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By Jim Testa
Richard Samet “Kinky” Friedman, born to middle-class
Jewish parents in 1944, sums up his life simply. “I
was born in Chicago, lived there a year, and couldn’t
find work,” Kinky says. “So I moved to Texas,
where I haven’t worked since.”
That’s the cowboy in him talkin’. In fact,
Kinky Friedman has worked as pretty damn near everything
you can think of: Musician, singer/songwriter, humorist,
raconteur, mystery novelist, non-fiction author, magazine
columnist, and politician; frequent guest of radio’s
Don Imus, bandmate with Bob Dylan in the Rolling Thunder
Revue, the first full-blooded Jew to play the Grand Old
Opry. He’s been called “the Jewish cowboy”
and he did some cowboy stuff as a kid, but not on a cattle
ranch; his parents ran a camp so city kids could experience
country life.
Released around the same time that John Prine, Kris Kristofferson,
and Willie Nelson were re-inventing country music, Kinky
Friedman’s first few albums (recorded with The Texas
Jewboys) established him as an outrageous, larger-than-life
personality, with song titles like "How Can I Tell
You I Love You (When You're Sitting On My Face?)" and
"They Ain't Makin' Jews Like Jesus Anymore."
When his music career cooled down in the Eighties, Kinky
started writing mystery novels, starring himself as a hard-bitten
Raymond Chandler-esque detective; he’s also written
volumes of non-fiction and a travel book, as well as a long-running
column in “Texas Monthly.” Kinky competed against
a Grand Master as a chess prodigy at seven; served in the
Peace Corps in Borneo in his twenties; supports the Second
Amendment, but hates hunting and fights for animal rights
(like the campaign to save Texas wild stallions from being
slaughtered and sold to France as food.) He’s an enigma
wrapped in a riddle inside a mystery, with a big bushy mustache
and a Cuban cigar.
With a decidedly gonzo campaign promising “the de-wussification
of Texas,” Friedman ran for governor in 2006, but
came in fourth in a six-way race. His platform, true to
his nature, proved a cantankerous, contrarian mishmash of
ideas, from the progressive (legalize pot and gambling,
more money for public education) to far-right conservativism
(he supported tougher border security and today applauds
Trump’s immigration policy.)
“I support gay marriage,” Kinky said at the
time, but added the punchline, “I believe they have
a right to be as miserable as the rest of us,” so
it was hard to tell if he was serious. Some of his ideas
resonated with young voters; ” I just want Texas to
be number one in something other than executions, toll roads
and property tax,” he pledged. But a dozen years before
the advent of Trump, when discussing his gubernatorial opponent
Rick Perry’s approach to immigration, Kinky told an
interviewer, “his policy has been, bring us your tired,
your poor, your drugs, your gangs, your bombs, your terrorists:
Welcome to Texas! That’s why we find dead bodies in
the back of cargo container trucks. That doesn’t have
to happen. It’s a policy of neglect, and the governor
doesn’t want to offend Hispanics, if you want to know
the truth.”
During the 2016 primary campaign, Kinky told everybody
who’d listen that he loved Bernie Sanders, and he
meant it; but in November, he voted for Donald J. Trump,
and he’s been a fervent supporter of the president
ever since. So perhaps it was for the best that, after the
unsuccessful race for governor, with his music career waning
and his mystery novels behind him, Kinky faded from public
view.
For a bit.
“One night Willie Nelson called me up and asked me
what I was doing, and I told him I was watching Matlock,”
says Kinky, in an oft-repeated tale about his return to
the limelight. “Kinky, watching Matlock is a sure
sign of depression,” Willie told him. “You need
to get back to writing. Turn off Matlock and write!”
So Kinky followed his old friend’s advice and promptly
penned the songs released in early July as Circus Of
Life, his first album of all-new material in 40 years.
This summer, he’ll be touring in his most extensive
tour of America in decades, playing new tunes and a few
old favorites. Circus Of Life eschews Kinky’s trademark
brand of social satire and wisecracking in favor of mellow,
more reflective songwriting; even a whimsical track like
“Jesus In Pajamas” has profound things to say
about how we treat the homeless, while others convey an
elegiac sense of melancholy and remembrance. He used to
sing about assholes from El Paso, trailer park trash, and
Beaver Cleaver; now he’s being compared to Leonard
Cohen and Bob Dylan.
Oh, and what did Willie Nelson think of Kinky’s new
songs? “He said he liked them,” Kinky says.
“And then he added, ‘by the way Kinky, what
station is Matlock on?”
Q: This is a real pleasure, Kinky. I’ve been
a fan of yours since (1973’s) Sold American.|
Kinky: Well, thank you. Likewise.
Q: So first question, what took you so long to
write any new songs?
Kinky: Well, that’s a very good question. I guess
life just got in the way – politics, and prose writing.
But there’s really no excuses. Maybe I was a little
too happy. Now I’m very well grounded in a sick society.
Q: There are a lot of songs on Circus Of Life
that could be described as elegiac, looking back at life,
summing things up.
