Questlove's Top 50 Hip-Hop Songs of All Time

7

Beastie Boys, "Hold It Now, Hit It" (1986)

beastie boys
Ebet Roberts/Redferns

Ronald Isley once told me a story about how he and his singing brothers had to show friends and family their This Old Heart of Mine album with their heads down, because label head Berry Gordy thought it was a wiser marketing move to sell the album with a teen white couple in embrace on a beach as opposed to three, uh, Isley brothers. Twenty years later, Russell Simmons used a similar tactic. Most of us assumed the Beasties were Puerto Rican, 'cause there was no way humanly possible that three white boys had that much flavor. It wasn't even a "if they were white we'd never have given them a chance" thing. Our minds were so closed and tunnel-visioned that we just knew that hip-hop was a culture that only blacks and latinos appreciated, mostly because we were not rhythmically challenged. Boy, were we in for a rude awakening.

Def Jam used a two-year buzz period to fine effect. For those outside of the New York perimeter, their first real strike on hip-hop radio – Lady B's street beat in Philly – was "Beastie Groove," with its hard-ass drums, double time rhymes, the whiniest and gruffiest voices in hip-hop and a cool slang term that all of Philly has yet to figure out: "Yo, just 'fessin man, I don't even wanna hear it, you just 'fessin." Their second assault was MCA's solo joint "Drum Machine," which pretty much took up where "Beastie Groove" left us. There was one slight misstep, "She's On It" from the Krush Groove soundtrack – but the Beasties' cameo in the film was so minuscule that their lil' white secret wasn't totally given away just yet. And no real hip-hoppers saw Madonna's Virgin Tour all that much.

So the Beasties' first real footsteps in our hearts and radar came courtesy of this song. Its high position is based on the accidental way that they arrived. The initial test pressings of their "Hold It" 12 inch placed the (historic first) "Acapulco" version on the A side and its full album version on the B side. DJs instantly played the vocal-only version, which was magically effective. The chorus and bridge were still intact: Kurtis Blow's "hold it now" from "Christmas Rapping" and Kool & the Gang's "Funky Stuff" horn intro coming at you like a locomotive downhill. I can't explain how exciting that part sounded. It sounded even bigger and grander coming from an a cappella tradeoff of three jazzy-sounding instruments called Ad Rock (soprano), Mike D (tenor) and MCA (baritone). This was the "rhyming for the sake of riddlin'" that Chuck D lambasted in "Don't Believe the Hype." This was hip-hop's first non sequitur – all pop culture reference, random tradeoff. Most crews would go verse for verse or line for line, even. The Beasts were going syllable for syllable with the ease of the Harlem Globetrotter magic circle. I mean, come on. You gotta love a cat who takes six seconds to say "chef boyar-deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee."

So imagine my dismay when I finally got the album version on Licensed to Ill and heard all this intrusive drum machine. Man, I was so disappointed. They didn't trust us enough to just see the magic of the wordplay and the chemistry between the three. I would often make custom Ill records and reinstate the drumless version of the song in its place where it belongs. 'Cause Lord knows, I hated that drum machine. Actually, 20 years later, in a freak occurrence, being the historical artifact nut I am, I purchased that very drum machine Rick Rubin used for four years – because I secretly loved it.

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