I saw Andrew W.K. at Webster Hall this past March on his I Get Wet 10th Anniversary Tour— something I had wanted since I was 12 years old. Even though security would clear the stage between songs, the first notes of the next would call up a swarm of revelers from the crowd. There was non-stop frontflipping off the stage into the mosh. The audience contained more than three partymonsters wrapped in white jeans and matching tee, with stringy bacon-grease hair dangling down their backs when it wasn’t whipping in all directions. I got to sing into the mic during the show closer, jostling against His Partyness himself, letting everyone know that I, too, get wet when the party is dying.
While I would probably not ever think of Andrew W.K. as one of my favorite musicians, and I’m patently uninterested infollow-up album The Wolf beyond the three listens I’ve given it over the past ten years… I can sing along with every line of I Get Wet. Can’t do that with an Animal Collective album. Not quite there with either of Sleigh Bells’ releases. That statistic stands alone.
(That is, unless you want to count Girl Talk’s sets as albums, or if I’m discounting my own lyrical memory when it comes to My Chemical Romance. But it’s more partyful to believe in it this way.)