Such A Scream

[Guest TSMAdmin]

At the time I got into wrestling–late ‘99, which means the Big Show was champ AND engaged in the Feud for the Ages with the Big Bossman–or shortly thereafter, I found my previously closed-minded attitude towards certain forms of lower entertainment began to open a little. Maybe, I figured, there is nothing intrinsically wrong with enjoying Adam Sandler movies; sure, I find him as humorous as being stabbed in the testicles with a fork, but one cannot judge a person solely on if they intentionally go see his films, or, god forbid, buy one of his albums. (I will be seeing an Adam Sandler movie, on purpose, later this year, when one of my favorite directors, Paul Thomas Anderson, releases his Punch Drunk Love. This will be the first Sandler flick I will have checked out since Happy Gilmore was unwillingly thrust upon my eyes back in 1997).

 

Where was I? Oh, yes, professional wrestling gave me a larger tolerance of and for lower forms of popular culture, which, naturally, would include music. Still, it would be a long time before music's lower culture made a blip on my radar screen, as everything on the radio and MTV was absolute shit, and low art bands I use to like–GWAR, for instance–only served for nostalgia purposes. This, however, started to change late last year, when I saw Andrew W.K.'s video for "Party Hard" on MTV2.

 

The video is a stunning rock spectacle, with the Artist as Rock God front and center. Here is David Lee Roth before he turned to self-parody–as it happens, even if they were in different realms sonically, Andrew W.K. has so much of the original Van Halen front man's spirit, that if you were to switch the former's black hair and denim pants for the blonde mane and spandex of the latter, you would have a striking facsimile of 1980s-era Mr. Roth. That's how ROCKIN'~! Andrew W.K. is in the song and video for "Party Hard." The video, by the way, contains one of my favorite rock moments from within the past year: the sight of Andrew banging his head because the music moves him to do it, in front of a giant, flashing PARTY HARD sign. That single moment is just as glorious as anything in Wilco's equally superb Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.

 

Needless to say, I was jacked for the release of his debut LP, I Get Wet. I looked up all the information I could find about him on the internet, and was surprised–and jealous–that the American born and bred W.K. already had the album out in the U.K., but there was not yet a publically announced release date for the moment when my new Rock God would save the pitiful souls of all the Limp Bizkit and Godsmack fans here in the states. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity but what was more like a couple of months, there was a street date: March 26th. If ever any act deserved the ludicrous credit that too many music magazines heralded whoever for "saving rock and roll"–it was NOT the incredibly overrated The Strokes, it was Andrew W.K., and the Day of Salvation was set for 03/26/02.

 

I must break here and say that in spite of what you have read above, I was well aware that no album could ever live up to the expectations I had for I Get Wet, and sure enough, on the last Tuesday of March of this year, the second coming of Jesus Christ did not occur. However, I Get Wet is a fairly solid rock record. It is not surprising to learn here that not a lot is on Andrew W.K.'s agenda other than the usual rock suspects of sex (more on this momentarily), drugs and rock & roll. One does not need a lyric sheet, nor even understand what Andrew is saying in order to ascertain that–one look at the track listing is enough to tell you his modus operandi is partying; there are three songs with "Party" in the title, after all. Actually, as far as sex goes, there is nowhere near as much as I would have expected going into this. The use of the word "come" in "Girls Own Love" is open to interpretation, and the title track may have implications that are going over my head, but the lack of a Parental Advisory sticker on the cover is enough to make me think these songs are not as salacious as they could have been.

 

Given the at times dangerously high levels of irony that has infiltrated all forms of popular media, it is easy to shrug off Andrew W.K. as either a poseur or some nodding, goofing postmodern trickster, affecting rock god status while giving a subtle wink, as if to say "I'm acting like I rock ‘cuz it's not cool to do so!" Well, I do not doubt Andrew W.K.'s sincerity to party til he pukes, and a number of interviews with the man has shown that he's as hyper and gregarious as his leaping and kicking stage persona, and that yes, he is serious. Good, sez I, as I am glad to see someone so unafraid to simply rock, and who does not spew the empty, venomous hate so many of today's nu-metalers do. Because of this sincerity and love, I would like to see his song "I Love NYC" play in–if it has not done so already–Yankee Stadium to pump up the crowd of baseball fans before or during a game. Sure, the track's verses border on nonsensical, but it would be quite the pleasing sight to see the masses singing along with the ten word mantra that serves as the song's chorus: "I love New York City! Oh, yeah! New York City!"

 

Getting back to sincerity and love, where is this album's power ballad? All the party/hair metal bands of the past–from Poison to Motley Crue to Slaughter–had them, so where is Andrew W.K.'s? The closest I Get Wet has are both up-tempo rockers in the form of "She is Beautiful" and "Got to Do It," which has a catchy chorus, but lyrically is a little too overbearing with its hokey "you gotta do all the stuff you love" message. Due to this album's lack of power ballad, I would like to end off this column by issuing a challenge to Mr. W.K.: Write one. Make it big and bombastic. Make it have a shamelessly sappy guitar solo and apply the liberal use of keyboards. Make it have an orchestra, but try to keep the overall proceedings to be around the five minute mark. I'm not asking for "November Rain, Pt. 2," here. Oh, and take some singing lessons. There's no evidence on I Get Wet that you can, in fact, sing. Until next time....

 

 

Write me in praise of my praise of Andrew W.K.! Write me in scorn over the loss of my indie credibility! Just write me!

 

Matt D