This morning my kid wandered by wearing aviator shades and a false mustache and I started laughing, then insisted he sit down and watch Sabotage.
Of course, he thought that I was insane, and switched to a P. G. Wodehouse tape posthaste.
While I have not followed their progress closely, I maintain a special affection for the Beastie Boys, because way back in 1984 I watched them open for Madonna on the first night of her first tour.
I was nearly delirious from cancer, malnutrition, and the general physical strain of the treatments, and remember nothing about the main part of the concert except rolling my forehead back and forth against a rail, wishing to be well, or dead.
The one exception to this was noticing the Boys were not a hit.
Instead, they were booed off the stage, screaming back at the angry audience FUCK YOU SEATTLE!
Since that marvelous evening I have never listened to the band except in similar situations. I think they are a perfectly appropriate soundtrack for horrifying medical treatments. Why not!