When I was about 6, my older brother and I ran away from home because our mom took away our copy of Appetite for Destruction because it had a picture of a naked woman being raped by a robot on the inside. Fuck, I was 6… what the hell was a naked woman? Anyway, my brother and I decided that our mom was a filthy fascist and we jumped on our GT Performers to hit the open road, to be free of our tyrannical matriarch and her “Axl-hating” ways. Although we only ran away for a few hours that day, we ended up spending our escape smoking cigarettes in the woods and drinking the first Budweisers of our lives. Part of the afternoon’s hideout took place at my brother’s girlfriends house, Lisa Vanditti, a fake blonde who loved Dokken and would let us see her boobs for a dollar… she was some girlfriend. In the midst of all this excitement, I heard the greatest hip hop record of all time coming from her speakers, which were barely working, but still sounded absolutely magical and completely dangerous.

I was listening to the sounds of Paul’s Boutique. I thought the dudes that I was hearing were the coolest, most illest black dudes that I had ever heard. Lisa, who had now slid out of her Trixter t-shirt, exposing her enormous breasts, explained to me that “these guys are white Jewish kids from Brooklyn” as she lit up a Parliament smoke. My mind was totally blown for my all of my hip-hop heroes looked like Eric Sermon and Big Daddy Kane… at least that is what Yo! Magazine had told me. Who let these white kids into the hip hop party? I then realized, that the Beastie Boys party was down the street from everyone else’s… and it was a WAY better time. I also loved it because it gave my honky ass hope that I could one day rock the mic too. I immediately fell in love with Paul’s Boutique, an album that was as gritty and real as the streets of New York at that time.

Plain and simple, this album is hotter than Eva Mendez riding a mechanical bull on a hot summer night. This was the “golden years” of the Beastie Boys, when all they knew how to do was to party, drink beer, sleep with lots of women, party, drink beer, do drugs, and “rock a house party ‘til your hair turns grey”. These dudes successfully put out albums that were absolute genius, without one ounce of austerity within their approach. Paul’s Boutique is like hearing the sound of your friends raiding their parent’s liquor cabinet on record. “To All the Girls”, which is probably the greatest intro to any record of all time, starts the party riot, when, before you know what hit you, ‘Shake Your Rump” is all up in your grillpiece, grabbing your girlfriend’s ass, and drinking the last of your Shlitz. Also, before lawyers came and put their fucked up flag the music industry, you were actually allowed to *gasp* sample another artist. This is the best part of the record; samples from everyone from Funky Four Plus One to Pink Floyd are abundant and are the sprinkles to this yummy pot-infused cake of an album. Paul’s Boutique can get any party, bar mitzvah, bbq, post-funeral bash, bordello opening, or intervention started… pop it in and get fucking wild.

Steal this record.

Beastie Boys - Shake Your Rump

01 Shake Your Rump