I’ll just add a few comments about some of the artists in the list.

1. Saying that U2 comes off as pretentious and self-aggrandizing is like saying that the Lucky Charms leprechaun comes off as a bad Irish stereotype.  It’s the currency of much of their discography.  I still enjoy U2 every now and then, particularly when they adopt some degree of irony, although I’ve often felt that their irony was too self-aware, like “Look at us, we’re being soooooo ironic!”  Yep.  You sure are.
2. If I had to answer as many stupid interview questions as did Bob Dylan in the 1960s, I’d turn into a press-hating misanthropist too.
3. Lars Ulrich is a bitch.  Anyone who can complain about his fans snagging a few of his band’s songs gratis while turning into an art collector deserves to be in a band with James Hetfield.  And be short.  Which he is.
4. Paul McCartney?  A control freak?  GET OUT.
5. I’ll be offended about Justice’s anthropological excursions into American culture when Americans stop being such fucktards.
6. Jefferson Airplane begat Jefferson Starship begat Starship, which shat this onto the airwaves.  Need I say more?
7. Radiohead is apparently suffering from the same affliction as did Bob Dylan in the 60s.  Blameless.
8. Is anyone really shocked that the heavy metal stars of the 1980s are dicks?  Doesn’t pretty much every song in the genre scream I am an asshole?!  I haven’t seen the documentary in question, but Paul Stanley acting like a ‘tard is not a news flash.

Anyway, I could easily fill up a year’s worth of posts just linking to their music-related lists, but this one really jumps out at me.  This is exactly what I need pop-culture nerds for, to thoroughly investigate every nook and cranny of music and books and movies and so on with one theme in mind.  And they don’t disappoint.

Some of these entries I’d already heard of, like #3, #5, and #10.  Some of them are not terribly surprising, like #9.  But zOMG – #6, #8, and #1?!?!  How fucking cool is that?  Hiding a creepy-ass image of your face in a song?  Concealing a secret message in a song using fucking modems?!  Creating a decade-spanning concept album?!?!

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One word of warning: do not watch this video just before bed.  Or maybe any other time.

FIVE VERSIONS OF THE SAME CD, EACH WITH TRACKS THAT DON’T APPEAR ON ANY OTHER VERSION.

Seriously Cee-Lo?  Five versions?  OK fine … three of the five are simply the U.S. version of the CD with bonus tracks. But to get all the songs recorded for the album, I have to buy the original CD, plus the full version from iTunes (they don’t sell the bonus tracks separate from the album), then drive to frickin’ Best Buy to buy THEIR version, then fly to FRICKIN’ JAPAN to buy their version!!  (Note: I realize I could buy the Japanese version via the interwebs, but why should I have to?!?!)  To say nothing of the “International Version.”  I mean, what’s so international about that version?  Different songs in a different order?  HUH?!

No one needs to explain why this happens.  One word: $$$$.  Cee-Lo (or, more accurately, his record company) can earn more profit by releasing different versions of the same album with exclusive bonus tracks.  Fine.  I get it.  And it’s not like I don’t like paying extra for more music.  In fact, I prefer buying the limited edition bonus version of most albums, with the extra tracks, or bonus DVD, or frickin’ coffee mug.  I really do.  I just don’t like feeling that I am being ass-raped for cash.

Yes, I could buy one of the singles from the album and pick up a few of the bonus tracks.  And who knows, maybe Cee-Lo will release a greatest hits album in a few years with a bonus CD of b-sides and remixes.  But still, this is ridiculous.

So what did I do?  I bought two nearly identical versions of the same damn album, the U.S. version and the (bullshit) international version.  I don’t remember how much I spent, but it was close to $30 total.  Also, I “acquired” a few of the bonus tracks from a “friend.”  So, problem solved … mostly.  But I’m still missing three of the bonus tracks.

To be fair, I’ve done this before.  That is, I’ve bought two nearly identical versions of the same album solely for the sake of a few damn bonus tracks.  (This is the “problem” I refer to in this post’s title.)  But aside from bitching about feeling ripped off (and yet continuing to do the same thing), this does raise an interesting question.

What is the “true” version of The Lady Killer?  The U.S. release?  The international version?  The one from the iTunes store with two extra tracks?  The frickin’ Best Buy version?!

Consider Tales from Turnpike House, a really lovely album by Saint Etienne.  I do freely admit to buying both the U.S. and U.K. releases (again, that problem I have), mostly so I could get the Up the Wooden Hills bonus CD, a collection of children’s songs.  (It’s also quite nice.)  But the two versions differ considerably.  Taking the U.K. release as a starting point, the U.S. version drops two songs (“Relocate” and “Bird Man of EC1″), adds three (“Dream Lover,” “Oh My,” and “I’m Falling”) and completely changes the order of the songs.  While they share ten songs, the albums are really quite different.  Further, the Japanese version keeps the original track listing as the U.K. version but adds two songs (“The Leyton Art Inferno” and “Got a Job”) smack in the middle of the album.  What?!?!

