March 20th - The arrival of the first graphic horseman.

Alright, this is bullshit. I've had it. Is this what we've been reduced to? Michigan metalheads copping ESPN Jock Jams and bellowing incessantly about the wondrous virtues of the all-nighter? Rock critics who dissed the entire idea of "wild music" are now glorifying its second coming as somehow superior? If this is what the future of music has in store for us, why no apocalypse on New Year's Eve 9999? Doesn't God care? Shit, maybe Y2K really was Armageddon, launching us headfirst into a great black nü-metal abyss, and maybe Andrew W.K. is just the first of four pending horsemen.

What I'm about to say may sound like an exaggeration, but it's absolutely true. Andrew W.K.'s music is like an insidious beast, planting itself into the deepest instinctual recesses of your brainstem, where it instantly detonates in a visceral adrenal charge. There is suddenly no respect for proper behavior, and every moron without a pulse is forced to perform a moronic dance. But don't blame yourself. This music is evil in its purest form, wafting through air, waiting to possess every decent person in the entire room until they're flat on their backs in bed, wrists tied to the headboard, with drunken priests standing holy at their sides to exorcise the demon. That's what corporate music does. That's where your dollars go. Creating this pinnacle moment of industry acheivement took time and money. The point of W.K. seems to be it's marketability, and there were clearly hundrers of hours logged in creating his music, image, and manifesto. Essentially a hired frontman, W.K. relies on a stable of producers, writers, and record execs to craft his existence, which he then takes on and sells like the best carnival barker you've ever heard.  

Andrew W.K. is a demon, and the demon is a tricky sonofabitch, spinning you in circles of confusion and chanting its life-affirming message to brainwash you into truly believing, right to the core of your soul, that what it speaks is the Good Truth. Read any interview with W.K. (they're all the same-- just like the songs!) in which he spews naïve positivity like dad's warbly old self-help cassettes. There is no irony about Andrew. He is, in fact, so earnest it sends any straight-thinking individual into epileptic fits of shivers and winces. For christ's sake, the man opens the second paragraph of his self-writ bio with "I will work every day to feel O.K." before finally getting around to calling the music "perfect" because "all it wants is for people to be happy." LIES!

This here is about as empty as rock music gets, right down to the tinny, digitally processed tonebank noise that passes for 'guitars.' You think otherwise? You're wrong. If you believe in the words this madman shouts, then you are believing in a lie. I may not be the arbiter of image, but I know when someone's real when I see it, and W.K.'s music is not part of reality, it exists inside a constructed vacuum of reality where hired minds pour over insignificant details, looking for more ways to create "the most exciting music possible". This is pure corporate trash, and it's getting more and more rotten every time one of W.K.'s "tunes" are played.

Anyone who doesn't believe my attacks can simply examine the proof. I've found that deciples of the great W.K. don't take kindly to people exposing their "saviour". But I've gotten used to dealing with the defensive and stubborn fans, and I've already gotten quite a few people to see the light. One conquest I'm particularly proud of is the conversion of my friends, who was a huge W.K. supporter for years. We would get in frequent arguments, as I would try to explain to my poor lost and misguided buddy, that W.K. is no more real of a person than the character played by any actor. I explained that the record companies had found this young performer in Michigan and that they had built Andrew's image, and formed him to be their ideal version of the ultimate front man. His face and overall "facial look", including his album artwork, was designed to resemble popular actors from current popular movies (Tom Cruise, Leonardo Dicaprio, and Johnny Depp). In addition, his songs are written by private songwriters (rumored to be anyone from Diane Warren to production team "The Matrix"). Eventually my friend couldn't deny the simple reality she saw in front of her eyes, and Mr. W.K. no longer fit into that reality.

And yet, so many people are still willing to back W.K. up with a number of ridiculous excuses, even when they realize he's not a real person, they still refuse to budge from the declaration that they "enjoy this". They deep-down know enjoying something in that way is inherently flawed. How can you enjoy something that is bad? Lame excuses always follow, and always fall short: "It's catchy" is no kind of argument. Every pop song you've ever truly hated is catchy. "It's ironic" doesn't work either, since there's exactly zero irony to be had in any of W.K.'s music or in his motivational interviews. "It's fun" is about the only legitimate excuse a guy could come up with, but this world of music which history has graced us with is loaded with fun music. Fun real music. Even fun music with substance, fun music that doesn't talk to you like you're some kinda total dipshit. Fun music that actually has a soul. Fun music that is made by a real person, who believes in what they do. Fun music that gives you something back for your money and your time. Fun music that doesn't reek of top-secret corporate cover-ups or inexplicable confusion.  And you don't even have to look that hard! So then, what is the excuse for a typically elitist music nerd to bow to Andrew W.K.'s retard-rock? That's right, folks: there isn't one.