Let’s say you didn’t know Andrew W.K. had grown up taking classical piano; let’s say you did. Would you think that a performance with a string quartet was a “real” Andrew W.K. show? You might ask where all the partying was. I think most people understood what they were going to see at The Swedish American Hall, but there were probably a couple of confused fans at the end of the night, which is really too bad because I would say they actually got a quintessential Andrew W.K. show. The evening was W.K.’s whole philosophy fully realized and expressed. More than leading sing-a-longs during his lecture appearances or addressing the crowd at his concerts, I think this was the most successful integration of his interests in performance to date.
I may refer to separate “portions” of the evening, but to really understand this performance it pays to view it as one seamless meditation on the beauty of reality, complete with imperfections and surprises. The opening number featured a spastic beginning, as W.K. and Eric Byers (Cello) pretended to struggle in coordinating until they were joined by the rest of the Calder Quartet (Benjamin Jacobson, violin; Andrew Bulbrook, violin; Jonathan Moerschel, viola.) This kind of thoughtful lack of polish continued into W.K.’s improvisations, into which he incorporated lung-wracking coughing fits, scraping his chair on the stage wildly, and sending his microphone skittering along the floor like a mouse with an extremely long tail.
Whether he intended them to be or not, these elements were a testament to the beauty of normalcy and the power of imagination. There was something this performance that reminds me of the simple pleasure one can derive from crinkling an empty water bottle. Of course, someone generally tells you to stop being annoying; or, if you’re young, takes the bottle away. The implied message of the night was, “Everything has merit. Everything is legitimate.” These moments were given just as much importance as the absolutely flawless performance from Calder Quartet, who dominated most of the first portion of the night while W.K. sat quietly behind his piano, actively listening. I didn’t realize it at first, but, when my friend noted he had been “giving us the tools” we’d need for the end of the performance, it would seem obvious in retrospect.
The intermission did not serve as a differentiating device between the classical and rock portions of the set. After a little conversation and comedy, the Calder Quartet resumed with Philip Glass’ piece, “Company.” After “Company” W.K. performed a slightly more serious improv piece before kicking off the second portion of the night with “I Get Wet.” It has been a long time since I was both psyched and confident enough to participate in a show, but Andrew W.K. successfully nurtured an environment where it was impossible not to feel good. Then there was the clapping. I’d be hard pressed to recall a time when seeing anyone have so much fun hand-slapping since pre-school. At certain moments there were no less than three dominant tempos, but it didn’t matter. Just like every aspect of the night, it was all part of the party. After a climactic ending, in which we were led around making all manner of hoots and whistles, W.K. announced he had one song left and took his place behind his baby grand, slapped the side, and sat …
The final piece was John Cage’s 4’33,” composed for any instrument and consisting of no notes. It was an excellent expression of the validity of the end of a party. Sometimes it’s fun to watch everyone leave and sit for a moment, reflecting on the incredible mess you and your fellow revelers made. This is where the active listening would prove handy. Unfortunately, not everyone was ready. The cat calls and cheek-plucking harmonies were somewhat frustrating, but I think we incorporated some of the values from W.K.'s first improv. There was a group outside who commented that there had been some very rich chair scrapes, at any rate.
