Nothing I read about Andrew WK prepared me for his gig last night at Showplace, a fist-pumping lovefest celebrating the party possibilities in us all.
I was tipped off by promoter that he'd be on first, at an ungodly 8PM and I counted three songs with the word party in the title. His band looked like your average metal rock geeks and he was even more handsome in the flesh than in photos. His music is techno-embracing pop-metal and he was all high-kicks that would be the envy of David Lee Roth, to be sure. And he's all long sweaty dark hair that he flips up from time to time to spread Andrew WK smiles of fan appreciation when possible. I looked at him and thought Holy Rock & Roll Hell, this is the closest I might ever get to Johnny Depp. During his set he wrestled with security to get his stageriding fans onstage, at which point he'd hand over the mic and smile at their lyric-spouting selves like a proud parent. Afterwards my security pal Paul told me that that was part of the schtick: Andrew WK's management said He'll try to pull fans up on stage - DON'T LET HIM. Then there got to be a dramatic tug-o-war, do you follow? This happens all the time in the rock world.
After his set (at 1 point power went off and the guitarist said Well, we are professionals, so we lost some power - let's DANCE!!!) Andrew WK went out into the crowd and then signed autographs for over an hour. I had my photo taken with him, TWICE. The first one was like hugging a wet stage towel. The second one, at the merch table, he was slightly drier. During the second snapfest security pal Dino had my camera and Andrew WK had me in a bear hug - fingers out in metalILoveYou gesture, tossing his hair to the front. I asked Should I rumple my hair, too? So I did, and we crossed our metalILoveYou fingers. Rock completely on.
I bought his t-shirt which shows him with bloody nose, a mere $15. The merch table guy, also Leo Buscaglia-ish in genuine love and hugs, informed me that for that photo Andrew WK smashed himself in the face with a cinder block. I am still confused by this. With the amount of faux blood available everywhere, why would a beautiful, Johnny-Depp-esque rock star have to go to such lengths?

Interesting snippet of Perfect Nancy time, 11AM today:
me in a Starbucks bathroom, using the toilet scrubber to get mud caked on shoes off before returning to freelance gig, after photographing Oozfest (muddy volleyball). I meant to bring snowpants and boots, forgot, traipsed to Oozfest in suit and kickin' shoes, got muddy and good ol' Starbucks came to rescue. Now I'm slightly horrified at thought of toilet molecules on my shoes.
The tink thank was thinkful, enjoyable.