Adam Yauch, man.

The first album I ever bought was License to Ill, on cassette, at a Wal-Mart in Abbeville, Louisiana. I was in the fourth grade. My mom asked if there were any dirty words on it and I said I didn’t think so. I played it on the living room stereo that night while we ate dinner. My mom said it was ugly music. I was hooked.

I brought a boombox to school the next day and played this record for the next five years.

I always wanted to be MCA. He was the coolest, the most assured. MCA was the one who got me interested in music; he introduced me to the bass guitar and to hip-hop and to New York. I always daydreamed I would move to New York and run into him, buy him a cup of coffee and casually ask him how cool it must have been to recreate Pink Floyd’s “Live at Pompeii” for their Gratitude video.

Adam Yauch and the Beastie Boys have been with me my entire life. They were hip hop when I was introduced to hip-hop; punk when I was introduced to punk. Losing MCA hurts.