Almost two years after she self-released the album, Funstyle, Liz Phair finally got around to making a video for its best song, a hateful attack on Andy Slater, the man who convinced her to turn her back on her fans and work with the Matrix to re-invent herself as a second-rate, “20-years-later” Avril Lavigne. My reaction at the time was exactly like Duckie when Andie goes out with Blane. But here’s the thing: Slater was never like Blane; he was totally Steff. It pisses him off that he can’t buy people’s respect.

Anyway, just like Duckie, I threatened to stop caring about Liz Phair (“Maybe for the first time in your life I WON’T BE THERE!”). But of course, just like Duckie, I came back. When she released the outrageously quirky Funstyle, I got the joke and reviewed it positively. “And He Slayed Her” is one of the highlights of that album.

I mean, what kind of kid were you when you were a kid?
What kind of man would do what you did?
What kind of life did you think you were gonna live
When everyone in town put a price on your head?

In other Liz Phair news, she’s streaming a new song from an upcoming soundtrack album.

Stream: Liz Phair – “Dotted Line” with A.R. Rahman

The movie is called “People Like Us” and its soundtrack is due June 19 on Lakeshore Records.

In even more potentially exciting news, Phair recently tweeted (to Ryan Adams of all people!) that she’s got some new demos and she’s “going home (Chicago) to record them old school.” So…feel free to get cautiously excited about that.

As record companies become less and less relevant in today’s digital age, the story of The Beatles’ own foray into the record business stands to risk its own extinction. While it is exciting to watch the industry transform back into a singles-based culture with the gap between musician and audience shortening, it’s easy to forget that record labels at one time were a vital chain in the music industry.

The Beatles were one of the first bands who were keenly aware of this power, watching themselves become delegated to the sidelines when it came to matters of their label, Parlophone in the U.K. and Capitol here in the States.

The discord was so great that the band not only set about creating their own label as soon as their existing contracts ran out, they also set about changing the very idea of what a record company could be. From their perspective, most of the bigger labels of the day were filled with tenured music folks who had no real reason to change. But to the younger artists, they were seen as roadblocks to creative will, challenging everything including the very manner in which their music was recorded.

There would be none of that within Apple Records.

The Beatles invested themselves into this new record label that would change all of this. Not only would the new venture find certain success with any Beatles related product that was released, it would also find a curious pattern to the band member’s personal stamp of approval to any project that they brought to fruition. They resembled their own tastes, for sure, but the releases also mirrored the member’s own worldview.

Strange Fruit: The Beatles’ Apple Records documents the life cycle of the Fab 4’s project. From Apple Records’  Utopian beginnings to its obligatory legal scavenging in the mid-70s, this documentary–made without the band’s consent–details the curious story of the label that turned out to be so much more than the boutique created by ego and fame. Instead, it was a label created with more good intention than business acumen.

As a kid, I associated Apple Records with the Beatles, or their solo counterparts. I remember Ringo’s “Back Off Boogaloo” had a blue apple while my copy of Let It Be came with a Red Delicious label.

It wasn’t until I got Badfinger’s Straight Up album that I became aware of other artists besides the Beatles that were also housed on the Apple label. Years later when I became fully enthralled with Beatlemania I discovered the full lengths of what the label actually was, and even then I’m sure I didn’t have a full appreciation of what they were trying to achieve.

Strange Fruit gives novices and even well read fans a comprehensive overview of their initial forays into the record industry with personal antidotes from some of the label’s first signings.

As expected, John’s first projects involved Yoko Ono, including their infamous Two Virgins release as well as their subsequent Wedding Album complete with a copy of John and Yoko’s marriage certificate, a booklet, and even a photo of the couple’s wedding cake.

Lennon was also responsible for signing David Peel, as well as coordinating a release for Elephant Memory, his backing band for Sometime In New York City release. It’s obvious that Lennon’s choices were music of the street and an aural diary of his new home, New York City.

However, he deferred much of his focus on Apple to making sure Yoko Ono was provided the best of everything when it came time for her annual releases. The label executives, placed at the behest of the band, were very aware that they were to spare no expense when it came to a new Yoko Ono record, even when the accountants couldn’t help notice that she was one of the lowest selling artists on the roster.

Strange Fruit hints at this and to this day, even the artists that may have suffered from the lack of budget tread quietly on the Yoko word. Listening to some of these less notable artists, you begin to formulate your own opinion if an extra advertising budget would even make much of an impact on sales.

