Paul's Boutique
	1989

Paul's Boutique review by CDNOW

For those who had fallen for Rick Rubin's rock/rap fusion on the Beastie Boys' inaugural Licensed to Ill, it's easy to see how Paul's Boutique could've left them confused and dissatisfied. For three years, the endless recycling of Licensed led people to expect more thunderous Led Zeppelin samples and frat-brat misanthropy. But instead of hearing the cock-rock strains of monster guitar chords, Paul's Boutique opened with the deep jazz-soul sound of Idris Muhammad on "For All The Girls," only to go into a funk-break extravaganza on "Shake Your Rump." It was enough to make someone say, "What is this sh*t?" In 20/20 hindsight, it's easy to overlook how Paul's Boutique marked the genuine birth of the Beastie Boys' creative independence. Freed from Rubin's overbearing rock obsessions, the Boys – King Ad Rock, Mike D, and MCA (Adam Yauch, born August 5, 1984) – dumped their formulated, MTV-friendly schtick and engineered an album far ahead of its time. In an era (1989) where hip-hop was still pillaging James Brown's catalog or discovering the fat clap of P-Funk, the Boys drafted an album, with the infamous production tandem the Dust Brothers, dedicated to the original crate-diggin' collectors of obscure break-beats and samples. Little wonder then that their album confused many - nobody had heard hip-hop quite like this before. From the slick, sinister rhythms of Curtis Mayfield's "Superfly" on "Egg Man" to cracks of Fatback's drum snaps on "High Plains Drifter" to the half-a-dozen-break-beat montage on "Shadrach," Paul's Boutique mastered the dirty, rough grain of funk music grown at the grassroots. Predating the obsessions of later producers like Cut Chemist, the Beastie Boys embarked on a mission to make the music the focus - not just intricate wordplay. Of course, it helped that the Boys have never been known for their lyrical finesse - even on their most recent Hello Nasty, they're still best at their simplest: party rhymes in the old school tradition with the simplistic cool of the 3-man weave. Their sound may have matured, but songs like "Egg Man," "Johnny Ryall," and "Hey Ladies" were infused with the same kind of adolescent attitude that they've always had. If folks wanted mindblowin' lyrics, there was always De La Soul's epochal 3 Ft. High and Rising from the same year. But for a funky good-time, Paul's Boutique was the spot. Oliver Wang

