Contributed by James Giblin
I Get Wet, Andrew W.K.’s first big studio album was released in 2001 about a month and change after 9/11. Pretty much everyone had other things to worry about at the time. We all got to it at our own pace. The music on the album itself is not simple to categorize. It’s music that Fox Network can and will use in programming bumpers until the end of time. It’s music that lends itself as well to a session of Playstation hockey as it does to a mid-afternoon minivan trip to Taco Bell. The music is utterly mindless lyrically but if you listen long enough, it tugs your heartstrings with the mad, fumbling practice of a first-ever make-out session. It’s music a better-informed Bill & Ted would have traveled through time just to learn how to play. Most tracks on I Get Wet are musically quite similar with guitar-driven power rock ballads with piano accompaniment that champion the tenets of partying. The songs alternate between being earnest and hilarious.
Andrew W.K., at some lengthy interval in the years 2000-01, composed
the vast majority of the I Get Wet album himself and performed each
instrumental section individually himself, then textured them together
to create the unique sound in his imagination, then assembled a
touring band to deliver it unto the masses. That initial tour was quite
bizarre and wonderful, and I will be comparing today’s tour with the
original throughout this review. Andrew W.K. has recently determined
that the world is in dire need of I Get Wet‘s return. Beyond mere
comparison with its predecessor, let us examine whether, in this
solitary instance on a Thursday in Hollywood, Andrew’s determination
held true.
After thoughtfully confirming whether we, the paying customers were in fact ready for Andrew, the Avalon’s warm-up staff darken the lights on the rather amusing backdrop of our protagonist’s bloodied nose and maw. This image is the album cover of I Get Wet, an image which once caused controversy in European markets for being a possible veiled
reference towards cocaine over-usage. In reality, it’s an image of a guy who hit himself in the face with a brick, and that’s as good a primer as any for what we’re about to see.
The band members emerge one by one and appear to range from motor-oil
drinking body builders to Fuel-era James Hetfield, to Steve Perry, to a
WWF diva. Tension mounts and bubbles and everyone unanimously agrees
that we are in for a treat, though many are far to nervous to say so
with their mouths, claps or other noise-making gestures. Andrew is
last to emerge to the crowd’s eager yells, ruckus and shuffling of
feet. Mr. W.K. steps up to the microphone and engages with the crowd
as only he can.
If you’ve never had the pleasure of a conversation with Andrew W.K., I
can help fill in at least some of the blanks for you. Personality-wise, he is a cross between Tony Robbins, Henry Rollins, “Evil” Ed from the original Fright Night, and your imagined persona of your dad when he was your age. An interview with him generally vacillates between; Andrew making weird faces or noises, Andrew encouraging you to follow your dreams and trust in yourself and squeeze the absolute limit of human experience out of your limited time on the planet, genius-IQ Andrew working to elucidate in simple terms the intricacies of how and why he does what he does while
battling the perceived dichotomy inherent in his music and in his public image, and Andrew having fun, joking around and lighting up the room with his good-natured sense of humor.
On stage, Andrew is, impossibly, an even more confusing mix of all and
none of the above. He alternates between sticking the microphone in
his pants, punching himself in the side of his head in order to
release a major wad of spit, and lurching his legs around manually (by
hand) like a damaged, fun-loving Terminator unit. He elicits support
from the crowd during, but never before the start of his inter-song
shenanigans and peppers us with sincere, deranged statements about his
and our relative performance during the show. He is invulnerable and
indefatigable. He will never age and this night will clearly never end
(it ends at 10pm sharp (more on this later)).
The set kicks off with “It’s Time to Party”, and rolls into “Party
Hard” almost seamlessly as the crowd is absolutely devouring it. These
two songs have appeared in more big screen frat house camera sweeps
and EA Sports games than any other form of media (other than perhaps
Lit’s “My Own Worst Enemy”). Bleary-eyed thirty-somethings are
immediately transported to their own A.W.K. memoria; though their
lives have changed, this music and this feeling have remained just the
same as they left it. Hell, even the band looks pretty much identical
to a 2002-04 Andrew W.K. tour – with perhaps one exception.
As the audience’s lives have grown and changed over the past ten
years, so too has Andrew’s – in his case the addition a wedding banded
finger, and in turn, a wedded band member. Meet Cherie Lily, Andrew’s
bride and perhaps by default New York City’s pre-eminent chanteuse
and partying fitness model. Cherie Lily is dressed
as a dominatrix Jane Fonda; Cherie Lily puts the “melt” in “cameltoe.”
