I’d like to think everyone has a favourite t-shirt and on a recent visit to my mum’s house I started reflecting about mine. “Have you still got that shirt?” mum affectionately teased. She was referring to my 16-year-old Beastie Boys tee, which to this day remains top of the pops despite the holes and spag bol stain.
My teenage self was first introduced to the masterful rhymes of Mike D, Adrock & MCA by a couple of older sk8 or die types at the local ramp. They were slaves to the sounds of Dinosaur Jr, Helmet, Bad Brains & Black Flag but it was the Beasties who commanded me. ‘The Shirt’ was purchased not long after this discovery with money earned from flipping burgers. But this wasn’t just 100% cotton, machine washable, cold rinse bullshit – it really meant something when I wore it. I felt spritely, proud and as emo as it sounds, kinda like I belonged to something. It must also be said the shirt harbours a small amount of guilt on my part. I was wearing it the day I told a sizeable adolescent lie (soz parents). Don’t worry the lie was worth it as I got to see the Beasties live for the very first time. I told the folks I was staying at MJ’s with full supervision but we later snuck out, caught the train to Sydney, saw the AA gig and returned to the house where her partially deaf nan was none the wiser. Perhaps the shirt empowered me to be brave or maybe it was the realisation I had entered superfandom and would stop at nothing to see my favourite band in all their grand royal glory.
Whatever the case, I’m still a BB devotee, still argue with those who think they’re too old/too white and yes mum I still have the shirt…so check your head!
- Killer C
OH and to the ex-boyfriend who tried to claim the shirt as his own many years ago, I’m so glad I dumped your sorry arse (actually he dumped me, but whatever).
