dee_bee_76
06-14-2004, 08:18 PM
Beastie Boys: Fighting too hard for rights?
By Edna Gundersen, USA TODAY
Struggling in that awkward boys-to-men stage, the Beastie Boys seem to be changing their party affiliation from a drink-till-you-drop ethos of the mid-'80s to the sobering partisan politics of 2004.
It has been 18 years, a hip-hop eternity, since Adam Yauch (MCA), Mike Diamond (Mike D) and Adam Horovitz (Adrock) released their debut, Licensed to Ill, the first rap album to reach No. 1.
Returning after a six-year hiatus, the trio renews its license on To the 5 Boroughs (* * 1/2 out of four), a throwback to simple loops and clean breakbeats and a retreat from the overly elaborate constructions on 1998's Hello Nasty.
The threesome, one of the few acts to bridge hip-hop and rock, has maintained relevance and popularity while weathering each genre's volatile shifts, experimenting with styles and building an activist movement to support Tibet.
Commercially, the new album may not live up to the breathless anticipation that led to forecasts of a million-selling opening week (500,000 is more likely). Though no bottle rocket at top 40, first single Ch-Check It Out is No. 1 on the modern-rock chart after six weeks.
Creatively, Boroughs is a mixed neighborhood. On Triple Trouble and An Open Letter to NYC, snappy rhymes and sonic thump combine in a winning display of Beastie economy, a formula the Boys fail to apply uniformly. Thematically, they sustain their frat-rap image as classless clowns with hilarious boasts and lowbrow zingers, but they also spout sincere (often too sincere) and furious rants on foreign policy, global unity and post-9/11 healing.
Much of Boroughs, as the title suggests, is an unabashed valentine to New York, with heartfelt references not only to the pain of the Sept. 11 attacks but also to the city's defiance and resilience.
The album, packed with as many political barbs as knucklehead gags, takes swipes at President Bush and his war team, suggesting on Time to Build, "Maybe it's time we impeach Tex."
The Boys, pushing 40 and a Zen agenda, clearly are aiming to wedge a grown-up dimension into their bratty persona. But the political tirades lose steam fast, and the Manhattan musings ultimately feel dated and sentimental.
Like Eminem, the Beasties excel at mischief, wordplay and immaturity. Their snide pop-culture romps and schoolyard taunts are sublimely dopey, while their social commentaries have the depth of campaign banners.
The fun side of Boroughs recalls rap's old-school slams and MC battles before the art of bragging lost its sense of humor and devolved into boring bling-bling inventories.
Let Bruce Springsteen and U2 salve our psychic wounds. We need the Beastie Boys for comic relief.
By Edna Gundersen, USA TODAY
Struggling in that awkward boys-to-men stage, the Beastie Boys seem to be changing their party affiliation from a drink-till-you-drop ethos of the mid-'80s to the sobering partisan politics of 2004.
It has been 18 years, a hip-hop eternity, since Adam Yauch (MCA), Mike Diamond (Mike D) and Adam Horovitz (Adrock) released their debut, Licensed to Ill, the first rap album to reach No. 1.
Returning after a six-year hiatus, the trio renews its license on To the 5 Boroughs (* * 1/2 out of four), a throwback to simple loops and clean breakbeats and a retreat from the overly elaborate constructions on 1998's Hello Nasty.
The threesome, one of the few acts to bridge hip-hop and rock, has maintained relevance and popularity while weathering each genre's volatile shifts, experimenting with styles and building an activist movement to support Tibet.
Commercially, the new album may not live up to the breathless anticipation that led to forecasts of a million-selling opening week (500,000 is more likely). Though no bottle rocket at top 40, first single Ch-Check It Out is No. 1 on the modern-rock chart after six weeks.
Creatively, Boroughs is a mixed neighborhood. On Triple Trouble and An Open Letter to NYC, snappy rhymes and sonic thump combine in a winning display of Beastie economy, a formula the Boys fail to apply uniformly. Thematically, they sustain their frat-rap image as classless clowns with hilarious boasts and lowbrow zingers, but they also spout sincere (often too sincere) and furious rants on foreign policy, global unity and post-9/11 healing.
Much of Boroughs, as the title suggests, is an unabashed valentine to New York, with heartfelt references not only to the pain of the Sept. 11 attacks but also to the city's defiance and resilience.
The album, packed with as many political barbs as knucklehead gags, takes swipes at President Bush and his war team, suggesting on Time to Build, "Maybe it's time we impeach Tex."
The Boys, pushing 40 and a Zen agenda, clearly are aiming to wedge a grown-up dimension into their bratty persona. But the political tirades lose steam fast, and the Manhattan musings ultimately feel dated and sentimental.
Like Eminem, the Beasties excel at mischief, wordplay and immaturity. Their snide pop-culture romps and schoolyard taunts are sublimely dopey, while their social commentaries have the depth of campaign banners.
The fun side of Boroughs recalls rap's old-school slams and MC battles before the art of bragging lost its sense of humor and devolved into boring bling-bling inventories.
Let Bruce Springsteen and U2 salve our psychic wounds. We need the Beastie Boys for comic relief.