Along with her on-stage moves, which are unarguably as suited as any
towards the A.W.K. sound, Cherie brings with her the main conundrum of
the evening. Mrs. Lily was not present in Andrew’s life at the time
some of this music was made, or for any of the original tours, yet she has
toured by his side for at least the past year by my reckoning. By
contributing vocals to every song and appearing in her own loud, tan
and toned fashion next to Andrew, does she change the nature of the
show? Is the 10th Anniversary I Get Wet show altered too
unrecognizably from the original? Is our trusty old partying buddy’s
flashy new wife cool enough to hang out and head bang with us? Are we
grown-ups? We will re-visit this later.
Moving through “Girls Own Love” and “Ready to Die”, we take a long
look at the rest of the band, and fans of the original I Get Wet tour like what
they see. On that original tour, fans (dozens of fans, simultaneously)
were often invited on stage to party near the last few songs of the
set to end the show. As Andrew himself stands at a stout 6’3″ and at
least 250 lbs., and all of his band members have perenially been
bearded, muscled goliaths, there was very little even the drunkest
fans could do to disrupt the show, aside from toppling a keyboard,
which security always seemed to have their eye on somehow. Andrew’s 5
or 6 guitarists would grimly strum and thumb away as a variety of
idiots caromed off of them and into each other before plummeting back
into the writhing arms of the crowd. It is difficult to imagine that
many of today’s fans will be able to stage-jump at the freaking
Avalon, and with the presence of Cherie it is hard to imagine that the swarming masses will be able to push, shove and get their faces rocked on literally by this band.
A.W.K. used to bounce around like a spring all show. I saw the guy do a show in a
wheelchair and he literally hopped around in it all over the place,
broken leg swinging around like a piñata. As the track “Take it Off” brings us
another step through the I Get Wet canon, Andrew replaces some of his
explosiveness with attention towards his bandmates, making sure to
circulate to sing and lean upon each, which is quite a task
considering there are a total of 8 people on stage at all times.
“I Love New York City” is received enthusiastically by the L.A. crowd, lending some credence to the easily assumed fact that no one attending this show is actually from
LA. Andrew W.K., though originally from Michigan, is a New York guy
through and through; judging by his tour stops, much of his devoted
fanbase lies between those two bounds. At this point in the show,
Andrew, in his infinite Andrew, elects to strap on a trusty ESP LTD guitar to
thrash out an extended solo upon. Much of this is objectively quite
horrible, and some of the fans let him hear it. Andrew’s response is
to make faces and pound a big old loogie of spit out of his own mouth.
They love it! Rule Number One: Know thy audience.
Proceeding briskly through the album’s 12 tracks the band
plays “She is Beautiful”, a blistering ode to romantic love and the
virtues of taking a chance. There is possibly no better time to
revisit Cherie Lily as we have now been exposed to quite a bit of her
vocals. I’m not going to say that she is doing great at singing Andrew
W.K. songs; she is however fun while performing them. Even if her
vocal contributions lie firmly in the question mark column, which they
do, it’s quite an untenable situation for her in the first place.
Andrew W.K.’s songs, by their very nature, make little sense and hold
less water when performed by anyone but himself. Most importantly to
the show itself, the somewhat alarming lack of vertical motion by Mr.
W.K. is being addressed quite robustly by Mrs. Lily, as she bops
nimbly back and forth, engaging in various swoops and flourishes as
demanded by the beat.
As always, the end of a song marks the return of the spotlight to
Andrew. This is the point in the show where some eager Andrew W.K.
fans feel a slight panic, as the friends/boyfriends/girlfriends they
are hoping to convert are exposed to Andrew at his most base. The
crowd is gleefully petitioned with the following: “Have you ever…
vomited?” “Have you ever….. BARFED?” cheers>
This all leads us into “Party Til You Puke”, a paean to a time-honored
celebratory ritual that many of the thirty-somethings in attendance
have left far behind them. An interesting cross-section of persons has
come to attend this show. Most are obviously dedicated fans, as they
are clad in Andrew gear or often enough dressed as the white-shirted,
white-denimed party rocker himself. I Get Wet‘s original tour was
famous at the time for attracting a non-sensical mix of rockers,
skaters, fratboys or preppies as they were once known, grungies or
dirties, proto-hipster indie kids, the goth/black metal set, and
basically anything else in between. This is not to say that Andrew
W.K. had or ever has had universal appeal; it is simply to say that
the sort of music you were into had little determination in whether
you “got it” or not. Basically, if you didn’t get it, you probably
hated it; if you got it, and if you didn’t care what your friends
thought, you were more than likely at the Andrew W.K. show. I would
like to say that this particular aspect of the original show has held
up but I really can’t tell as the only two cliques at rock shows in LA
seem to be “hipster” and “other”. I am delighted however to report
that both hipsters and others were in attendance and circle-moshing
quite vigorously.
