Originally Posted by Imail724

Don't kill me, but I think Licensed To Ill is my least favorite.

Originally Posted by Hiro11

IMO:
1. License to Ill
2. Paul's Boutique
3. Check Your Head
4. Hello Nasty (very underrated album, IMO)
5. Everything else...

Originally Posted by Super J

On the site I linked to under album info it lists six b sides to the album. It would be nice if they were on there. I don't think I've ever heard them before.

Originally Posted by kyzersoze11

any reason that amazon has the cd version being released on the 10th of February?

Also deep discount has the CD for 14 bucks

Originally Posted by kyzersoze11

Also deep discount has the CD for 14 bucks

Originally Posted by pitchfork

It's easy to forget exactly how painted into a corner the Beastie Boys were after Licensed to Ill came out. Every complaint people harbor against so-called "hipster rap" today had its genesis in that debut album nearly 23 years ago-- a bunch of upper-middle-class, never-been-battled punk rockers in leather jackets and skinny jeans bellowing knowingly obnoxious, semi-ironic lyrics-- and it only escalated once the question of the inevitable follow-up came around. The only thing that would piss purists off more than the notion of three clownish white Jewish kids accidentally inventing frat-rap is the fact that they wound up ditching a beloved hip-hop label in Def Jam for the corporate juggernaut of Capitol Records. Not to mention jetting their asses to Los Angeles to cut records with the dudes who produced Tone Lōc's "Wild Thing". When Paul's Boutique famously tanked upon release-- peaking at #14 on a pre-Soundscan Billboard 200 and, even more damningly, only #24 on the R&B/Hip-Hop Top Albums chart-- the haters triumphantly chortled along with 3rd Bass: "Screamin' 'Hey Ladies,' Why bother?"

Twenty years later, nobody's asking that question. Paul's Boutique is a landmark in the art of sampling, a reinvention of a group that looked like it was heading for a gimmicky, early dead-end, and a harbinger of the pop-culture obsessions and referential touchstones that would come to define the ensuing decades' postmodern identity as sure as "The Simpsons" and Quentin Tarantino did. It's an album so packed with lyrical and musical asides, namedrops, and quotations that you could lose an entire day going through its Wikipedia page and looking up all the references; "The Sounds of Science" alone redirects you to the entries for Cheech Wizard, Shea Stadium, condoms, Robotron: 2084, Galileo, and Jesus Christ. That density, sprawl, and information-overload structure was one of the reasons some fans were reluctant to climb on board. But by extending Steinski's rapid-fire sound-bite hip-hop aesthetic over the course of an entire album, the Beastie Boys and the Dust Brothers more than assured that a generally positive first impression would eventually lead to a listener's dedicated, zealous headlong dive into the record's endlessly-quotable deep end.

There's a lot that's already been said about the daring eclecticism and arguably irreproducible anything-goes technique with which the Dust Brothers assembled the album's beats. The music is a big, shameless love letter to the 1970s filled with a conceptual bookend (the Idris Muhammad-sampling, ladies-man ether frolic "To All the Girls"), numerous line-completing lyrical interjections from Johnny Cash, Chuck D, Pato Banton and Sweet, and, just for kicks, nine truncated songs spliced together and stuck in at the end as a staggering 12 and 1/2-minute suite. If the sonics on It Takes A Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back evoked a sleep-shattering wake-up call and 3 Feet High and Rising a chilled-out, sunny afternoon, the personality of Paul's Boutique completed the trinity by perfectly capturing the vibe of a late-night alcohol and one-hitter-fueled shit-talk session. Even now, after being exposed to successively brilliant sample-slayers from the RZA to the Avalanches to J Dilla, it's still bracing just how meticulous the beats are here. These aren't just well-crafted loops, they're self-contained little breakbeat universes filled with weird asides, clever segues, and miniature samples-as-punchlines.

