scalding tone of MCA's bass? The line about Buddy Rich flying off the handle? The pause? The Starsky and Horovitz music video, directed by pre-stardom Spike Jonze? The 1:52 mark?



Probably the 1:52 mark.

Beastie Week: "So What'cha Want"

How did the Beastie Boys approach writing Check Your Head? They were trying to live down their hit first record and live up to its flop follow-up. The Beasties ended up distancing themselves from both, picking up their old instruments and recording a 20-song college-rap collage that reads like it should be too smart to be catchy. That is until you hear "So What'cha Want."



As musicians, the Beasties are not virtuosos. I remember one review calling Mike D "Meg White's dad." But the Beastie Boys are never held back by their technical limits. Mike D's rhythm track on "So What'cha Want" provided the basis for the most infectious Beck song ever, while the chorus riff and sputtering organ are now lodged in hip-hop history. Pat Metheny wouldn't know what to do with an Ad-Rock progression.

It's still rare, but more hip-hop artists (Common, The Roots and Mos Def among them) use live instrumentation since "So What'cha Want" dropped in 1992. Even fewer artists were able to improve on the ideas that the Beasties brought up with Check Your Head, but some did, the most notable example being Ill Communication.

Beastie Week: "Hey Ladies"

For as long as there's been music, there's been Shout Out to the Ladies songs. Every songwriter has tried and every genre is overflowing. But even when competing with the entire history of music, the Beastie Boys come out on top.

I'm not a believer that rap or rock lyrics are poetry. Poetic, maybe, but someone printing out 2Pac's lyrics in a book does not make them poetry. That being said, I like the lyrics to "Hey Ladies" more than I enjoy most poems.



Hey ladies in the place I'm callin' out to ya
There never was a city kid truer and bluer
There's more to me than you'll ever know
And I've got more hits than Sadaharu Oh

Ton Thumb Tom Cushman or Tom Foolery
Date women on T.V. with the help of Chuck Woolery
Words are flowing out just like the Grand Canyon
And I'm always out looking for a female companion

That blend of nursery rhyme innocence, adolescent humor and sly references set a high standard for hip-hop. Coupled with the Beasties' flow, a head-spinning mix of call and response, harmonies and interjections, the call is downright irresistible.

Much has been made of how with today's licensing laws, a record like Paul's Boutique and songs like "Hey Ladies" are impossible to recreate. Disregarding that barrier, "Hey Ladies" would probably still stand supreme. Listen for the breakdown after each cowbell rejoinder. They're all different, switching keys, vocalists and instrumentation, and each time it's organic. If you're dancing, a real possibility if "Hey Ladies" is on, you might not even notice.

Sometimes when I teach a large group of girls, I drop a chorus from "Hey Ladies" to fire them up or make them laugh. Every time it works, and every time I mind-thank Ad-Rock, Mike D and MCA. The Beastie Boys radiated so much cool that in some circles, anyone who can sing the Beasties can be one.

Beastie Week: "No Sleep till Brooklyn"

One of the the best songs on Licensed to Ill takes its name from Motörhead, its riff from AC/DC and its solo from Kerry King. Who wants to tell me that the Beastie Boys aren't metal?



Maybe the Beasties themselves. Their 1986 "No Sleep till Brooklyn" video mocked the fashionable hair metal of bands like Whitesnake.

It's a funny song and video (wait for the guy in a gorilla suit,) but the Beasties are serious artists. Their greatest pop-metal mockery was in the music itself, a diamond-solid tribute to genuine hard rock and the greatest of all boroughs. Run-D.M.C. and Aerosmith's "Walk This Way," released the same year, gets all the credit for bridging rap and rock. But I prefer "No Sleep," which created an actual rap-rock song, rather than meeting the two halfway at pop.

"No Sleep Till Brooklyn" is harder to define than "Fight for Your Right" or "Brass Monkey," and it didn't hit as big. But it carved out a niche that a multi-platinum genre still hasn't caught up to.

For MCA

Years ago, my parents visited Europe with a small group of American tourists. An elderly couple from New York elated them with stories about their son, a musician. The kicker came a few days into the trip, when my grownups learned that the couple's son was a Beastie Boy.

I was home in Virginia, already an obsessed fan of Licensed to Ill and years away from appreciating it (or the rest of their albums) the way I do today. My parents delighted me with the story of their encounter and the Yauchs enthralled me with a visit to Virginia. If that weren't enough to blow my little Beastie brain, MCA sent me an autographed picture, emblazoned with the print "BENJAMIN, HOW GOES IT? LOVE, YAUCH."