“Fun Night” is the next track, continuing the theme of the album,
which I believe has something to do with partying. It is known to many
New Yorkers that Andrew W.K. co-owns a joint called Santos Party
House, a dual-floored Manhattan party outlet which is described by
various well-respected magazines and newspapers as one of New York
City’s best venues and hottest dance nights. A point of contention for
many of Andrew’s detractors is the subject of how genuine Andrew is.
In order to grasp the appeal of this music that is so elusive for
many, it seems that one must buy into the idea that Andrew is indeed
all about partying, all the time. As foolish or unrealistic a concept
as that seems from a distance, it is hard to escape concluding it as a
certainty while observing him in his party element, whether it be a
rock show or a night at Santos. Another piece of evidence supporting
his legitimacy is the fact that Andrew W.K. is possibly more popular
in Japan than he is in the U.S., much like noted party animal Edward
Furlong.
The second-to-penultimate verse of I Get Wet, known as “Gotta Do It”,
is followed by a rather extended series of antics from Andrew, as he
pleads the audience to raise its activity level, the punishment
apparently being that he will act really weird if we don’t.
Fumbling with his button fly, Andrew inserts his microphone into an
unknowable crevice and pretends to be some kind of satanic primate as
onlookers cheer and howl.
Pantomiming a slow death of thirst proves the perfect transition into
“I Get Wet,” the album’s title track. Punctuated by water bottle
showers courtesy of Cherie Lily, the audience’s eyes are reflexively
closed as they swoon towards the reality that a mere one track remains
on the album, and doubtlessly thus the concert. It’s weirdly about
8:45pm. Aside from the fact that it’s a school night, who do I blame
for this? According to reviewer Chris Gedos, it might be the fact that
the Avalon likes to have the place clear for their DJ night before it
gets too late. Bummer.
I Get Wet comes to a close with “Don’t Stop Living In The Red”, a
track that reminds me of another contrasting quality of this tour vs.
the original. Namely, it’s this: Andrew W.K. has spent virtually zero
time proselytizing the crowd. Generally, in the old days, an audience
would get quite the hefty dose of Andrew’s life philosophy, in
addition to the constant urging to party and let loose. Crowds would
be told things along the lines of “This is right and so are you.” or
other similar things espousing the power of will, self-confidence and
being true to yourself. There was very little of this kind of thing
over the course of the entire night. This was always part of the
unique charm of Andrew, he was performing music, but he would lapse
into being a self-help guru at the drop of a drumstick. I’m not sure
whether the removal of this is a good or a bad thing for the show but
I look forward to philosophers debating the question for decades to
come.
With this, Andrew and the gang bid adieu to the now very animated
attendees. Ever the crowd-pleaser, the crowd is allowed a good four
minutes during which they move from “ONE! MORE! SONG!” (the dumb
crowd’s version of encore according to a great LA stand-up comic who I
will credit when I remember who it was I think it was John Vargas) to
a final convergence upon “WE! WANT! FUN!”, a much more fitting cheer
for an Andrew encore by any measuring stick you have handy. After a
few more minutes in which the audience’s family jewels drop through
the floor in anticipation, the band comes back out and we have
ourselves a whole ‘nother show! Yahoo!
If scientists worked to create one awesome track with which to come
back from intermission, “Victory Strikes Again,” the opening track
from Andrew W.K.’s second big studio album, The Wolf, would fall
awfully close to the mark. At this point the crowd is full-on, fever
pitch, loving it. Every person near to me is jumping up and down.
Taking pictures is becoming quite the challenge. I slip out of the
reviewer’s brain and into the reptile brain. I’ve watched the show and
analyzed it, but how does it really feel to be here?
Every person in attendance, regardless of row or column except for the
very back of the room, is now being moved by the circle pit. Things
are officially out of control. Andrew said earlier in the show that
“THE MORE YOU DO, THE BETTER ANDREW DOES.” It’s his turn to provide
half of the equation.
