My talented brother Brendan O’Malley is an amazing writer and actor. He’s wonderful in the recent You & Me, directed by Alexander Baack. (I interviewed Baack about the film here.) His most recent gig was story editor/writer on the hit series Survivor’s Remorse. Brendan hasn’t blogged in years, but the “content” (dreaded word) is so good I asked if I could import some of it to my blog. He did series on books he loved, and albums he loved. I thought it would be fun to put up some of the stuff here. So we’ll start with his list of 50 Best Albums. I’ll put up one every Monday.

I have always loved these essays, because I love to hear my brother talk. I am happy to share them with you!

50 Best Albums, by Brendan O’Malley

12. Public Enemy – Yo! Bum Rush The Show!

In 1986 the blackest music I had in my collection was Prince, and as we all know he hails from Planet Purple. I listened to angry music made by young white suburban males. And show tunes. What can I say, I was confused.

I spent an awful lot of time flipping through album covers at Ritchie’s House of Bargains and Looney Tunes, the only local record stores. I come from Rhode Island, supposedly a bastion of the liberal northeast, but if you’d observed the stacks of Ritchie’s House of Bargains you’d have thought there needed to be a sit-in.

If 5 black people and 5 white people were in the store at the same time they could browse and never cross paths. It is similar today in that music has fragmented to such a degree, but the divisions then were startling.

One day I was in the store and it was empty. Now I remind you that I listened to nothing but punk rock at this point. I had disowned Prince briefly. Rap was a burgeoning force but I dismissed it as bubble-gum and silly and not creative enough. They aren’t playing instruments? That ain’t music. Drum machines? That ain’t music. No singing? That ain’t music.

For some reason, on this particular day, these prejudices were not sufficient enough to keep me from flipping through the rap section. I must have been curious enough to eschew my regular post, waiting for the latest Neutral Nation, 7 Seconds, Descendents, Circle Jerks, Meatmen, Dead Kennedys or Verbal Assault record to appear in the stacks.

So there I flip. My contact with rap had been limited to Run D.M.C., The Beastie Boys, The Sugarhill Gang, and Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five. “The Message” had caused a sensation when I was in sixth grade but I wasn’t really plugged in to popular music at the time. (See above reference to show tunes…ahem.)

Then an album cover leaped out at me. A bare light bulb glares directly into the lens. 7 young black men dressed in vaguely military gear gather around a turntable. The vibe is that of a group preparing for battle.

And their name was Public Enemy. Now I came from the punk world with band names like Social Distortion, Corrosion of Conformity, Youth Brigade, etc. But Public Enemy? Before I even heard a note I knew that this was way more punk rock than anything I was listening to. Even if I didn’t like the music I connected to the attitude.

I spent some of my hard-earned money. I worked weekends at Belmont Fruit occasionally and over vacations. Anything I wanted I had to buy on my own. There was one copy of the album in the store.

I got it home and put it on. In punk rock, the bare-bones production allowed the emotional content to be completely direct, unencumbered by studio polish or even songwriting craft. Much the same can be said for Yo! Bum Rush The Show!. I became quite a Public Enemy fan and when you compare this album to their later greats there is a vast difference. There are no bells no whistles, all force and beat.

What I liked (and like) about it is that you can hear the determination behind the sound. We only have this drum machine? We can only record for a short period of time due to finances? Don’t matter. What we have to say is all that matters. You could play a metronome behind Chuck D and it would be compelling.

The instant his voice bangs out in the opening songs, “You’re Gonna Get Yours” it is clear that this is no mere front-man, no mere performer.

He is incapable of a song that isn’t politically charged and historic in significance.

Even something that seems like a sexist rant against a “Sophisticated Bitch” is rife with the implication that a weak personality in a black woman has social ramifications unlike those for a white woman. Incredibly challenging and difficult material.

Basically I flipped my lid. And wouldn’t you know it? A few of my punk rock compadres showed their true colors (pun intended) in their reaction to the mere possibility of putting these black punks up against the white punks they so revered.

Much like many of the choices I highlight here, there are many caveats. I don’t even feel that this is the best pure Public Enemy album. That honor for me would go to Apocalypse ’91: The Enemy Strikes Black. But I will never forget the thrill I got when those manufactured beats came roaring out of my shitty little speakers.

Public Enemy. Just take a second to say the name stripped of your previous knowledge. PUBLIC ENEMY # 1.

I never looked at the world the same way after hearing that album for the first time. How many works of art can say they affected ANYBODY that way? Let alone the millions Public Enemy reached.

Indeed, it took a nation of millions.

— Brendan O’Malley