There's dozens of clever touches and big, ambitious ideas that still sound inspired: a cameo appearance by the opening drumbeats of Mountain's "Mississippi Queen" in "Looking Down the Barrel of a Gun"; the manic yet seamless percussion rolls and the giddy tour through the Car Wash soundtrack on "Shake Your Rump"; the two-part slow-to-fast tweaking of late-period Beatles on "The Sounds of Science"; a sparingly-used Alice Cooper guitar riff adding a mockingly pseudo-badass counter to the whimsical Gene Harris-based soul jazz backbone of "What Comes Around". It all gets writ large in "B-Boy Bouillabaisse", the aforementioned album-closing suite, which careens through turntablist striptease, a not-yet-throwback 808/beatboxing showcase, funk grooves of every conceivable tempo, and a Jeep-beat bass monster so massive and all-consuming that Jay-Z and Lil Wayne 2.0'd it in late 2007. Even the less-frenetic moments are sonically inventive; there's only two acknowledged and minimally-tinkered-with samples in "3-Minute Rule", augmented with a starkly simple bassline from MCA himself, but it's one of the finest examples of deep, cavernous dub-style production on any golden age rap record.

And, of course, there's Ad-Rock and MCA and Mike D themselves. Where the aesthetic of Licensed to Ill could have permanently placed them in the crass dirtbag-shtick company of "Married With Children" and Andrew Dice Clay if they'd kept it up, Paul's Boutique pushed them into a new direction as renaissance men of punchline lyricism. They were still happily at home affecting low-class behaviors: hucking eggs at people on "Egg Man"; going on cross-country crime sprees on "High Plains Drifter"; smackin' girlies on the booty with something called a "plank bee" in "Car Thief"; claiming to have been "makin' records when you were suckin' your mother's dick" on "3-Minute Rule". But they'd also mastered quick-witted acrobatic rhymes to augment their countless pop-culture references and adolescent hijinks. "Long distance from my girl and I'm talkin' on the cellular/ She said that she was sorry and I said 'Yeah, the hell you were'"-- we're a long way from "Cookie Puss" here.

While each member has their spotlight moments-- MCA's pedal-down tour de force fast-rap exhibition in "Year and a Day", Mike D having too much to drink at the Red Lobster on "Mike on the Mic", and Ad-Rock's charmingly venomous tirade against coke-snorting Hollywood faux-ingénues in "3-Minute Rule"-- Paul's Boutique is where their back-and-forth patter really reached its peak. At the start of their career, they built off the tag-team style popularized by Run-DMC, but by '89 they'd developed it to such an extent and to such manic, screwball ends that they might as well have been drawing off the Marx Brothers as well. It's impossible to hear the vast majority of this album as anything other than a locked-tight group effort, with its overlapping lyrics and shouted three-man one-liners, and it's maybe best displayed in the classic single "Shadrach". After years of post-Def Jam limbo and attempts to escape out from under the weight of a fratboy parody that got out of hand, they put together a defiant, iconographic statement of purpose that combined giddy braggadocio with weeded-out soul-searching. It's the tightest highlight on an album full of them, a quick-volleying, line-swapping 100-yard dash capped off with the most confident possible delivery of the line "They tell us what to do? Hell no!"

As reissues go, the 20th Anniversary re-release of Paul's Boutique is relatively bare-bones. There's a richer, cleaner audio mix remastered by the band, a tracklisting that splits "B-Boy Bouillabaisse" into its separate parts, and a sharp mini-gatefold package highlighting the iconic cover photo. That so little has been changed is more of a relief than a problem; between the Beatles, Led Zeppelin, and Pink Floyd samples, you'd think the clearance issues would be prohibitive. Just the fact that this album's being reissued with all this care and attention should be enough. After Paul's Boutique failed to move units, it wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility that the Beasties would wind up like the protagonist of "Johnny Ryall"-- with "a platinum voice/ But only gold records," reduced to obscurity while their most ambitious work faded into cutout-bin purgatory. As it turned out, they created an album we'll probably never hear the likes of again-- good thing it's deep enough to live in forever.