Consider the current state of popular music - never in the history of the music business has it been more common for record companies to construct artists entire personality and image.  Never before has the record industry churned out more of the same fake crap, claiming that it's real music.  And never before has the mainstream rock press gobbled and propped it up with such passion. 

However, since the turn of the new millennium, there have been several outstanding examples of extraordinary underhanded industry string-pulling, one example in particular takes the grand prize for "Most Fraudulent Musical Creation"... Enter Andrew WK.

The year 2000 was presented to the public gift-wrapped - complete with a bow and a note-card reading "A Year of Anxiety".  Fresh from year our pre-millennium tension, we were soon to be bombarded with a new level of convoluted corporate crap, in the form of a new "Icon".  The musical imagery was so absurd and self-consciously constructed that it toppled any previous records of entertainment atrocity.  The thing's name was Andrew WK, and it looked, acted, and smelled like the world's greatest front man.  We were told that this was the "2nd Coming" of real music and "fun".  Some called him Jesus, some called him "the savior of music"...  The real story was something different entirely...

Andrew WK was brought before the consumer in attempt to out-do, out-think, and "out-last" every other new artist marketing strategy.  Overnight, a worldwide campaign was launched, in order to turn this new "savior" into a "super-star".  An already flooded media was doubly saturated with an overload of Andrew WK imagery and text.  The infamous "bloody-nose" photograph was pasted up across the world.  The result was an overwhelming wave of confusion about "who" this man was, and "what" was this music supposed to represent.  The obvious "hedonistic" hooks of the songs were deceptively simple, and were targeted at the young-adult masses with such unassuming and naive charm that most of the public didn't even know they had been snagged.  The only problem was, it didn't all work out as planned...

In 1998 a meeting was held by Island/Def Jam (ex) President, Lyor Choen to announce a new addition to their A&R staff.  The new man's name was Lewis Largent, and he'd already earned quite a reputation around the industry for his wild-man antics and powerful connections. 

Within the music industry there exists an illusive backstage world where the top players gather to excerise their control over the business.  Largent was hired onto Island/Def Jam's staff after an extremely successful run as head-programmer at MTV and an executive at ClearChannel.  Those of you who were avid followers of MTV's "120 Minutes" will remember the veejay "Lewis Largent" who hosted several episodes.  Choen believed that Largent would be the perfect man to help him in his efforts to create an exciting new roster of artists for the recently revamped label.  Largent accepted the position on the condition that he have full control over the artists he brought to the label.  This is not unusual in the industry, especially in this day in age, when many A&R men double as producers or other equally influential positions within the music business.  Largent's wife, Julie Greenwald, was also a powerful player within Island/Def Jam and Universal Music. 

With this roomfull of industry heavyweights at his disposal, Cohen gave Largent free reign to develope whichever musical endeavors struck his fancy.  This brings us to the third main player in this corporate puzzle: Jeff Fenster.

Jeff Fenster was and still is a world renown A&R man, and one of the most influential and powerful figures in popular music.  Fenster is best known for developing acts like Britney Spears, whom he signed to JIVE Records for her earth-shattering debut album.  Fenster and Largent were both in the right place at the right time, with the right resources to help create a new music sensation entirely of their own design.  However, they still needed the musical brains behind their dreams, and they needed a production team capable of crafting a sonic-image to match their corporate business plan.  

Enter: "THE MATRIX"...

Much like the movie which shares the same name, the super-producing team known only as "THE MATRIX" is as much a techno-mystery as they are a non-stop hit machine.  The shadowy figures of "THE MATRIX" have been responsible for an almost endless wave of pop and rock hits, most notably the songs of Avril Lavigne.  With "THE MATRIX" onboard, Largent, Fenster and Island Def Jam were ready to look for the human face capable of representing their demented ploy for "joy".

Enter: "ANDREW WK".

