Wire from the Bunker: RIP Kinky Friedman
When I heard the great Kinky Friedman passed away at the end of June, my mind immediately shot back to a gig he played at a short-lived folk club in Manayunk called the Locks. After an admirable opening set by Broken Spoke-approved honky-tonker Dale Watson, Kinky slumped his way onto the stage looking very down in the mouth. He took to the mic and told the audience that he had just gotten very bad news from his doctor – namely, that he had AIDS. An awful gasp went through the crowd. Then Kinky said: “it gets worse. My doctor next told me that I also have Alzheimers.” Another gasp. Kinky added: “Well … (pause) … I told my doctor ‘at least I don’t have AIDS.’” Very muted and decidedly nervous laughter from the folkies in the audience. An awkward sound (or silence as the case may be) that I am quite familiar with.
Another time I saw Kinky play upstairs at the World Café Live where real songwriters go to die. Midway through his set, he requested a shot of “Mexican mouthwash.” The kids running the WCL either didn’t hear him or, worse, ignored the legend. He repeated the request. Nothing. I took it upon myself to buy and deliver a shot of tequila to the Kinkster. He was most appreciative and after the show returned the favor and said to me (as he was often wont to do): “Thank you for being an American. It’s been a real financial pleasure.”
Kinky sure was complicated. He got a lot of stuff right but was retrograde in other ways. His main craft was satire, a form that can be effective at first but runs thin eventually. He ran for Governor of Texas on the platform of “why not?”; he wrote mystery novels admired by none other than Bill Clinton; he wrote outrageous songs with titles like “They Ain’t Making Jews Like Jesus Anymore.” But amidst all this craziness, he was also a bona-fide songwriter who deserves a room in the Tower of Song. Perhaps a bathroom but still. Here are five arguments to support his admission >>>
Sold American: Probably Kinky’s most best song. The corporate beat-down dressed up as some sort of phony populism. Sound familiar? Kinky did memorable versions of Sold American both on his Vanguard debut as well as his Lasso From El Paso lp (my favorite of his) but I had to go with Go To Blazes’ rendition from their live-in-studio And Other Crimes album. Kinky sings Sold American with resignation. I hear that in Ted Warren’s vocal but there’s also grit and resilience which typifies pretty much everything GTB touched. This’ll be another Blazes’ cop when John Train returns to Ferg’s in the Fall.
Rapid City, South Dakota: Kinky claimed “‘Rapid City, South Dakota’ is, to my knowledge, the first and only pro-choice country song ever written. Obviously, it has not been a financial pleasure.” I’m not sure about that i.e. whether this song really is pro-choice. I do believe the Kinkster in terms of rarified royalties, tho! I’ve included it here because it will give you a sense of both the zaniness and musical skill of the Texas Jewboys (as Kinky’s band was known) back in the 70s. This performance on Austin City Limits was initially banned (tho, probably not for this song in particular) by PBS but eventually surfaced. Notice how Kinky discards his cigar at the top of the number and then picks it up at end before the last notes ring out. That’s commitment for ya! Kinky sings: “There’s a doctor in Chicago, I know she’ll be alright.” Do you?
Wild Man From Borneo: My personal favorite Friedman tune as performed by the peerless James McMurtry who cut his teeth playing guitar for Kinky before making a name for himself. The beautiful melody here supports a pretty scathing critique of missionaries -- or possibly the Peace Corps in which Kinky served. Not everyone wants “peace”, right? – or Colonialism writ large. Killer line: “You come to see what you want to see. You come to see but you never come to know.” Ouch!
Ride ‘em Jewboy: This most certainly is the first and only country song about the Holocaust. And these days, in particular, it’s worth a listen. I’ve noticed a trend – especially among younger folks – of lack of knowledge about the Holocaust or, worse, questioning whether it even happened. Kinky – a Texan Jew – knew a thing or two about being an outcast and the empathy contained herein is poetic and profound: “Ride, ride ‘em Jewboy. Ride ‘em all around the old corral. I’m, I’m with you, boy, if I’ve got to ride six million miles.” Think about it.
Ol’ Ben Lucas: Well, I couldn’t leave you on such a bumkick. So here ya go. Ol’ Ben Lucas had a lot of mucous coming right out of his nose etc. Surely, the first and only country song (or any other type of song!!!!) about mucous not to mention the rhyming of “hostile” and “nostril.” The Kinkster was a poet!
So as the man himself surely would have said: Thank you for being an American. It’s been a financial pleasure. Godspeed, Kinky.
