From The Archives: Kid Rock, Cormac McCarthy & Me

 NOTE: This piece was originally published on my old blog, Upstream of Consciousness, on August 18, 2010. It is presented here in light of current events because life is all about the clicks. 


Last summer I worked the beer stand for a Kid Rock concert.  Lynard Skynard opened for him.  It was a very enlightening cultural experience to say the least.  First of all, every sentence was punctuated with the phrase "m*****f*****." Every one. "I'll have two Bud Light drafts, m*****f*****." "Gimme one them pretzels, m*****f*****." "Kid Rock rocks, m*****f*****." "Reformed healthcare for everyone, m*****f*****!"

The souvenir stand sold thongs. Red, tiny, lacy thongs. I am not making that up. Several women in their mid-50s were there showing off their need for proper dental care. I watched one girl get arrested. She was flopping around the ground like a violent fish screaming "NO NO NO!!!" as she was being cuffed. Ironically, she did not use the phrase "m*****f*****" even though that seemed the most logical time to.

The evening drew to a close and everyone was leaving when I walked by a large tour bus in the parking lot.  I realized I had taken a wrong turn in the parking lot and ended up in a restricted area.  I wanted to get out of there before I got caught.  I didn't want any trouble.  I just wanted to get home and read the book I was carrying.  I was about to make it when I heard a voice behind me call out, "Excuse me, is that a copy of Cormac McCarthy's 'The Road?'" 

"Yes it is," I said as I turned around to see Kid Rock standing there in a cardigan sweater. 

"I love that book," he said.  "McCarthy's prose is as sparse and barren as the landscape he describes.  Beautiful, scriptural writing."  We stared at each other for what felt like 30 minutes but was probably only 15 seconds.  

"You wanna beer?" he asked abruptly.

Caught off guard I stammered and stuttered endlessly before finally settling on a very polite "No.  Thank you."  

"Ok then.  But at least come in and give me your thoughts on that book." 

I found Kid Rock to be surprisingly quiet and introspective. Robert (that's what he likes to be called when he's not "playing the part for consumer masses" as he puts it) is actually a Renaissance Man. He is well-read and we spent time in his trailer discussing Nietzsche, the Peloponnesian War, and favorite Danish ventriloquists while eating s'mores. Robert was contemplative as he puffed on his pipe. It was not the pipe once would expect him to smoke post-performance, but rather it was a traditional pipe filled with mild cherry tobacco. He showed me his collection of glass figurines that he had collected from around the world during his various concert tours. We chatted into the early morning hours and reflected on the paths we had each chosen for our lives. It led to the envitable discussion about do we choose our paths or are our paths determined for us no matter which option we settle on. The purpose and meaning of life was the main topic of a robust discussion that touched on politics, religion, art, faith, healing, and mythology. We also ruminated about why one drives on a parkway but parks on a driveway.

I wanted to talk about his music, but he seemed reluctant.  He spoke of his vision and what it meant to him.  He wanted his music to speak to a generation and define its pain.  I asked him what inspired his lyrics.  I was especially intrigued by "Cocky."  He was troubled by it. He had intended it for it to an examination on the plight of the American Migrant Worker of the early 20th century...sort of hipster-gangster-Grapes of Wrath. But then the "record industry porn peddlers" got their hands on it and changed it. They harrassed him to make it more commercial.  He succumbed to the pressure. The only original lyric that remains is "Mackin' me cuz you know I'm paid."

After not quite too much wine, Robert told a joke about 3 penguins, toothpaste, and a hammock that didn't make much sense. I wanted to laugh politely but felt we had bonded in an unexpected way. He gave an impish grin and said "oh well, forget it. Not everything I say can be brilliant." With that he shook my hand, gave me a first edition copy of "The Catcher in the Rye" with a Starbucks gift card inside and told me to look him up on Facebook.


 *****



My new comedic sci-fi novel, Someone Else's Book Club, is available on my website or through Amazon! 

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