Andrea Warner was a music writer who wrote "We Oughta Know: How Four Women Ruled the ’90s and Changed Canadian Music", The Time of My Life: Dirty Dancing, and Rise Up And Sing! Power, Protest, and Activism in Music amongst others.
These words belong to novelist Kerry Clare, posted on her blog Pickle Me This.
Andrea Warner was oh so cool, and even more kind. We only met once in person, but over the past decade, I came to adore her, and was so grateful for (and quite chuffed by!) her support of my work, and also for the force of her own work, which was feminist and fabulous and truly made the world a better place. I think I learned of her first when the first iteration of her book *We Oughta Know: How Four Women Ruled the ’90s and Changed Canadian Music* was published in 2016, and I loved the idea of someone taking women’s art and women’s work (and also POPULAR women’s work) so seriously, and we became online friends after that. I still often think of her 2019 CBC music piece on Avril Lavigne, which gave credit to Napanee’s hometown girl for the “great emotional dexterity and depth” of ballads like 2003’s “I’m With You.” Do yourself a favour and go read her beautiful essay on grief and Bran Van 3000’s “Drinking in LA” from 2022.
Andrea Warner took cues from nobody about what was cool and what was important, her takes and criticism unabashed and straight from the heart. She wore her heart on her sleeve, was true blue, and earnest. She co-wrote Susan Aglukark’s autobiography. She also wrote Buffy Sainte-Marie’s authorized biography, bringing all the warmth, kindness, and generosity that was entirely Andrea to the project, and I will never stop being furious at Sainte-Marie about that (among other things).
In 2024, she published a wonderful book in ECW’s Pop Classics series, Time of My Life: Dirty Dancing, celebrating the greatest nearly covert abortion story-line in 20th century film. We talked about it on my podcast, and you can listen here. My podcast is “short-form,” mostly because I don’t have a professional Zoom account, and get kicked off after 40 minutes. Andrea’s was the only interview I ever did where we ran out of time and I had to log on for another call, but this also seems so typically Andrea to me—exuberant, bursting with life, so full of laughter and joy to the point of overflowing. She did not have enough time, but what time she had she filled with everything she had to give—and those of us who got to receive were oh so lucky.
Andrea was a remarkable critic because she knew how to appreciate things, not just how to pick them apart. She was an example of the kind of writer who stayed curious always, asked tough questions of the art she loved, and respected such art enough to know that it was tough enough to take those questions. In our podcast conversation, she talked about how nothing in pop culture is above reproach, and how questions and critique can further our engagement with the work we love, even the “problematic” aspects. Her approach was counter to so much internet discourse which consists of maniacal stanning or trollish-pile-ons and all-out cancellation. Andrea was smarter than that. Andrea was so much better than that. Hers was the kind of critique that broadened instead of reduced, that was always inviting other people and ideas in, and making space for more.
In 2024, Andrea was diagnosed with cancer. As you’d expect, her health updates were funny, even when the news sucked. In the first one, she wrote about how “the very FIRST song we heard was Michael Bolton’s ‘How Am I Supposed to Live Without You’ which seems like it should be illegal to play in the f–king BC Cancer Agency waiting room, but was also VERY funny.” I wrote back and told her that I would have preferred Dan Hill, who is well known in waiting rooms across the globe. She told me that sh was obsessed with “Sometimes When We Touch,” And I replied that I was wishing her “Carmelia”:
Seems there’s always some tragedy
That’s tearing at our precious world
Wish sometimes we could just lighten up
Let’s take a look around us
Turn off the TV oh let’s open our eyes
Look at the stars in the sky
Carmelia, let’s dance away the night together
Let’s dance until this crazy world disappears
Girl in the morning we will still be here
Carmelia, let’s celebrate our lives together
Let’s dance until the stars tumble from the sky
I heard from Andrea’s husband Carlos today that she died on Sunday. I am so sad for him, and so sad for her. I wish she was still here.