Adam Yauch's passing last Friday at age 47 is devastating. As musicians, the Beastie Boys were the first hip-hop band to see unlimited potential in their art. Any time The Roots pick up instruments, Outkast writes rock songs, Eminem breaks pigmentation stereotypes or Danny Brown dazzles with his college MC wit, they are working with the Beasties' imagination. The skin-crawling failure of nearly all rap-rock only shows how hard the Beasties' craft is and how masterfully they defined it. Any encyclopedia of the world's most influential rock and hip-hop musicians is incomplete without MCA.

Said influence would mean little if the Boys didn't claim it with some of the the most fun, innovative and challenging music of the past 30 years. Few have equaled the Beasties for commercial and artistic success, and not even Prince, Madonna or Michael Jackson can match the Beasties' quality control. The Beastie Boys are too consistent for me to imagine a world without them.

Perhaps above all, the Beastie Boys were a team, a brotherhood that ran deeper than blood. There was no clear leader or spokesman, just three creative, socially-conscious smart-asses who built an industry with their own rules. The road to irrelevance is paved with clowns who played Hamlet, Dominoes who went unplugged and Police who picked up the lute, but somehow these most illin'est b-boys went intergalactic and grew even iller.

MCA has been described at the Beastie Boys' George Harrison, the quiet one who sought enlightenment for himself and equality for others. His introduction of Buddhist values and international influences on Ill Communication earned him re-evaluation from listeners who dismissed him for "Fight for Your Right." While other rap stars branched out to vanity projects, Yauch saved his empathy for Tibetan Freedom Concerts, Vote for Change tours, opening slots for little-known hip-hop talents and a production company for low-budget films. Even autographs for pubescent fans.

Adam Yauch's music and legacy can't, won't and doesn't stop.

Song of the Day: Slayer, "Angel of Death"

The news that Jeff Hanneman had caught a flesh-eating disease from a spider bite has elicited far more media awe than sympathy. It didn't help than Hanneman seemed to be recovering, or that he told a magazine "It turned out OK. Satan had my back," but over all he seemed too invincible for the disease to be a threat.

However, with a band statement making the case out to be worse than we originally thought, an appropriate amount of public concern is finally rising. Jeff Hanneman, his family and the most dangerous band in the world all have my best thoughts this week, plus the Song of the Day for Satanic Sunday.

Hanneman is probably the least-recognized member of Slayer. Dave Lombardo is the god, Kerry King is the spokesman and Tom Araya is the face, while Hanneman comes across as the least likely interview. But he also wrote Slayer's best song.



There has never been a greater intro in metal history. The opening riff, the invading drum patterns, the fretboard slide and then Araya's banshee howl redefined thrash metal in 30 seconds. With "Angel of Death" and the rest of Reign in Blood, Slayer packed the complexity of bands like Metallica into hardcore-based compositions, resulting in a new standard for loud and fast.

"Angel of Death" is auditory war zone, making it easy to lose track of how much goes into it. In 1986, Dave Lombardo was already using blasts to push the beat, something that's now a given in good metal. The progression starting at 1:39 has been sampled by everyone from Public Enemy to KMFDM. For some artists, it's the basis for an entire song, but for Jeff Hanneman and Slayer it's just a movement.

The lyrics sound improvised, although Columbia Records took them seriously enough to halt Reign in Blood's release. It took Def Jam, a hip-hop label, to give Reign in Blood a home, and its founder to produce the record. Rick Rubin has since found more acclaim, but none of his projects have produced a better song than this one.

Here's Slayer, demolishing every other artist at the inaugural Ozzfest with "Angel of Death."

Appetite for Destruction: "Nightrain"

"A lot of these singers, they've got to have a song that tells you that they can make it, and I don't know about that, I think that's a big turn-off. You go up there, and you're saying all this stuff, and I don't think it turns girls on...anyway, I did one of these songs, just in case it works."
--Shel Silverstein, "I'm So Good that I Don't Have to Brag"

Normally I can't stand any one of thousands of "I'm so bad" songs. Watching Michael Jackson feign street smarts in the "Bad" video is almost as embarrassing at the generation of hip-hop anthems that followed suit. But if you can back up your talk in the music, you join one of the one of the most exclusive clubs in lyricist history. I believe James Brown when he's Super Bad, and I believe GNR when they're on the Nightrain.



"Nightrain" is my favorite song on Appetite for Destruction. There's something intangible about the rhythm in the verses that brings the narrator to life, even before Axl introduces him. The chorus is learnable within seconds. The breakdown duel between Slash and Izzy Stradlin' is as exciting as any rock music I've ever heard. If Slash had died in 1987, and reportedly he almost did, the outro solo in "Nightrain" already would have cemented his Guitar God status.

