Dancing with the Boys
Before the next song, MCA announced, â€œOK, nowâ€¦we do this at every show, so here goes: I want this girl to come up here,â€ and pointed at me!
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 between sets, determined not to give up our hard-earned proximity.
Once the Beastie Boys came on, the place went wild, everyone bum-rushing the stage. Nikki and I were pinned and not going anywhereâ€”so much for toilet breaks! Fine by me, as I was super-psyched to hear all of my favorite songs live.
I noticed other women giving various personal articles (necklaces, bras, etc.) to MCA and Ad-Rock as they bounced across the stage. Realizing that I didnâ€™t want to be overlooked, I gave MCA a gold â€œcoke-fairyâ€ earring. He took it from me and held it briefly to the light while rapping â€œBrass Monkey.â€
Before the next song, MCA announced, â€œOK, nowâ€¦we do this at every show, so here goes: I want this girl to come up here,â€ and pointed at me! Before I knew it, I was grabbing his hand, but I couldnâ€™t budge. Then Ad-Rock came over with two security guards, and all four of them plucked me from the crowd.
In a moment of panic, I realized that my pants were coming off as I was being pulled on stage. Luckily, I managed to grab hold of them at the last second, so I didnâ€™t land up there half-naked. So there I was, onstage with the Beastie Boys! The bright lights blocked out the audience, but I could hear my friend Nikki yelling from below: â€œYou bee-atch! I fuckin' hate you!â€
Next, I heard MCA saying, â€œHoly shit, this girl is fuckin' tall!â€ I noticed that I am indeed taller than all three Beastie Boys, the â€œslut in the cage,â€ and several of the security guards. At this point, the Beasties launched into â€œSheâ€™s on It.â€ So I danced like fool onstage with my all-time favorite band, singing along with every word.
Afterward, security guards pulled me offstage, but I chose to jump into the audience, in fear of being sent out a side door and to the back of the crowd. Later, I questioned that split-second decisionâ€”maybe I would have been led backstage, where I could have hung with the Beasties post-show. I never will know.
The next day at school, word got out that I was onstage with the Beastie Boys. All of the guys said, â€œSheâ€™s cool!â€ and all the girls said, â€œShe sucksâ€”I hate her!â€ But I didnâ€™t care, because I'd had my 15 minutes of fame, and relished every second of it.