[sound that Scooby Doo makes when he is confused]

So what is the true version of Tales from Turnpike House?  For my money, I’d go with the U.K. version, simply because the band is British and presumably had more control over that release.  As a point of comparison, examine the U.K. track listing for the Beatles’ album Rubber Soul with the U.S. version’s track listing.  Rubber Soul was the band’s sixth album in the U.K. but it’s eleventh (!) album in the U.S.  The U.S. releases, in addition to having a different mix and different track listings, usually included singles and b-sides not included on the U.K. releases.  My presumption is that the band had more input/control over the U.K. version, and thus that version is the true version of the album.

(As another point of comparison, look at the track listing for the U.S.-only album Hey Jude.  Yep.  Pretty clearly a cash grab.)

My first Beatles’ album purchases were on vinyl and featured the U.K. track listing.  So for me, Rubber Soul will always begin with “Drive My Car.”  But to an American growing up in the 1960s, Rubber Soul will always begin with “I’ve Just Seen A Face.”  (WaitWHAT?  That was on Help!, not Rubber Soul!!)  It’s really interesting to think about what that album means to listeners on either side of the Atlantic Ocean, given that the different versions contained different songs, structures, and mixes.  One could imagine two entirely different perspectives of what, in name at least, is the same album.

Anyway, what all of this amounts to is:

• Record companies suck.
• Record companies suck.
• I now have five new reasons to say “Fuck You.”

HELL NO.  Because I want this.

I remember hearing the record for the first time, over at a friend’s one night in high school, and I remember absolutely hating it.  I don’t remember exactly why I hated it.  Perhaps it was the deep brattiness that permeates the record, the nasal voices, the amateurish rapping, the Led Zeppelin samples, or the flagrant misogyny. Likely, it was a combination of all of the above.  It wasn’t the fact that it was rap music (as hip hop was called back in 1986); I had been listening to rap since at least 1985.  Eventually I came around somewhat.  I remember being particularly inspired to do well on a 9th grade Honor’s Geometry quiz by the song “(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (to Party!).”  (Nice double-parentheses in the song title, guys.)  Yes, I realize that that fact is embarrassing as shit, but I don’t care.

But after my freshman year passed, Beastie Boys largely left my radar, in favor of the Beatles and other “classic rock” bands.  (The quotes should clearly indicate how much I hate the moniker “classic rock.”  Utterly meaningless.)  Paul’s Boutique passed by with hardly a notice, except for a vague memory of hearing “Shake Your Rump” or maybe “Hey Ladies” at a party or something.

It wasn’t until sometime in 1992 that Beastie Boys re-entered my musical consciousness, and they practically kicked down the door when they did.  I’m referring of course to their third album, Check Your Head, released in the spring of that year.  I don’t think the album really sank in with until later that year; I remember sitting at a Students for Choice booth with a friend one cold winter’s day, and as we hawked bumper stickers and t-shirts and supported the cause of slaughtering the innocent (KIDDING!), we talked about Check Your Head.  We were both blown away by the record and had listened to it uncountably many times since first purchasing it.  I remember one of us (probably me) stating that it was like the Sgt. Pepper’s of our generation.  OK, calm down … a little hyperbole never killed anyone. Actually, I think there is some validity to the comparison.

Both albums were innovative.  Both albums introduced listeners to new musical styles that they probably hadn’t heard before.  Both albums are regarded as seminal recordings by their respective bands.  Fine.  But clearly, Check Your Head had quite a bit less cultural impact that Sgt. Pepper’s.  And while Check Your Head did introduce listeners to new sounds, many of those listeners were probably suburban white kids who had never before listened to rap, and given that rap music had been around in one form or another since at least, oh, 1970, you don’t get a lot of bonus points for that. And on that point, am I the only one who is a little cheesed that Licensed to Ill was the first rap LP to top the Billboard 200?  Seriously?  Given all the excellent rap albums that had preceded it?  [headslap]

Anyway, I’ve been wondering lately … what happened to Beastie Boys between 1989 and 1992?  Paul’s Boutique has some degree of social consciousness to it, but nothing like Check Your Head, to say nothing of Ill Communication, which is practically an outright rejection of Licensed to Ill.  Lately my aversion toward earnestness in popular music has become quite strong, but I guess that in the early 1990s, it wasn’t quite so bad, especially given the hours I spent self-flagellating to Pearl Jam.  I know that bands often grow and mature and experiment and all that; there is little doubt that if the Beastie Boys hadn’t moved beyond the sophomoric rhymes of Licensed to Ill, or even the sample-heavy disco-funk of Paul’s Boutique, they would be a mere footnote in hip-hop history.  And while until just recently I basically ignored Licensed to Ill in favor of their next two albums, I do think it’s time for a recalibration of that first Beastie Boys album.  Which (finally!) brings me to my point.