You also get the sense that these bands were at the mercy of the Beatles themselves, whose flight of fancy could spell the end of other artists careers whenever the novelty of being an A&R executive ran out.

Ringo’s attention was the most brief, kicking off the label’s first release: a one copy only release of “The Lady Is A Champ” re-titled “Maureen Is A Champ,” a birthday present from Ringo to his wife for her 21^st birthday. The record was never officially released to the public and aside from a few singles the Beatle drummer coaxed along the way early on, his true passion seemed to be with films, both behind and in front of the camera.

If one were to gauge the commercial success of the Beatles’ own stable, you’d have to acknowledge McCartney’s out of the gate smash of Mary Hopkin’s “Those Were The Days.” McCartney found the song, an old Russian standard, being used in a film, fell in love with it. He paired a young Welsh girl with the song that kept circling his head, and the result was the second release in Apple’s catalog and a worldwide smash.

McCartney also provided one of his songs to members of The Ivey’s, a Welsh band that Beatle roadie Mal Evans thought the world of, to the point where he approached nearly every Beatle to okay their signing. He got a receptive ear from Paul, who handed the band his demo for “Come And Get It” with firm instructions to not change a thing when re-doing it. They didn’t. And with a quick name change to Badfinger, they found “Come And Get It” as their first worldwide hit.

It was George Harrison who found the most fertile ground with Apple Records, taking every opportunity to find talent that may not have been the most commercially viable, but instead, the most spiritually satisfying. He was first tallied with the responsibility finding an outlet for Jackie Lomax, actually one of Brian Epstein’s findings who was well known locally. When Epstein committed suicide in 1967, Lomax found all of his good fortunes suddenly slipping away. Harrison put his hand in the ring and turned Lomax’s debut album into a pet project, calling up other Beatles and other famous friends to help fill out the arrangement.

The sound was not the same as Lomax’s versions, but when you’re being directed by a Beatle and he hands over your first “hit,” a strangely arranged song called “Sour Milk Sea,” you don’t refuse it even when it sounds like nothing that would make its way up the charts.

He coordinated the Radha Krishna Temple recording including the infamous “Hare Krishna Mantra” that progressively minded FM stations around the world would play on occasion in their free-format playlists.

George worked with Ravi Shankar for the Concert For Bangladesh and even released a live Shankar album shortly afterward but it wasn’t before he too lost interest, intrusting the few remaining items on his plate to be completed by longtime friend Klaus Voormann.

Not only were the funds of Apple Records’ budget becoming increasingly drained, but so were the creative forces behind it.

One of the most notable Apple Records’ releases was the solo debut effort by James Taylor. Since Peter Asher’s first chart entry as Peter and Gordon composed by his sister’s boyfriend, Paul McCartney, his ties to the band were strong enough that he became one of Apple Record’s first A&R men.

Asher’s first discovery was Taylor, and he managed to get a good size promotional budget for his debut release. It sold well, but not at the levels that Asher achieved with other labels when he took Taylor’s contract as part of his own resignation.

The producers of Strange Fruit wisely keep a wide birth between the inevitable tales of the legal wrangling that everyone faced in this experiment of making a label entirely out of the creative engine of some very talented people. But some very talented people try to work beyond their capabilities and often the results are poor.

And The Beatles were not very business-minded at all, shoring up their own deficiencies with such sharks like Alan Klein who could see nothing in the Utopian blueprint that the Beatles dreamed except a never-ending way to bleed all of those poor hippie schmucks all the way to bank.

Even without much on the label’s legal story, Strange Fruit remains a very calm, collected, and somewhat long-winded documentary. The interviews are somewhat relevant, but they contain none of the history divulging tales that would make this documentary a vital artifact.

It’s best appreciated by Beatlemaniacs who want a glimpse into the Beatles’ entrepreneurial spirit built on a wonderful platform of whimsy and good intentions.

But even inside those good intentions was a project both naïve and poorly executed. Strange Fruit does not hold back at these unflattering moments, but instead it forgives it all with the same rose colored lenses that only a true fan would use.

Everyone seems to acknowledge the folly of the whole thing with an almost youthful shrug. It suggests that it was a learning model for sure, but during the brief moment it shined, Apple Records sounded like the not only the place to work, but also just the place to be.