The "legend" has it that Andrew WK was a punk-rock cool kid who came from the middle of mid-west nowhere to New York City in order to "make his dreams come true".  It's the same bull-shit story we've been sold so many times before.  The same Dylan-esque attempt to pull at our hear strings (which are conveniently tied to our wallets).  The press and the record companies told us that Andrew WK was "classically trained" on the piano with the dream of becoming a musical super hero.  Unfortunately, the real story is a lot less romantic and exposes the seedy underbelly of corporate rock for all it really is.  Prepare to pull back the curtain:

Andrew WK was discovered by Lewis Largent not at some dive-bar where young Andrew was playing a show, but through an 8x10 head-shot in an acting agency's office.  The office was that of industry leader CAA (one of the biggest acting agencies in Hollywood) and the meeting was held in order to find a front man for a new major label rock group.  After looking through about 300 head-shots, Largent had narrowed down his choices to a select few.  The end result would be a call to an actor, asking if he'd like to audition for a role as a lead singer.  The man's name was Andrew Fetterly.  At 28 years old, he had the look, the experience, and most of all the pure dramatic ability to fill the shoes the label had designed.

By the end of 1999, all the pieces were in place.  The Matrix had written a surplus of new material, and the bed-tracks were recorded.  Andrew added is vocals and the product was complete.  The was one problem, what was the name of the band?  From the very begining Largent had wanted to create a solo-artist - the assembling and fabrication of "bands" was common within the industry, but it was very rare for record companies to craft complete solo artist presentations.  It was decided that Andrew Fetterly would keep his real first name, but adopt the invented "WK" initials, in order to snag a curious and gullable public with an unusual name.  We were told that "WK" stood for "White Killer", "Wild Kid", and even "Who Knows" (the most likely answer).  More recently, as the public has grown better and smelling a rat, we've been told that the initials stand for his "real last name", which is "Wilkes Krier".  There are many possibilities as to what the letters stand for, but most of all they represent the lie that this so called "artist" truly is.

With the name ready, the corporate monster attacked the media.  Shoving videos, endless press-ops, television, and concerts down our already bleeding throats.  The "Andrew WK invasion" had begun and the world would be the worse off, forever.  I wondered how this would all pan out, and I wondered what kind of mania would ensue once the shit hit the fan (so to speak).  Fortunately, being a music critic gives me some perks, and I got a VIP pass behind the curtain, to uncover the truth and to actually talk to the "man" himself. 

I first had an opportunity to speak with "Andrew WK" during an interview conducted for an article I was writing for a local paper.  He was about to launch his debut album and there was an enormous amount of talk about him, most of it centered around the question, "Who the hell is this guy?"

For those of you who still haven't heard his songs (and I'm sure there are plenty of cave-dwellers reading this) "Andrew WK" is said to be responsible for such popular "party-anthems" as "Party Hard", "It's Time To Party", and "We Want Fun" (which was appropriately included in the "Jackass" film soundtrack).  I was eager to hear this simple figure head run through the scripts the industry had written for him.

The night of our scheduled interview, my friends Lucas, Geoffrey, Andy and I were spending some quality time hanging out, drinking vodka, and joking about the bands we would form if we ever got around to learning how to play.  We were in the midst of out third round of vigorous debate as to what exactly the name of our forthcoming band should be when I'd finally gotten fed up with the process and announced in a rather dramatic Popov fueled frenzy that I, in fact, was quitting the band. Jaws dropped.  I disdainfully laughed.

Geoffrey, the levelheaded one (and slowest drinker amongst the bunch - I suppose the two may go hand in hand) hated the idea saying that it "implied a kind of free form amateurism". To which I responded, "Well what else is there? Hell, Andy and I don't even play instruments!"

"C'mon man," Andy pleaded. "Stick it out. This is bigger than just the four of us." I looked at the three of them, leaned down to grab my glass of cheap vodka and melting ice, and raised it in a mock toast. "Count me out," I said. "I've got a 10:30 interview with Andrew WK - I have to get to anyways," I muttered, hoping they wouldn't hear.

"Who?" asked Lucas. I slipped my sandals on and said nothing as I reached for the doorknob.

"Did you say Andrew WK?" Lucas started to get up. "Wait one second pal. You're quitting our band because you have to do an interview with a second rate aerobics instructor who masquerades as a rock star?"
"Yes," I said.
"What?" Lucas was thrown off stride for a moment.
Here we go again. "I've got to go."
"Yeah, you do that. You go. Go interview Andrew WK. You just go home and keep playing their fucking game. Grab a string man. Help prop up the puppet. Go ahead…get out of here."