In no particular order, here’s a list of why I think Licensed to Ill is vastly underrated and is neck-and-neck with Check Your Head for the title of Second Best Beastie Boys album.

• It’s enormously fun to listen to.  What used to annoy me about Licensed to Ill, especially the bratty, nasally vocals, is now absolutely endearing and hilarious.  When Ad-Rock raps “I went into the locker room during classes, broke into your locker and I smashed your glasses” I can’t help but laugh.  It’s so unbelievably juvenile, it just kills me.
• The production has held up remarkably well over time.  In their later albums the Beastie Boys distorted practically all of their vocals, a change I embraced at first but very quickly grew tired of.  Their samples were far more creative on those records – especially Paul’s Boutique – but the instrumentation and overall sound became really muddy and dark.  In contrast, Licensed to Ill is clean and simple.  The samples are exactly what three teenage boys would pick for their music: heavy on the Led Zeppelin.  Even the cheesy mid-80s drum machine sounds great.  And the use of live instruments is sparing, which I appreciate.  Sorry, but the Beastie Boys never impressed me much as musicians, although it is to their credit as artists that they expanded their to include live performances.
• It has a truth and internal consistency lacking on most later Beastie Boys albums.  Let’s review the major themes of Licensed to Ill: beer, girls, my posse, partying, girls, pot, music, having fun, beer, girls, it sucks to be a teenager living at home, hanging on the corner, oh and beer.  And girls.  Now, drop the beer and pot references, lose the misogyny, move out of your parents’ house, and eliminate most references to having fun. Then add social consciousness, Buddhism, a desire to prove that you can play your own instruments, instrumental jams, some of the fun you dropped earlier, plus heavily distorted vocals, and what do you have? Check Your Head.  Not to say that Check Your Head is a drag; gems like “Professor Booty” and “Finger Lickin’ Good” do liven things up.  But “Gratitude,” a song which I love in its own right, seems oddly out of character for a band that just a few years ago advocated for fighting for your right to party.  To say nothing “Bodhisattva Vow” from Ill Communication.  [snore]
• It is utterly ridiculous and completely tongue-and-cheek but doesn’t take not taking itself seriously too seriously. The Beastie Boys are clearly in on the joke here – three white kids from Brooklyn rappin’ and frontin’ and saying things like “my posse’s gettin’ big and my posse’s gettin’ bigger”?  seriously? – but they don’t seem to take the joke that seriously.  They so successfully appropriated the language and style of rap music in the mid-80s, and then just had fun with it.  The whole thing is utterly stupid and ridiculous, but because they know it and we know it and they know we know it and we know they know it, no one really has to do much more than laugh and have a good time.  Which is one of the major themes of the album anyway.  Plus, the utter silliness of a song about fighting for your right to … party?  Not vote.  Not have a free press.  Not have a freedom to worship, or gather, or petition the government.  To party.  Need I say more?

Again, I’m not trying to slag Check Your Head or later albums.  The Beastie Boys did make something of a return-to-form on 2004′s To the 5 Boroughs, but it’s not quite the same.  And certainly, there are many elements of Licensed to Ill – the misogyny, for example – that we’re all better off without.  Kudos to them for rejecting that.

But something that occurred to me when I was researching and writing this post is that, for years, Check Your Head and Ill Communication represented to me what the Beastie Boys really were all about.  The amateurish brat-rap of Licensed to Ill?  No way – that was just a phase.  The accomplished sample-heavy urban pastiche of Paul’s Boutique? Better, but still just a point of transition.  The social consciousness, live instrumentation, and sonic palette of Check Your Head?  That was the true Beastie Boys.

But after spending so much time listening to their first album, I’m faced with the possibility that no, Licensed to Ill was just as much true Beastie Boys as was any later album.  And that the transition away from amateurish brat-rap, while desirable (and inevitable) on some levels, also came with a cost.  The band might have gained a more experimental side, they might have honed their instrumental chops, they might have dropped the misogyny, but they lost a good chunk of their original élan vital, sense of humor, and winking ridiculousness.  I’ll still always enjoy Paul’s Boutique and Check Your Head, but I have a new appreciation for Licensed to Ill, one that makes me appreciate more their path as artists, and miss some of what they left behind.

And I’m really excited about this.

And I’m really excited about this, even though I’ve never even heard the album in question, or the artist, for that matter.  I just want the lunchbox.

[There is a video that cannot be displayed in this feed. Visit the blog entry to see the video.]

I’ve listened to it four times today already.  So should you.

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Really, I’m not a huge OM fan, but this is too much to resist.  TO THE INTERWEBS!!!