Someone else, though, had the brilliant idea to suggest The Rolling Stones‘ Sticky Fingers. In order to do it right, KDTU recruited Anders Osborne, a Swedish singer/songwriter and guitar player via New Orleans, to help present the record in all its fullness. Typically, they will play a set of KDTU songs, then bring Osborne out for the Sticky Fingers set. Sometimes, they had Osborne open up with his own set as well. I trolled through the various audience recordings of Sticky Fingers shows from late 2011 and early 2012, and my gut and ears tell me this show is the one to listen to:

Full show: February 11, 2012 – Mr. Small’s Theater, Pittsburgh, PA

Each of the tracks below are pulled from the Pittsburgh, PA show. Enjoy!

1. Karl Denson’s Tiny Universe – “Brown Sugar” “This first song… is about interracial sex!” So sayeth Karl Denson at the beginning of this track. Which makes me think that when my parents named one of our dogs Brown Sugar, that may have been an inappropriate use of the song name.

2. Karl Denson’s Tiny Universe – “Wild Horses” This may be my all time favorite Rolling Stones song. Keith Richards could write some songs back in the day… Nicely executed here.

3. Karl Denson’s Tiny Universe – “Can’t You Hear Me Knockin’” Whenever I hear the original by the Stones, I think of Scorsese’s Casino. We’ve even highlighted another cover version of this song (by Umphrey’s McGee) on Five From the Archive before. If you’re feeling really nerdy today, you can compare the two.

4. Karl Denson’s Tiny Universe – “Bitch” I love this song. All covered in grit and sweat.

5. Karl Denson’s Tiny Universe – “Dead Flowers” So many great tracks on this record, and this is one of them. Ever heard Townes Van Zandt do this on his Roadsongs album? Just stunningly great.

Atlanta Rhythm Section, Champagne Jam

How do you go from playing a gig for the President of the United States on the South Lawn of the White House to nothing in three years? Because if I’m reading the Atlanta Rhythm Section’s bio correctly, these hillbillies from Georgia were an even bigger bust than Jimmy Carter, managing to squander a top ten album that went platinum in just six months in 1978 to have all but disappeared by the time Ronald Reagan took over in Washington.

Champagne Jam is worthy of every bit of its sales success, as it’s perhaps the smoothest blend of southern rock and pop ever recorded. That ARS began careening into obscurity immediately after releasing it only makes sense in the way that a redneck lottery winner can find himself broke after just a few years of living the good life – and have nothing to show for it but a monster truck and a Jet Ski.

Putting this one on my turntable, the first thing I notice is that the sound is fantastic. Champagne Jam was recorded at what was perhaps the pinnacle of analog recording technique and you can certainly hear it. Whatever you do, avoid firing up Spotify to listen to this, because it will not sound good. I wouldn’t even dream of owning this album in a format other than vinyl, not any more than I would consider drinking beer out of a plastic bottle.

The sound here is so live and real that it’s hard not to want to listen to Champagne Jam just to admire the precision of the recording. It’s no wonder, as this is a band that had made its living as session players, and they were bona fide studio pros. The guitar and bass tones are out of this world, fat and punchy. The vocals have that high-in-the-mix quality that I associate with 80’s Top 40 music, like Madonna and Wham. And the drums! On this album they sound rounded and full, like you can actually hear the air moving.

While not every cut on the record is worthy of as much praise as its overall sonic qualities, there are plenty of standouts. “I’m Not Gonna Let It Bother Me Tonight” may not be a lyrical masterpiece, but anyone who can’t get behind the notion that the solution to all our problems is to get out and have a good time should probably be listening to a different band. The title track is as catchy as a bass fishing tournament, with some nice little drum, bass, guitar and keyboard solos that really show off the tightness of the group. A shame that we have to wait until the end of side one to hear it.

Side two is even stronger, opening with “Imaginary Lover,” the group’s big hit, which charted as high as seven. It’s a medium-tempo track that’s so perfectly calibrated to the Lite Beer From Miller era that it sounds like any number of pop crooners could have paid to dub in their vocals. “The Ballad of Lois Malone” borrows that same great blues riff that powers ZZ Top’s “Jesus Just Left Chicago” and AC/DC’s “Ride On.” The final two tracks, “The Great Escape” and “Evileen” provide some measure of understanding for why Pandora will inevitably spit out Steely Dan within the first few songs of a newly created ARS station.