In Slash's autobiography, he names "Nightrain" as his favorite GNR song to play live, but you can tell just from watching him perform. Onstage, he's Axl's foil, the cool, laconic complement to the mad frontman--Keith to Axl's Mick, if you will. Here in Tokyo, Slash almost breaks character, unable to contain the excitement.



Axl, on the other hand, plays a gasoline-chugging manimal with one chance left in a nine-life cat, ready to wake up his honey so she can take her credit card to the liquor store. On record, he's one of rock music's most engaging storytellers, aligned with Jerry Lee Lewis in his ability to enthrall an audience with his character until his actual behavior gets in the way. But none of GNR's infamy will ever overshadow the perfect rock song that they created with "Nightrain."

I love this show-opening version, from Live Era '87-'93. Listen for the play on KISS' "You wanted the best, you got the best" slogan, and for a performance that catches GNR on top of the world.

Song of the Day: Gojira, "L’Enfant Sauvage"

After being promised a new EP last year and even getting a face-melting sample track featuring Devin Townsend and Meshuggah's Fredrik Thordendal, I'm hesitant to believe that the new Gojira album, L'Enfant Sauvage, will actually arrive in stores on June 26. However, now that the title track has hit the web, I'm almost too distracted to care.



"L'Enfant Sauvage" is everything that one could hope for in a new Gojira song. Joe Duplantier's impeccable downstrokes infiltrate his brother Mario's drumming, some of the busiest in modern metal, with a chemistry that recalls the best guitarist/drummer siblings (Van Halens, Abbotts, Cavaleras.) The chorus riff shows the band hunting for new extremities. The ferocious bridge is one of the most dazzling things that Gojira has ever recorded. Joe's production improves with the band's ambitions. Start hoping for an exciting Presidential race, because Album of the Year might be over.

Operation Torche

How long until Torche is on FM radio? On Harmonicraft, Miami's top sound machine sounds like they're seconds away from firebombing the Modern Rock airwaves. If they were on a major, it probably would've already happened.

On their last full-length, Meanderthal, Torche played breakneck melodies that usually ingratiated and ended by the two-minute mark. Here the songs are more fleshed-out, losing some of their Pollardian appeal but rewarding their Foo-on-Fire choruses with more breathing room. "Letting Go" packs a Bo Diddley bounce into a punk-metal riot, and "Walk it Off" and "Sky Trials" add new levels of musicanship to the band's short-song mastery.

But most of Harmonicraft is about the melodies, sky-high, guitar-driven fist-pumpers that dig out the punk elements of Siamese Dream. Hearing Steve Brooks and new guitarist Andrew Elstner find major key glory on "Snakes are Charmed," bake drummer Rick Smith in the instrumetal (sic) heaven of the title track or come up with song titles like "Kiss Me Dudley" is a pleasure that everyone needs to hear this year. Especially Clear Channel.

Rammstein at the Nassau Coliseum

Did anyone need a Sprockets reunion? How about an episode wherein the cast rides a gigantic erupting phallus while trying to find as many ways as possible to burn down the Nassau Coliseum? After last Saturday, in Long Island, the answers are officially "Yes" and "More often."



Rammstein has gone as long as nine years between US visits, both in part to their expensive touring costs and America's post-Great White laws. When they do stop by, the fans are in rabid droves with a band t-shirt ratio that rivals KISS. The similarities don't end there--Rammstein also aim for the Greatest Show on Earth, loaded with fire, props, fire, costumes, fire, fire, a fundustrial soundtrack and more fire. It's too bad the name "Porno for Pyros" is already taken.

For American fans, who appeared to make up about 25% of the audience, Rammstein follow the Borat Principle, wherein people will let you get away with being weird if they assume that it's a foreign custom. The band entered, bearing torches, on a smoking bridge that dropped down from the arena's ceiling. Keyboardist Christian "Flake" Lorenz, decked out in a a sparkling body suit, spent most of the show either on a teadmill or riding a rubber raft aboard the GA. Frontman Till Lindemann donned enormous metallic angel wings that shot flames. Lorenz was cooked inside a pot engulfed in flames.

Call these acts gimmicks, but Rammstein are undeniably master pyrotechnicians and stuntmen. The guitarists' masks shot out flame geysers that sent sweat-inducing heat waves into the stands. The words "fireworks" and "sparkler" can't properly convey what the band did with bazooka-and-crossbow-shaped devices.

If you weren't there, you're probably wondering how the music was. No one will mistake Rammstein's dance-metal for Nine Inch Nails, but songs like "Engel," "Du Hast" and "Du Riechst So Gut" are as catchy as workout music gets. With or without flamethrowers.

Henry Rollins on Big Think

Letter to a Young American:



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