ANDREW W.K.
After a long decade of tepid pop and angry alt-rock, it was only a matter of time before the bold sound of party rock would make its triumphant return. The '70s gave us Van Halen and Kiss. In the '80s, we had Poison and Twisted Sister. Now meet Andrew W.K., the great new hope for the third millennium.
This 23-year-old Michiganite is unlike any pop star you've ever known. After paying his dues in punk and metal bands in Detroit, W.K. (initials of his last name, Wilkes-Krier, also said to stand for 'White Killer') moved to New York at 18. Without a full band, he performed karaoke-style -- flailing around with a microphone and screaming over a pre-recorded CD of his music. To some, W.K.'s hyper-active antics seemed like some sort of a parody, but this was no joke; it landed him gigs opening for the Foo Fighters as well as the attention of the fickle British music press.
W.K.'s debut album, 'I Get Wet' (Island Records), wastes little time on clever lyrics or intricate song arrangements; the simplicity of the shouted lyrics and ham-fisted musicianship hit with an immediate impact. Arena-worthy anthems, such as 'Got To Do It,' 'Party Til You Puke' and 'She is Beautiful' celebrate the hedonistic pleasures of life -- beer, sex, partying -- with overdriving, crunching guitars and infectious hooks. Combining the bubblegum appeal of ABBA, the Cars and the Go-Go's with the sheer brute force of The Ramones and Motorhead, W.K. cranks everything up to ear-crushing volumes, while still making memorable, dance-floor friendly tracks.
"All my songs are love songs, they're about loving life," W.K. explains, "The most passionate emotions are happiness, love, hate and… just killing. It's all about trying to make the most moving, exciting, passionate music I can make." One look at his album cover -- a close-up of his face with a very bloody nose -- will give you the idea.
'I Get Wet' is about living for the moment and getting drenched in various bodily fluids in the process.
W.K.'s exaggerated lust for life is inspiring. Get your fix now, before his monster sound invades arenas,
movie soundtracks and more commercials than Moby.
-- Hal Miller
This article originally appeared on AOL's Digital City, April 2002.
Photos courtesy of Island Records.