But please, don’t go that route. Yeah, I know, finding some modern way to listen to ARS might be more convenient or even put a few pennies in the pockets of these guys, but no matter how bad I feel about their blowing it 30 years ago, that’s no reason to compromise the joy of dropping your stylus on this album.

Runout Groove: A record as records were meant to be. The medium is the message.

Polydor PD-1-6134, 1978

Atlanta Rhythm Section: allmusic.com, Wikipedia, Amazon
Original photos copyright 2012 Jeff Sabatini

Dawes has an obvious affection for Jackson Browne. Singer Taylor Goldsmith’s voice sounds so similar to Browne’s, it took me a long time to realize that Browne contributed vocals to “Fire Away” on last year’s Nothing Is Wrong. They even played a couple of songs together for Occupy Wall Street in December. And now Dawes faithfully covers Browne’s song from his 1972 self-titled debut.

Video: Jackson Browne – “Something Fine” (Old Grey Whistle Test, 1976)

Via Kill Rock Stars

The running joke with Saint Vitus’ 1986 record Born Too Late was that it confirmed what everyone already knew about the band. It’s like someone stumbled across a lost tribe of the Sons of Silence motorcycle club where downers was part of their food pyramid and the only music they had was an 8-track of Masters Of Reality that played on an endless loop.

Life got mundane for these Earthmovers, so they picked up some instruments and proceeded to break down those Sabbath riffs into their most basic elements, slowing down the tempo until the entire thing sounds like it’s in death throes.

There was no such thing as “doom metal” back then. Instead, Saint Vitus looked like an out-of-touch bunch of stoners who perfected a faithful reproduction of drop D horrorshow and blatant Sabbath worship.

Their records–wonderfully out of place on the hugely influential SST label–all sounded like they were recorded on barely working studio equipment with anything above 10 kHz not even registering because of the primordial ooze of guitarist Dave Chandler selfishly taking over everything else in the mix with motor oil cans of fuzz.

As you can probably guess, Saint Vitus were never appreciated as much as they should have been during their original tenure.

By the time of their second decade, the fruits of their labors began to show in the work of their young admirers, but with Saint Vitus’ sonic quicksand being a decidedly acquired taste, they limped through changes in vocalists while remaining embedding in their underground status.

It’s been seventeen years since their last album, Die Healing, a swan song featuring the band’s original vocalist Scott Reagers that seemed to end the band’s legacy on a high note.

We’ve seen a reunion of the original members since that time, and we’ve witnessed the tragic passing of original drummer Armando Acosta. What we haven’t seen is a return of vocalist Scott “Wino” Weinrich, and the line-up that some fans consider to be the band’s peak.

In fact, you’d have to go back even farther than the last album since we last heard Wino front Vitus. It was a series of live shows and the addition of new drummer Henry Vasquez that prompted the creative spark that brings us Lillie: F-65

The curious title comes from a particular downer that guitarist Dave Chandler enjoyed back in the day, no doubt fueling the incredible slow tempo that is at vital to this band as the sludge it hermetically seals inside each measure.

For me to instruct novices to begin with Saint Vitus’ earlier catalog would be a disservice to how good Lillie: F-65 really is. Within seconds, Chandler’s guitar picks up exactly where it left off nearly two decades ago, still as primordial as ever.

New drummer Vasquez speaks the same language as the late Armando, but he beats the skins in such a way that it’s tough to gauge if he’s paying tribute to his predecessor or trying to hammer nails into the coffin of his legacy. He’s heavier than Armando while unmistakably fitting into the line-up better than anyone else who may have applied for the position.

Add these two forces together and you’ve got an album of such stunning aggression that you’d be forgiven if you view Sabbath’s own reunion with ambivalence. With nothing to gain, Saint Vitus seems to pride itself on proving how little they’ve moved their metal glacier from its original placement and how even the most rudimentary arrangements can reign as the heaviest element on metal’s periodic table.

The album’s last two selections serve as the highlight of this wonderfully brief effort. At only a hair over a half-hour, “Dependence” is a seven-minute cautionary tale of excess, complete with over two minutes of ear-damaging feedback to drive back anyone hoping for a bit of compromise.

The next song takes it even further, doing away with any resemblance of melody and ignoring any need for lyrics. “Withdrawal” is nothing more than two of layers of Chandler’s feedback, one of which pans back and forth between channels like a turret gun aiming for survivors.

There aren’t any, when it comes down to it, except for the members of Saint Vitus themselves who not only survive, but add to their legacy with Lillie: F-65. What is remarkable is how they do it: tapping into the fountain of youth of the same formula that once had them labeled as born too late.

