It was the mid eighties and rap was still being heavily
debated on its ability to be music. Run DMC, LL Cool, even DJ Jazzy Jeff and
the Fresh Prince, had all made debuts, along with Biz Markie, 2 Live Crew,
Slick Rick, and a grand host of others, but it wasn’t till The Beastie Boys
that I finally got my hands on an actually rap album, or rather tape. Derek Tyl
had the rest, and my moms wouldn’t allow them in the house, definitely on the
side of rap as noise. By grace of god, my uncle’s girlfriend gave me License
to Ill, because my uncle also didn’t like
rap.
The raw party punk attitude and masculine boasting lyrics
gave my young ears a language to explain what life was like, how the world had
unfolded, but we weren’t allowed to say in polite circles. And they were white
boys saying it in a predominantly black male musical genre.
Years later I had another gracious encounter, this time with
knowledge. In attempts to have a family reunion, it was discovered that Adam
Yauch, MCA, was a distant cousin. I believe his great-grandmother and my
great-great-grandmother were sisters, or something like that. Either way, I
feel blessed and honored to be able to say cousin Yauch. I also find it
interesting that he is Jewish, and as far as I know, there is no Jewish identity
in the family that I have met.
