Kinky Friedman, the legendary ex-Texas Jewboy turned author/ musician/ politician, is one hilarious mofo. There’s nothing he loves more than to offend tender sensibilities, with the possible exceptions of cigars and tequila, and on Monday, October 12 at The Hamilton in Washington, D.C. he explained why. “I have a serious medical condition,” he said. “It’s called EOA. That stands for Early Onset Asshole disease.” And he said that before he’d launched any lewd or derogatory assaults on political correctness. No worries on that front, however; he got around to them.
Friedman is touring to support his first album of new material in decades, The Loneliest Man I Ever Met. The Hamilton was only his fourth stop on The Loneliest Man I Ever Met tour, but he had his shtick down. He peppered the intervals between songs with jokes and more jokes, but also demonstrated his serious side by reading a poignant piece on his late father from his autobiographical work, Heroes of a Texas Childhood.
He also played his fair share of serious songs, including that old saw, “Pretty Boy Floyd,” with which he opened the show. His version was moving, but he quickly reverted to comedic form afterwards, going on a hilarious rant about tequila. “It’s the Barry Manilow drink,” he said. “It makes you feel good for a short period of time.” Then, addressing the fellow who gave us “Mandy,” Friedman said, “So don’t die on me, motherfucker.” He also described the proper Texas method of drinking tequila. “You spread a line of salt on the table, snort the salt, squeeze the lemon into your own eye, and then drink the shot.”
Truth is Friedman told so many funny little stories I couldn’t keep up, but he finally returned to playing music with the title cut off his new album. It was a honky-tonk heartbreak tune, one that led him to say, “Success distances you from your own heart,” after which he engaged in more repartee. He talked about his run for Governor of the Lone Star State (“A race we won everywhere but Texas”); defined Texas etiquette (smoking dope with Willie Nelson even though Kinky doesn’t smoke dope and the experience left him so high he couldn’t find his “ass with a stepladder”); and spoke about the upside of going deaf (it causes you to hear things that are funnier than they really are, as Kinky learned when he told a man on a Southwest flight to Dallas that he was 70 and the man replied, “My father’s 70 and he wears a bikini.” Turns out what he really said was, “My father’s 70 and he’s moving to McKinney,” a town in Texas). He then went into a joke about “26 parts of the male anatomy that don’t work” and in the midst of the joke was interrupted by a woman, to whom he replied, “What are you laughing about, lady? You got a big old pussy that won’t catch mice.” Personally, I think the whole joke was a set-up.
He then played his hilarious tongue-in-cheek poke at feminism, “Get Your Biscuits in the Oven and Your Buns in the Bed,” but not before recounting the infamous 1973 Buffalo show in which the Jewboys were attacked by a bunch of “cranked-up lesbians.” He said, “They started fighting with the Jewboys—and they were winning,” and who knows what might have transpired had the band not been escorted off stage to safety. Anyway, his take on the notorious tune was as funny as ever, and nobody attacked him, and he followed that tune with what he lewdly called the “leg opener of the album,” an interpretation of Merle Haggard’s “Hungry Eyes.” A slow heartbreaker about the travails of being dirt poor, it was even more touching live than on the album, which as has been noted by everybody including yours truly is a surprising solemn affair given Kinky’s reputation for cracking wise and adamantly refusing to take life seriously.
Next up was the up-tempo “TheyAin’t Makin’ Jews Like Jesus Anymore,” in which he uses every racist epithet in the book. But in the song he gives the fella uttering the epithets a good sock in the jaw, so all is forgiven, including the moment when a woman from the audience added a new group (“albinos!”), causing Friedman to lose his place and sing, “Well… well… well” before finding his way back into the tune. To make sure that no one remained unoffended, he said afterwards, “Jesus loves you can be very comforting words unless you hear them in a Mexican prison.”
He then talked with passion about the late Nelson Mandela, and how Kinky’s country-western Holocaust tune “Ride ‘Em Jewboy” was “the last song Mandela would play every night in his prison cell.” He then went into the song, which is intensely moving, and I shed a tear and gave him a standing ovation, even though nobody else did. He then managed to say that Bill Clinton’s favorite Kinky song is “Waitret, Please Waitret,” the title of which is followed by a line that sounds obscene but may not be, three times. Friedman then called old friend and Metro-area dweller Jimmie “Ratso” Silman onto stage, saying, “Ratso and I met on the gangplank of Noah’s Ark.” Together they played the classic “Asshole from El Paso,” a riotous and ribald parody of Merle Haggard’s “Okie from Muskogee” and “Homo Erectus,” and what Silman’s electric guitar lacked in grace it more than made up for it in enthusiasm.
Silman then left the stage, Friedman read his moving words about his father, and Joe Cirotti came on stage. Kinky quipped, “If you’re driving tonight, don’t forget your car,” and the duo then went into Kinky’s interpretation of Tom Waits’ “A Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis,” another unexpectedly moving tune off the new LP. And he followed that one up with another serious number off the LP, Kinky’s own “Lady Yesterday.” A lovely melody? Sentimental lyrics? From Kinky Friedman? Yet it works, and even better live than it did on the album.
Kinky then played the late Warren Zevon’s “My Shit’s Fucked Up,” but not before noting that Zevon “quit drinking cold turkey. And I talked to his road manager, and he said, ‘It’s a funny thing. He [Zevon] is still an asshole.’” Once again the song was serious, despite its salty lyrics, and Kinky was happy to announce that downloads of the tune were going well. He then closed the show with Johnny Cash’s “Pickin’ Time,” another tune off The Loneliest Man I Ever Met that mines the same vein of rural poverty as Haggard’s “Hungry Eyes.” Unlike “Hungry Eyes,” however, it carries its freight of hope, because things will get better come pickin’ time.
Afterwards Kinky climbed down from the stage and pressed the flesh like the politico he used to be, and said, “I’ll sign anything but bad legislation.” So I approached him and asked him to write something for my pal Martijn in Amsterdam. Kinky pondered for a moment, and then wrote, “See you in Hell.” We should all be so lucky.