Video: Saint Vitus – “Let Them Fall”

The Hives are back with a new single that won’t bring you down…Bruce! Howlin’ Pelle Almqvist is in fine form, decked out in a top hat and cape, and mugging with his best Lux Interior faces. America needs more cape rock.

The new album, Lex Hives, is due June 5 on Disques Hives.

2012 tour dates:
6/19 – Washington, D.C. – 9:30 Club
6/20 – Philadelphia, PA – Electric Factory
6/22 – New York, NY – Terminal 5
6/23 – Boston, MA – House of Blues
6/25 – Montreal, QC – Metropolis
6/26 – Toronto, ON – Sound Academy
6/27 – Pontiac, MI – Clutch Cargo’s
6/29 – Milwaukee, WI – Summerfest
6/30 – Chicago, IL – The Vic Theatre

The Brennan Andes Family Band performs at the 2012 Water Hill Music Fest

Water Hill Music Fest
Ann Arbor, MI
May 6, 2012

When I was growing up, there was this 3-on-3 basketball tournament held in the streets of Lowell, Michigan, called Gus Macker. The weekend of the tournament was like Christmas for those of us who loved basketball. It didn’t matter whether you got a team together and entered or you just went to spectate, it was a weekend of pure basketball, played and watched for the love of the game. While there is still a great basketball tournament with that name – it’s actually a whole bunch of tournaments in over a dozen different cities now – anyone who ever dribbled one of those signature red, white and blue balls on a neighborhood street in Mackerville can tell you it hasn’t really been the same since it got too big for its birthplace.

But for a brief moment in the mid-1980’s, Gus Macker was basketball, the spirit of the sport stripped down to its essence. The entry fee wasn’t so steep that a four-man team of middle schoolers couldn’t scrape together the cash, and since the tournament was run mostly by volunteers, it was free to watch. Neighbors would sell lemonade and not worry too much about all the grass in their yard getting trampled. Everyone was courteous about where they set up their lawn chairs, and despite the fierce rivalries and competition that existed on the courts, the people at Gus Macker – men, women and children, young and old, alike – seemed to recognize that they were part of a community, no matter how brief and ad hoc.

Now I hadn’t thought about playing in Gus Macker in over 15 years, until I spent the afternoon at Ann Arbor’s second annual Water Hill Music Fest. This is unlike any other music festival I’ve experienced, not because it takes place in myriad locations about the west-side neighborhood all at the same time, but because the performance spaces are people’s porches, backyards, stoops, and living rooms, usually belonging to the musicians themselves. The event is free, parking is free, and while there’s a schedule and some rules about who can play (at least one member of each performance group must live in the neighborhood), the rest is joyously unorganized. The streets are not shut down, cars are parked here and there and everywhere, and though there are signs in yards indicating who is playing when, that’s about the extent of it.

But this is not unprofessional music – far from it. The highlight of my day was the Brennan Andes Family Band, made up of members of local jam band The Macpodz with some special guests, including a music teacher at my daughter’s school. They played in bass player Andes’ parents backyard, which gave the performance the feeling of a summer barbecue. I also saw Ann Arbor legend George Bedard rocking with Khalid Hanifi on the grand front porch of a historic and beautiful brick home and heard another local favorite, Chris Buhalis, sing a set of Woody Guthrie tunes from his own front yard, celebrating what would have been Guthrie’s 100th birthday this year. Several other well known musicians also played, including guitarist Dick Siegel, and Ron Brooks, the jazz bassist and former owner of the Bird of Paradise nightclub.

Part of the charm of Water Hill, however, is that it’s open to performers of all sorts. I watched a trio of elementary school kids play Bach on two violins and a classical guitar, sat through a set of funny children’s songs with scads of other parents while the kids who should have been listening went down the zip line in the guitar player’s back yard, and stood in the street blocking traffic to hear a middle-aged couple sing 100-year-old show tunes. The community spirit at the event was amazing. I went into one house to use the bathroom, as facilities were provided by generous neighbors at well-spaced locations around the festival. My daughter bought refreshments from one of her schoolmates who had set up a stand in her front yard and we stopped by at another of her classmates later to wash up. While we were there, we caught a few songs by a group playing legitimate swing-era big band music on their back patio, complete with a bombshell singer dressed in period getup.