I enter the pit for the first time to the sounds of “Long Live The
Party”. I do not bring anything expensive with me. Knees, elbows,
faces, fists, shoulders and more all compete for my immediate
attention. I stay on my feet. Some idiot falls down. Five people help
him up. Bodies are being launched in a surf toward the stage with
alarming regularity. As close as this is to how it was ten years ago,
something’s a bit different. I set out to determine what it is. I
decide after racking my brain while being jostled and head-butted that
the music is not as loud as it should be. I struggle to determine
whether this is because I am old and deaf or because the Avalon is
subject to more stringent noise pollution laws than the venues of my
youth. Both prospects depress me.
The next song is “Never Let Down” and the tempo change grinds the pit
to a halt. This song is a slow-paced rock ballad that evokes the
spirit of camaraderie and devolves our spirited melee into something
resembling a group bro-hug. I make my exit at this point and realize
that the music hasn’t changed, but I have. “Totally Stupid” is the
next track to play, and its lyrics are directly evocative of its
title. My thoughts can’t help but turn critical. I’m not 16 anymore,
inside or outside. The concert experience of my youth slides ever so
much farther from reach. A cold tick echoes inside the mechanics of my
heart clock. The crowd sways, hoots and hollers as I grit my teeth and
wonder.
The fanfare briefly weakens but Andrew is an old hand at this kind of
situation. As some of the audience, your trusty correspondent
included, reach into our old bag of tricks and come up wanting, Andrew
reminds us that his bag has all the same tricks it’s ever had. He
proceeds to literally carry the crowd on his own shoulders.
Look at that. That doesn’t happen every day. My spirits are renewed. I
am reminded of why I love Andrew W.K. concerts. It is the kind of
feeling that lasts for a brief moment but makes you wonder why you
ever feel any other feeling.
We are now offered some newer tracks; from Close Calls With Brick
Walls, a 2006 double-CD release, we have two very strong and energetic
tracks in “You Will Remember Tonight” and “The Moving Room”. These
served as a welcome injection of energy into the room as some in the
crowd had grown restless, but were now drawn fully back into the show.
This is the point at which A.W.K. begins teasing the crowd before and
after each song that “THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE”, though it seemingly
never is.
The audience is asked if it would like to hear a NEW SONG, and we
proceed into what I believe was called “Head Banger.” The contents of
the package match the label, and we are treated to quite the husband
and wife head-bang sesh. It must be true that the family that rocks
out together stays together. If I’m forced to call in a decision from
my jury on the Cherie Lily A.W.K. era, I’d have to say that most fans
of the original tour should approve. So much of the original tour was
sort of a “Cult of Andrew” and adding a new on-stage personality is
bound to sort of detract from that, but the two of them playing off of
each other adds a positive wrinkle to the show – one must also wonder
if her presence has sort of muted Andrew the Philosopher as well. The
net result comes out to the show being more about the music and less
about the cult figure, which must be viewed as a win for fans of the
music. For those who only value Andrew for his existence as a kind of
larger-than-life character, there’s still plenty here at the show to
enjoy and you even get to see him in a new light. Who knows, maybe
some day Andrew or Andrina Jr. will be up there rocking along with the
whole family.
The song that everyone wanted to hear at that point is “We Want Fun”,
a 2000 un-released EP’s hit single that propelled Andrew’s early
career with the help of a video featuring Jackass cast members and
various skate-boarders. This is Andrew as his earliest fans remember
him, and as they would probably wish to remember themselves at the
time they listened to it. Exhausted, the crowd allows Andrew to
withdraw, W.K. himself showering the front row with beatific praise
and high fives as the band completes a triumphant exit. It’s weirdly
about 10pm.
Did the world need a return of I Get Wet? Andrew is as close to his
original form as any fan could beg for, and on his side of things this
tour is probably calculated to provide a strong launch for his new
work. I can imagine no better way to do that than a return to his cult
favorite album and evidently neither could his management. The show
was packed in and there were more than just die-hard dress-up fans
there – there were many new listeners I spoke to and plenty of people
who had dusted off old .mp3 folders and worked themselves up into a
frenzy they hadn’t seen in a decade in anticipation of this night.
Those are the ones who needed this show.
Andrew W.K. 
(Facebook)
Rating 7.9
Reviewed by b3
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