Paul's Boutique review by Rolling Stone

Like this summer's blockbuster movie sequels, the Beastie Boys' second album was anticipated with some hope tempered by much dread. On their bratty 1986 debut, "Licensed to Ill," the Beasties - Adam "Ad-Rock" Horovitz, Adam "MCA" Yauch and Michael "Mike D" Diamond - established themselves as the Sultans of Swagger. Thanks to the heavy-metallic single "Fight for Your Right (to Party)," the album went multiplatinum and helped bring rap to a wider (whiter) audience. But "Ill" was often credited solely to scratch-meister producers Rick Rubin - and seemed destined for the one shot-wonder bin. When the Boys weren't being called Monkees for not playing instruments, they were being called Blues Brothers for plundering a black music form and making more louie off it. Compounding the usual pressure of follow-up, the Beasties split from Rubin and his label, Def Jam, over a royalty dispute and set up shop in L.A., far from the urban blight of New York that fueled the pillage-and-anarchy lyrics of their debut. Yet with dense, crafty "Paul's Boutique" (produced by the Dust Brothers, including Tone-L'f7c helmsman Matt Dike), the Beasties reinvent the turntable and prove they're here to stay. Gone is Rubin's wailing guitar (and with it, probably, the chance of a crossover hit single), but in its place is a nearly seamless set of provocative samples and rhymes - a rap opera, if you will, complete with an "Abbey Road"-like multisnippet medley called "B-boy Bouillabaisse." If the misogyny, hedonism and violence of the first album bothered you, the sequel shows little remorse - merely replacing beer with cheeba - but it's a much more intricate less bludgeoning effort. "Paul's Boutique "- named after a Brooklyn store whose radio ad is tossed in the mix and whose picture graces the cover - surprises from the get-go. Instead of openings, as "Ill " did, with wall-to-wall drum wallops, it creeps up on you like an alley cat: A quiet organ and snare fade up as a mellow DJ voice dedicates the ensuing set to (who else?) the girls of the world. then, of course, drums rat-a-tat, and we're back in naught-boy land. "I rock a house party at the drop of a hat/I beat a biter down with an aluminum bat," snarls Horovitz on the opener, "Shake Your Rump." But even in the midst of this obligatory strutting, the Boys slyly acknowledge their tarnished public image: "I'm Mike D, and I'm back from the dead," brags Diamond. "A puppet on a string, I'm paid to sing or rhyme," adds Yauch. That out of the way, they're back on the streets dissing and snickering. The next song, "Johnny Ryall," set against a blues-riff loop and dissonant guitar solo, spray-paints a wry detailed portrait of a bum living on Mike D's block. This runs into "Egg Man," a nightmarish cartoon of shell-cracking hooliganism that starts with the slinky bass line from "Superfly," features echoey shrieks on the choruses and closes with a slice of the theme from "Psycho," which jarringly snaps off like a TV set. (In the midst of the vigilantism, the Boys do sneak in this tip: "You made the mistake you judge a man by his race/You go through life with egg on your face.") Each track brims with ideas and references too numerous to catalog, veering in new directions at every verse: "The Sounds of Science," builds from a casual, smartass schoolboy singsong to a breakneck chant against repeated guitar strums from "The End," by the Beatles. Here and throughout, the songs are buoyed by the deft interplay of the three voices and a poetic tornado of imagery. In terms of lyrics, the posturing that dominated "Licensed to Ill" is still in evidence - witness "High Plains Drifter" and "Car Thief" - but it's been leavened by an approach that's almost, well, "literary." Sure, "Paul's Boutique" is littered with bullshit: Who can be put off by claims like "I got more hits than Sadaharu Oh" and "I got more suits than Jacoby and Meyers"? In the catchy, Sly Stone-based "Shadrach," this would-be terrible trio compares itself to biblical heroes Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. And while the Boys rap references range from Magilla Gorilla to Dickens, their musical samples are equal far-flung, including Johnny Cash, Hendrix and Jean Knight's "Mr. Big Stuff." (Acoustic-minded listeners should know that Jerry Garcia, Sweet and George Carlin are also allegedly in here somewhere.) Though the group seems most proud of the twelve-inch-vinyl version - the cover of the first pressing is an impressive eight-fold wraparound photo - "Paul's Boutique" seems mixed especially for a Walkman. The voices simmer around the listener's head in an artful dance, and the musical "steals" effected by the Boys and Dust Brothers Matt Dike, John King and mike Simpson are much more complicated than the first album's, changing speeds, inverting or abstracting themes until they're virtually new. If you can recognize them, fine, but they stand on their own; it's as more thievery than Led Zep's borrowing from Muddy Waters. In the works for a year and meticulously constructed, "Paul's Boutique" retains a loose, fun feel. The infectious "What Comes Around" (in which they taunt skinheads, rapping, "You're all mixed up, like pasta primavera/Why'd you throw that chair at Geraldo Rivera?") wins up with a wild Beastie version of scat humming. The Boys kick off side two by hollering at one another over a hillbilly hoedown called "5-Piece Chicken Dinner." There are abundant insides jokes - a line delivered by a blow-hard New York TV weatherman, references to close friends and local events like Brooklyn's Atlantic Antic - but they are never made in an off-putting way. The Boys are just being themselves, thrashing about in a reality ignored by too many mainstream white-rock acts. In "Three Minute Rule," Yauch says, "A lot of parents like to think I'm a villain/I'm just chillin', like Bob Dylan." May they stay forever def.

Paul's Boutique review by Wall Of Sound

It looks like the nearly three-year wait for the second Beastie Boys album has been a blessing in disguise: by the time Licensed To III passed quadra-platinum, the III Three were poised to become the most overexposed one-hit-wonders since The Knack. Amazingly, the Beasties have beaten all odds and put out a great album, one that's different enough to make you forget how sick you might've gotten of them, similiar enought to be distinctive, and above all, it's funky as shit! While the boys' raps sound much the same as always, this has got to be one of the most musically sophisticated rap-oriented record ever. Producers the Dust Brothers (including Mali Dike of Tone-Loc fame) have replaced Rick Rubin's powerchord crunch with a butt-bustin' funk finesse, and you vant samples? Oy! dey got more samples than a plumber's got pliers. It'll take months to absorb all the surprises hiding in Paul's Boutique, but that's a large part of the fun. The whole album's great, but radio should bust "Shake Your Rump," "Hey Ladies," "Johnny Ryall," "Egg Man" (incorporating the theme from Psycho), "Three Minute Rule," "Shadrack," "Barrel Of A Gun," and the mind-boggling homey-symphony "B-Boy Bouillabaise"-from the latter, try the more traditional "Hello Brooklyn" and the wild-ass "Year And A Day."