While I attended the festival with my family, Water Hill didn’t bear any resemblance to the sort of canned entertainment that’s passed off in our society as “family friendly.” This was legitimate music, played in earnest by people who had invited the city into their homes to entertain them. The crowds included plenty of hipsters, old hippies, dogs, teenagers, old people, and just about every other demographic you could dream up. That they were all wandering the streets of Water Hill was fitting, as it’s a neighborhood that’s perhaps more economically and socially diverse than any other in our city.

What I didn’t see is worth noting: No drugs, no drunks, no cops and no self-absorbed idiots making a scene that ruins it for everyone else. Nobody seemed to be trying to cash in on the crowds either, save for a guy selling $1 records in his garage and another who put a “For Sale By Owner” sign in his front yard. (Somebody should buy his house, by the way, as it’s in a great location.) This is surprising, because the crowds were tremendous. Hundreds packed the yards of the performers who had name recognition, and kids and amateurs were pulling in crowds of fifty or more. The music was universally great, and even without huge PA’s and megawatt sound systems, it was easy to hear because people who wanted to chat were polite enough to just move down the street.

I had the best time at Water Hill, and I got a vibe that I hadn’t felt since I was a kid hanging out in Lowell in my high top Nikes. I looked around the neighborhood and saw a whole community of people enjoying themselves, being cool, united in the love of one simple thing. Then it was hoops, today it was music.

As fun as Water Hill was, however, it’s with a bit of concern that I write this article, knowing that publicizing the festival could lead to problems in the years to come.

By the time I played in Gus Macker in 1986, things were already changing. After spectating for a few years and watching the crowds grow, I finally got the nerve to form my own team in eighth grade, and I played in the final tournament that was held in Lowell. Neighbors had started to complain and the tournament was no longer just a small local affair. National exposure in Sports Illustrated had led to huge numbers of entries and lots more spectators, and even more big name players began entering. Gus Macker was still great fun, but it wasn’t the same once it moved to another nearby town and dramatically expanded, including going on the road and traveling to other cities.

Nothing this good, this pure and perfect tends to last.

Original photo copyright 2012 Jeff Sabatini

I knew this day was coming. When the Beastie Boys announced that Adam Yauch would be to unable attend the group’s induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame my first thought was, Oh shit.

Three weeks later, my fears proved correct.

I loved the Beastie Boys the first time I heard them. A girl I knew told me there was a new song that I had to hear, that she knew I would love it. She was right, of course. What snotty 15 year old boy could resist the charms of “Fight For Your Right (To Party)”?

I bought the tape and enjoyed it for a while but then I pretty much forgot about them until college when friends turned me on to Paul’s Boutique. I remember thinking they were crazy to even bother giving that “joke” group a second chance. Boy, was I wrong. This was the very early 90s and I was just discovering Funkadelic and marijuana and N.W.A. and I was amazed these Bud-swilling dorks had gotten so cool.

I followed them from then on and started collecting the records they sampled on vinyl. In the early days of the internet I contributed everything I knew to a list of Paul’s Boutique Samples and References, including erroneously attributing the “Good God!” to Edwin Starr’s “War.” I tried for years to correct my mistake, but by then it was part of internet history. So yeah, that was me. Sorry.

I read an article somewhere that compared the three Beasties to three parts of the human psyche. Adrock was the id (impulsive), Mike D was the ego (organized), and MCA was the superego (the conscience). This always made sense to me and these verses from “Sure Shot” seemed to prove it:

MCA:
I want to say a little something that’s long overdue
The disrespect to women has got to be through
To all the mothers and sisters and the wives and friends
I want to offer my love and respect to the end

Adrock:
I’m that kid in the corner
All fucked up and I wanna so I’m gonna
Take a piece of the pie, why not, I’m not quitting
Think I’ma change up my style just to fit in

The theory oversimplifies things (in the next line Yauch rhymes about his underwear) but there’s some truth in it. And now the Beastie Boys have lost their conscience.

On January 7, 2011, in response to media reports that he had beaten his cancer, Yauch posted the following to the Beasties web site: “While I’m grateful for all the positive energy people are sending my way, reports of my being totally cancer free are exaggerated. I’m continuing treatment, staying optimistic and hoping to be cancer free in the near future.”

That didn’t happen. Cancer claimed another life. I’d love to believe that he’s in a better place, but I’m at least comforted by the fact that he’s no longer suffering from that horrible fucking disease.