Run-DMC came along, it was black punk rock.” 12
At NYU, Rubin was the smart, charismatic leader of an eclectic peer group. Always persuasive, he could use intimidating aggression to back down agitated dorm neighbors. And he could disarm an interviewer with a puppy-dog look like John Belushi in
The Blues Brothers
. His room in the Weinstein Hall dorm was the hub of an extracollegiate rainbow coalition. The nexus was filled with high-end stereo equipment, funk records, and empty White Castle wrappers. Cool people from all over the city filtered in at all hours, except the morningones: Rubin worked late, played late, and slept late. A photographic memory and deep pockets helped Rubin maintain straight As—writing his own papers would have cut into his time club-hopping at hip-hop hotspots like Danceteria and the Roxy. 13
By 1983, Rubin was more interested in hip-hop than classes. In December, Rubin entered the rap game by programming a drum beat for T. La Rock and Jazzy Jay’s “It’s Yours” and borrowing $5,000 from his parents to finance the single. 14 Rubin sold it to Arthur Baker, the production impresario whose discography included Afrika Bambaataa’s “Planet Rock.” Baker released it on his Party Time/Streetwise label, thought it had the Def Jam logo on the back. After a nasty business split, Baker accused Rubin of having “a spoiled-brat mentality that he can get away with as long as his records do well.” 15
Rubin never faced that kind of reckoning. His demeanor was different in the studio, where he knew how to get the best out of his collaborators. The nurturing approach came from parents, who indulged him and let him find his way.
“I’ve given Ricky a lot of freedom,” Rubin’s father told Walters. 16 “But I’ve insisted that he follow two rules: don’t use drugs and never lie to me. I told him, ‘Ricky, you’ve got me and you need nobody else on this earth. But if you lie, you’ll fuck up the best deal a son ever had.’ He doesn’t need to lie to anybody because if somebody doesn’t like the truth, fuck ’em. He doesn’t take shit from anybody.”
Rubin followed his father’s rules and reaped the benefits. Even when he left his parents’ nest, like Kerry King, Rubin remained sort of straight-edge: no drinking and no drugs. In the drug-saturated decade of the 80s, even during a brief stinton tour with the Beastie Boys, Rubin never consumed anything harder than a little MSG.
“He never used to hang out with us since he didn’t drink,” recalls Beastie Boys tour manager Sean Carasov. “He’d just stay home and watch porn and get Chinese takeout.”
The T. La Rock record caught the ear of rising young hip-hop promoter Russell Simmons, who was blown away by how well it captured raw sound of live hip-hop.
Simmons, five years older than Rubin, had grown up comfortably middle-class in the New York City suburb of Jamaica, Queens. The hyperactive Simmons was a legendary talker, with a nimble mind and follow-through to match his gift of gab. He would leave City College in favor of producing records, promoting hip-hop parties and managing Run-DMC—a rising rap group that featured his brother, Joseph “Run” Simmons. By the time Rubin’s and Simmons’s paths crossed, they knew each other’s names and respected each other’s work. They started hanging out around town. 17
On the back of the T. La Rock record, Rubin had announced his dorm room’s address as the headquarters of Def Jam. When a promising young rapper named L.L. Cool J tracked Rubin down, the producer decided to expand Def Jam from a logo to a label. Def Jam’s first real release was L.L.’s “I Need a Beat.”
“[Rubin and Simmons are] both shrewd businessmen,” says Glen E. Friedman, who started shooting classic Def Jam photos after the Beastie Boys brought back pictures he’d taken of them while on tour L.A. “But Rick is much more artistically motivated than Russell is. Rick would put out a record that
At NYU, Rubin was the smart, charismatic leader of an eclectic peer group. Always persuasive, he could use intimidating aggression to back down agitated dorm neighbors. And he could disarm an interviewer with a puppy-dog look like John Belushi in
The Blues Brothers
. His room in the Weinstein Hall dorm was the hub of an extracollegiate rainbow coalition. The nexus was filled with high-end stereo equipment, funk records, and empty White Castle wrappers. Cool people from all over the city filtered in at all hours, except the morningones: Rubin worked late, played late, and slept late. A photographic memory and deep pockets helped Rubin maintain straight As—writing his own papers would have cut into his time club-hopping at hip-hop hotspots like Danceteria and the Roxy. 13
By 1983, Rubin was more interested in hip-hop than classes. In December, Rubin entered the rap game by programming a drum beat for T. La Rock and Jazzy Jay’s “It’s Yours” and borrowing $5,000 from his parents to finance the single. 14 Rubin sold it to Arthur Baker, the production impresario whose discography included Afrika Bambaataa’s “Planet Rock.” Baker released it on his Party Time/Streetwise label, thought it had the Def Jam logo on the back. After a nasty business split, Baker accused Rubin of having “a spoiled-brat mentality that he can get away with as long as his records do well.” 15
Rubin never faced that kind of reckoning. His demeanor was different in the studio, where he knew how to get the best out of his collaborators. The nurturing approach came from parents, who indulged him and let him find his way.
“I’ve given Ricky a lot of freedom,” Rubin’s father told Walters. 16 “But I’ve insisted that he follow two rules: don’t use drugs and never lie to me. I told him, ‘Ricky, you’ve got me and you need nobody else on this earth. But if you lie, you’ll fuck up the best deal a son ever had.’ He doesn’t need to lie to anybody because if somebody doesn’t like the truth, fuck ’em. He doesn’t take shit from anybody.”
Rubin followed his father’s rules and reaped the benefits. Even when he left his parents’ nest, like Kerry King, Rubin remained sort of straight-edge: no drinking and no drugs. In the drug-saturated decade of the 80s, even during a brief stinton tour with the Beastie Boys, Rubin never consumed anything harder than a little MSG.
“He never used to hang out with us since he didn’t drink,” recalls Beastie Boys tour manager Sean Carasov. “He’d just stay home and watch porn and get Chinese takeout.”
The T. La Rock record caught the ear of rising young hip-hop promoter Russell Simmons, who was blown away by how well it captured raw sound of live hip-hop.
Simmons, five years older than Rubin, had grown up comfortably middle-class in the New York City suburb of Jamaica, Queens. The hyperactive Simmons was a legendary talker, with a nimble mind and follow-through to match his gift of gab. He would leave City College in favor of producing records, promoting hip-hop parties and managing Run-DMC—a rising rap group that featured his brother, Joseph “Run” Simmons. By the time Rubin’s and Simmons’s paths crossed, they knew each other’s names and respected each other’s work. They started hanging out around town. 17
On the back of the T. La Rock record, Rubin had announced his dorm room’s address as the headquarters of Def Jam. When a promising young rapper named L.L. Cool J tracked Rubin down, the producer decided to expand Def Jam from a logo to a label. Def Jam’s first real release was L.L.’s “I Need a Beat.”
“[Rubin and Simmons are] both shrewd businessmen,” says Glen E. Friedman, who started shooting classic Def Jam photos after the Beastie Boys brought back pictures he’d taken of them while on tour L.A. “But Rick is much more artistically motivated than Russell is. Rick would put out a record that
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