It was 1987, I was 17 years old, and the Beastie Boys' album _Licensed to Ill_ was hitting its peak. My friend Nikki and I snagged two tickets to the sold-out show when they came to San Francisco. I remember dressing to kill that night, 1980s style, in a tight tank top, cropped Leviâ€™s jacket, pegged stretch pants, and high-heeled ankle boots. My hair was permed, poofed, and ready to party.
Fishbone opened the show. As Nikki and I squeezed to the front of the stage, we touched each of the performers as they drew near. We stayed there Read more