Playground magazine

This is the story of three New York adolescents hanging out somewhere in Brooklyn, one afternoon in 1979. They were three cocky, wannabe pop star white kids; rocking the garage every day with their second-hand gear and stealing punk and soul records from stores all over town. But seven years later they ended up taking the centre stage in the rap world, at a time when it was virtually impossible to make it there as a light-skinned artist. The story of the Beastie Boys was a happy one until now; until the most final of finals betrayed it. The legend has been smashed to smithereens after the death - last Friday, 4th May 2012 - of Adam Yauch, the man with a mic in his hand who we called MCA.

In 2009, Yauch announced he was being treated for a cancerous parotid gland, a sickness he seemed to be able to beat until not too long ago. Although he still had time to leave his last rhymes on the recent “Hot Sauce Committee Part 2”, the cancer ended his life at the age of 47. Leaving behind a wife and daughter, MCA takes 25 years of music history with him - during which he was a part of the cause of some seismic movements in music that will remain forever. Along with Mike D, Ad-Rock and (let's not forget) Rick Rubin, he reshaped hip-hop, took it out of the strictly black context and brought it to a much wider audience (“Licensed To Ill”). Without Beastie Boy, we wouldn't have realised back in 1989 that rock, punk and rap could live together happily on one record (“Paul’s Boutique”).

The trio's legacy, MCA's legacy, is one of the most important in the history of the genre and the reverential respect the community has always given the band is proof of that. Nas, Chuck D, Russell Simmons, Jay-Z, Eminem - all the heavyweights of hip-hop - have expressed their grief upon hearing the news of his passing. News we were all expecting in fear, after their acceptance speech at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, earlier this year. Yauch's absence reminded us of his illness and pain, and pessimism about his future increased. When Ad-Rock and Mike D read a message in his name, it was hard not to expect the worst.

My personal fandom of MCA's flow started with “Check Your Head” (1992), which was the exclusive soundtrack of one entire year during my teens. If “Paul’s Boutique” was the radical break from the past, “Check Your Head” was the band’s search for a voice of their own. On that new beginning - floating in a magma of 'real' instruments, old school hip-hop, scratch, funky breaks and outbursts of punk - his voice found fertile ground to become a sober alternative to his band mates' sardonic rhymes. As of the trio's third album, his lyrical contribution became very different from that on “Licensed To Ill”. The raunchy references to girls and six-packs - and the white rock star-rapper pose - made way for a much more reflective, respectful sound, with some socially and politically conscious notes. A factor he increased and perfected with each new record, such as “Ill Communication” (1994) and “Hello Nasty” (1998).