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The wisecracking arrogance of this record is the only rock-and-roll attitude that means diddley right now. With the mainstream claimed by sincere craftspeople and the great tradition of Elvis Presley, Esquerita, Creedence Clearwater Revival, the Sex Pistols and Madonna sucked into a cultural vacuum by nitwit anarchists and bohemian sourpusses, three white jerkoffs and their crazed producer are set to go platinum-plus with “black” music that’s radically original, childishly simple, hard to play, and accessible to anybody with two ears and an ass. Drinking, robbing, rhyming, and pillaging, busting open your locker and breaking your glasses, the Beasties don’t just thumb their noses at redeeming social importance — they pull out their jammies and shoot it in the cookie puss. If you don’t like the joke, you might as well put your money where your funnybone is and send a check to the PMRC.