Let me get it out of the way and welcome everyone who clicked here with the sole hope of witnessing Pitchfork’s biggest statistical mea culpa ever. Ten years is a long time for sour grapes to ferment, and I hope they’re delicious. Perhaps you’ve heard that we were not particularly kind to Andrew W.K. the first time around. I obviously disagree with Ryan Schreiber’s initial assessment, but even if it weren’t poor form to publicly air out your boss for opinions he held a decade prior, I’m in no position to judge. I, too, am trying to live down an equally regrettable (if far more obscure) review of I Get Wet for a student newspaper that went in the completely opposite direction, praising it not so much for its musical value as its ability to combine with Adderall and Keystone Ice to form an outgoing college senior’s Holy Trinity of nihilistic intoxication. It was and is a record that inspires extreme reactions. And a lot of us seemingly did I Get Wet a great disservice trying to intellectualize it from both sides. Now here we are 10 years later and nothing has changed about the record except our relationship to it. Even though critics of Andrew W.K. were often branded as the fun police and his fans considered fools or incurable ironists, I Get Wet is a singular record, and your opinion of it can’t possibly make a larger point about anything else. It just is.
See entire article at www.pitchfork.com
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