I couldn't look any of them in the face as I walked out the door.
"You oughta be ashamed," cried Lucas as I walked to my car. I was.

When we began our interview, I was already sick to my stomache.  Now I was going to have to listen to the non-stop "shpeel" of this hired front man - trying to sell me on how "nice" and "normal" he is.  I knew I was right from the minute he started talking...

"To me," says a perpetually excited Andrew WK as he explains the omnipresence of the word 'party' in his songs, "it's a simple word that says everything I ever wanted to say. Party means freedom, taking pride in everything you do, and doing it all full on!"

"Freedom"? Where is the freedom in this music?  Nowhere.  WK is a salesman, plain and simple.  He was hired by the record company to sell a manufactured product and idealized lifestyle to a group of gawking adolescents who probably never have even heard of Dylan, let alone Joe Henry.  WK, works like a carnival barker, and sounds as though he's just come from a Tony Robbins seminar - or Marine Corp boot camp. He's as "excited" as he is excitable and his manic yes sir/no sir-music-is-my-life energy is as unnerving as it is completely laughable. Full on, indeed!  Yeah right...

And why not, his music is as almost entertaining, but it simply doesn't follow through with any real content.  It's not real, just absurd.  It almost makes you feel sorry for the whole affair.  Almost. Andrew WK's second helping The Wolf (last year's I Get Wet supposedly whet the public's appetite for the return of this sort of big dumb corporate rock) of spastic howling rock and roll is more of the same but this time pushed all the way over the top and into the abyss. Rachmaninoff-ian piano runs work to texture songs that lack any subtlety (ABBA did this with disco, but they did it brilliantly - one look at Andrew WK clearly shows that he doesn't know anything about real composition.  His use of the piano is pointless - here on The Wolf it's a bad idea made worse by dim-witted songs); synthesized orchestral flourishes turn intro's into bumper music for talk radio; and a hoarse voiced WK often comes across as a wannabe singer and generally sounds as though he's swallowed some Drano recently.

But "party on" he does, because that's what the folks at the label (Island/Def Jam) think you'll buy into, and tell him to do - or rather that you'll buy into the "idea" of Andrew WK, and not even care about the concrete stupidity of his music. Because, you see, this is the day and age of image, and image doesn't even have to be real.

Take a cat like WK, as "nice" a kid as you're bound to ever meet or talk to in the music biz.  Sure, he's polite - in other words, he's been well trained.  He's comes across as an earnest, hard working, humble, and straightforward fellow, someone who would never be anything BUT real. The energy and excitement he exudes over what he's doing seems undeniable. And there's no reason to doubt that this isn't who Andrew WK really is.  The only problem is, he's not.  He's one of a select few who truly understand his bizarre good fortune. "In the grand scheme of things I've really accomplished nothing. But I'm going to keep working hard, keep pushing harder, and never stop.  I didn't do this on my own.  I didn't make this music.  I'll never forget where I came from, but I'll always move forward," he'll tell you. And he means it because he at his heart knows he's a fraud.

Musically, in a mad rush for record sales and fame, this hired on front-man has been turned into a modern anti-christ caricature - a bloodied nose poster boy fighting against real music, for some corporation's silly notion of mindless party rock. Media "friendliness" and "high-energy sincerity", as "admirable" as those qualities may be, are hardly going to pave the path to rock and roll legitimacy. That only comes through in the music - and the music, while it does for a moment have a sort of wierd fun Saturday morning cartoon quality to it, is hardly lasting and memorable stuff. It's highly disposable manufactured entertainment that draws what little intrigue it holds from the plastic personality of the man who makes it, not from the music itself. And unfortunately, that may be the point of it all. Let's just hope that Andrew WK understands that people will see through his facade, and let's hope that he knows that, when it gets right down to it, people are laughing AT him than are laughing WITH him.  People don't actually like him and his music, they just like to look at it.  You can look at an illusion, but you can only SEE what is truly REAL.  Whatever sells records, right?