A couple of weeks ago I heard two different radio sports talk hosts intone their rapt admiration of the same guy. Before the venom spewing starts, I have not one thing against the use of a nom de plume. This country was built on the pen name, Ben Franklin alone had at least 3 going at any given moment.
I think Country music as a genre, is the aboriginal minstrelsy of the US of A. There is a time honored tradition of desperate former rock artists stumbling into Tennessee for one more go at the charts. Kenny Rogers did it. More than once. Succeeded too! God bless Nashville ya’ll.
I hated Hootie & the Blowfish. Darius Rucker’s voice is awesomely awful. But if he wants to go Country, hey, it’s a free country. Same with Jon Bon Jovi—he had the good sense to record with Jennifer Nettles of Sugarland. Hit! Subsequent singles on his own stiffed.
But I’m not here to rip those dudes. The guy those jock sniffers were ass kissing, as if they knew anything about music other than stuff played at ballparks by child molesters & dead gay guys, was Kid Rock.
My first objection to that clown is, how self absorbed and limited in creativity do you have to be to gloss yourself Kid Rock? I bet it took him awhile too. His real name is Robert Ritchie, I guess he didn’t want anyone to think he used to be in the Commodores? He does seem to have an endless supply of no creativity. Yet, he must sell records. There are a lot of sub 80 IQ people with enough cash who think he’s bigger than the Beatles, more than say people like me. They are likely people with CSA flags on their trailers. You don’t want to mess with them.
But Kid Rock sucks. He can’t sing, play guitar or write beyond what any inebriated inbred could do. Must have something though, after all, he married Pamela Anderson twice. She’s very selective, based on penis size. Tat sleeves are a bonus. He does look like kind of a big prick to me.
Mr. Ritchie is pretentious for such a low rent intellect too, Rock & Roll Jesus! wtf. He’s as reptilian as Snoop Dogg ( another mega-Zero talent ), without the charm. Thank the gods, one of those mutants isn’t female.The thought of them propagating conjures visions of an Armageddon that would scare Stephen King. Bet they’ve tried it too.
Hey! dude is allowed to have a career. But it shouldn’t include being paid to record. Kid Rock is to Country songwriting as the Middle East is to world peace. Which is, not at all. Sheryl Crow got him that huge Country hit a few years ago—and his voice lacks any color, it was repetitive and could’ve used a rewrite. If I’d pitched it to any decent publishing house in Nashville, they’d have passed. On his own, his writing resembles bumper stickers slapped on the side of a barn. A barn with vinyl siding. There are 20,000 Country songwriters a gillion times better than he is, if you rolled them out of bed at 3 AM to tell them they had to write a song in 15 minutes. Without a guitar. And btw, their dog just died. You’d have to know me to know how much I dislike guys like Kid Rock, for me to have added that last thing. He must have @#%&*! donkey photos.
And jock sniffer radio aholes are to musical taste as well, nothing. Stick to predicting football scores. At least you’ll be right occasionally. Now go crank up Freebird, and dream of dating that college quarterback you have a man crush on. . ..
Not so long ago, a bunch of actors sat around a make believe Manhattan coffee house set. All acting as if they were friends! One day they were in contract negotiations. That can go a few ways. One or two of the ensemble can emerge with the big money. The others can ride in the back seat or take a Hollywood hike. That hike usually ends up in a place called Oblivion.
But holy smokes! these men & women actually had become friends. They presented a united front that would’ve made the 4 Musketeers proud (that’s right 4!), Dumas.* They got a big raise, which helps facilitate being buddies. Next time they sat around that set, they were millionaires, who were acting. And real friends!
Oh, for friends like those. Or like Sam Raimi who routinely gives his brother Ted & old pal Bruce Campbell roles. In major movies! What about Ron Howard? There was a time he was the hottest young director in the world. He was also Opie. And Opie never failed to put his fugly brother Clint, his dad & even his mom into a flick. Jeez Looeez–even Eagles got back together. Well, except for Don Felder. I am like Don. Without the guitar chops or the credits. What’s he complaining about? he’s got Bruce Greenwood as a bud.
Then there’s the Kates. Every Kate who acts is married to a director. They are talented women and would get work regardless. I’d hire them. I love Kates. If you’re a Kate–call me. I only get Kathys. Lots & lots of Kathys. If I got a Kate, bet she’d be a Shakespearian one. Call me Puck, but maybe I should go for a Kim, a Debbie or even a Frances at this point. Weren’t they a girl group in the Sixties?
Me? I couldn’t get a guy who said he loved me like a brother to give me a gig when I was starving. Probably because I’m usually a pain in the ass. And it was ‘like’ a brother. Had we been real brothers, I’m sure I’d be working & much too busy/content to be saying this. Being very self aware, I realize I am not friend material. Like some men are better uncles than dads. As a friend, I’m better as a foil.
So, recently I was somewhat surprised when my sister suggested to one of her friends, I might be able to help him with a book project. [Her m.o. is to tell my old high school girlfriends, they were lucky I dumped them.] Sure, there was no advance money–you want me to die from shock? The fun, though, didn’t stop there.
There was an old, what’s the word? old friend maybe? I hadn’t seen in 30 years. Turns out the book project guy & a long lost guy were in touch. Breaking one of my many life rules, I emailed the old friend. I did not ask for a job, a loan or why he and the ‘like’ a brother guy, got to have sex with the woman meant for me by the gods, and I didn’t get her. I knew why. Well, because I just knew damn it.
My life ain’t Entourage. Now those guys know how to be friends and Musketeers. It sure isn’t Friends–the only Friend who could’ve been mine was Ross & he’d only remember me as the guy who stiffed him on a Bar Mitzvah gift. Hey! his gift was my eternal damnation. The nuns told me going to Jewish ceremonies would make Jesus sad. Probably because he had a non Jew pal who stiffed him at his bar Mitzvah, I guess. They also said I’d be ensured a one way to Hell! Nuns, btw rarely make good friends.
Back to the future: so I email this old friend, and then. . .. What? Sorry, I need to go. I’m mediating a possible new reunion of Simon & Garfunkel. The Really Old Friends Tour. Wish me luck, I’m doing it for the love.
PS Doug Ellin: your show is great. Your writing is great. Don’t ever change 😉
* not a typo