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Andrew W.K. is just a frat boy dressed up like a rock star, right? Wrong.

Wednesday, Aug 20 2003
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Any self-respecting, semi-intelligent person would be ludicrous to admit he likes Andrew W.K. Clearly the party-loving rocker is made from the same amorphous stuff that causes frat boys to chug, moon, hit, haze, pledge, cheat, and pass out. If you don"t believe this notion, take a gander at the lyric sheet for the Neanderthal"s latest record, The Wolf, in which full pages are devoted to the repetition of lines like "I want to have a party." Brilliant stuff, right? Didn"t this sort of thing begin to steadily decline in 1987, effectively petering out by the time Eddie Vedder was swinging from rafters on MTV?

But wait. Something"s wrong here. This excited "80s pop-metal has a strange grip: Three songs into the record and your toe"s tapping along to the cheesy piano rhythms à la Eddie Money, the squealing harmonized guitars à la Iron Maiden, the reverb-soaked drums à la Guns N" Roses, and the processed-and-echoing-for-miles vocals à la Def Leppard. Suddenly it"s four songs in and your whole lower body"s convulsing and you know it"s not going to take much for your torso to follow. Can"t ... stop ... dancing ....

So there you are, flailing and hair-tousled, egoless and id-ridden: This long-haired "80s nostalgist who once seemed incapable of using three-syllable words has made you forget about your recent demotion, rate increase, and lack of significant other. People travel to caves on other continents for that kind of peace. And here all you had to do was set aside your preconceptions.

About The Author

Abigail Clouseau

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