APRIL 1986

Back at my desk, I faced the dismal prospect of churning out yet another bland one-page profile of an emerging artist -- Run-DMC. But as I played back the interview cassette, I heard Run beatboxing the guitar riff from Aerosmith's "Walk This Way" into my tape recorder. I realized that the only time Run and Darryl loosened up was when they talked about the records they loved to sample -- hard rock like this and Billy Squier's "The Big Beat."

I wondered what a bunch of aging classic rockers would make of this recognition by a new generation. Aerosmith were just out of rehab and their last album, Done With Mirrors, was flagging. Maybe an association with a young group in a hot new genre would freshen their image.

Soon I had arranged an interview. I'd planned on a phoner, but Bob Guccione Jr. told me to go to Boston and sit down with the band. That year, the story of Aerosmith's descent into addiction had been done to death. And I was too big of a fan to write their obituary. Still, in order to justify a long interview, something needed to happen. What if Aerosmith and Run-DMC were to meet up? Maybe they could work together. What better way to bag a scoop, I thought, than to stage one myself.

I called Rick Rubin. "Can you give me a tape of Run-DMC? I'm going to Boston to meet Aerosmith." "That would be incredible!" he replied.

When I met up with the band, I proposed the collaboration. Aerosmith had never heard of Run-DMC when I handed them that cassette, but they were willing to take the risk of working with a new artist.

Several weeks later, the two groups met up in a Manhattan studio, and I got to watch the session unfold. Run-DMC's album, Raising Hell, went on to launch Rick's career, revive Aerosmith's, and make hip-hop, as Russell Simmons predicted, mainstream. For my part, I had the rare privilege of arranging an event that wouldgo on to become a part of music history. Guess I got the scoop. -- SUE CUMMINGS

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