Kinky: Well, a lot of them are about dead cats and lost
lovers and things like that, personal stuff that very few
people who know. But it’s like a silent witness, I
try to write for a silent witness, instead of thinking what
a 16-year old girl would be wearing to a tailgate party.
Q: Like most of what passes for modern country.
Kinky: Yeah. There would be a committee writing that. But
when you start doing that, when you start saying that you
want something that Hollywood would like or something that
deejays would pay, that’s always a mistake. It’s
always much, much better to just Frisbee it out there, and
you gotta be miserable. If you’re unhappy with your
lot in life, you have a chance to be a songwriter. These
songs were not calculated to be played on the radio, but
I just got a call from somebody that said NPR is playing
“Copper Love” and “Circus of Life.”
Q: Those are both beautiful songs.
Kinky: Thank you, but they’re not designed to appeal
to most people. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe these days
so many people are out of the circle, we all have ADD culturally,
do it could be that this could be a significant record.
Q: These songs are sentimental and a few are romantic,
but those are not the traits that you became known for.
Early on you were much more of a humorist and some of those
lyrics push the boundaries of what’s acceptable today
in terms of political correctness. Has that changed your
approach or put a crimp in your ability to perform some
of those old songs?
Kinky: Not at all. I’m just writing what I feel at
the time. It took me about a month to write these 12 songs
that make up ‘The Matlock Collection,’ as I
call it. That’s how this record started. One of the
pre-eminent songs on here is “Jesus In Pajamas.”
That’s a true story. At 3:16 am one night, I was in
a Denny’s. This was the first one I wrote. This guy
comes into Denny’s with a green-knit cap on his head,
a big guy in his pajamas, mildly fucked up on something,
begging for change, and I didn’t have any cash on
me at the time. Then he started drooling and whatnot, so
I left, but a few minutes later I started feeling very guilty.
So I circled back to the Denny’s, and of course the
guy was gone, and nobody had even seen him in there. So
I left Jesus in pajamas on the cross again. That song was
written on a drive from Ft. Worth to Dallas, that’s
how fast that one came together. So you have to fight happiness
at every turn. A happy camper creates nothing great. It’s
a rough and unforgiving discipline, being a songwriter.
It’s good if you have a ‘fuck ‘em and
beat ‘em’ Fruit Loops attitude, but it’s
hard on an average person. I know this record is different.
It sounds like an early Kristofferson or Leonard Cohen record
to me.
Q: It reminded me a lot of John Prine.
Kinky: A little bit of John Prine, right. If you went to
a songwriters meeting in Nashville right now, to write a
song with three other people, and they said put a little
Leonard Cohen in it, some of these guys today wouldn’t
even know who Leonard Cohen is.
Q: This isn’t the first song you’ve
written with Jesus in the title, of course.
Kinky: (laughs) I really don’t do ‘They Ain’t
Making Jews Like Jesus Anymore.’ I do a few of the
old ones, but I notice the new ones are going down better.
Nobody wants to hear the old stuff and neither do I. I do
play a few of ‘em but mostly I stick to the new ones.
I’m just coming to them from a different place.
Q: I was at SXSW in 1990 when you gave the keynote
address, and I remember a few of the jokes from that speech,
they’d start riots in today’s PC world. You’d
be another Roseanne.
Kinky: Well, it’s not good. It’s Stalinism,
is what it is. That idea of taking every frame of Kevin
Spacey’s work in that movie out was just sick. That’s
sicker than anything Kevin Spacey ever did. And Kevin Spacey
is a great actor, not a good one. Now they’ve wiped
him out. It’s Stalin-esque, is what it is, and I think
the left is doing it. Just remember when you think of Trump
that Jesus rode in on a jackass. That’s what Billie
Joe Shaver told me, anyway.
Q: I remember reading during the campaign that
you were optimistic about Trump. How’s he doing?
Kinky: I’m a cockeyed optimist and he’s already
doing very well. I know so. The evidence is right there.
He’s demonstrated more courage than Forrest Gump Obama,
who demonstrated no courage whatsoever. He was a puppet,
and Valerie Jarrett was the puppetmaster. Roseanne Barr
was not wrong about that. They took care of her, and that’s
fine, but pretty soon they’ll take care of themselves.
The first politician that I heard rail against political
correctness and say it was going to destroy us was Barbara
Jordan (a Democrat, civil rights leader, and the first Southern
African-American woman elected to the House of Representatives.)
She was probably the last true statesman that Texas had.
She was a true Democrat, whereas this people like Chuck
Schumer and Maxine Waters just think they’re Democrats.
But they’re not Democrats, they’re not Stalinists.
Not to get into politics too deeply here, but Cesar Chavez
was the first person I ever heard said that illegal immigration
was a very bad thing, not just for America but for Hispanics
who were working and trying to raise themselves up and make
a life for themselves. Letting millions of illegals into
the country was the worst thing we could do. And that was
Cesar Chavez. That was a Democrat talking.
Q: When you ran for governor, you had some very
progressive ideas, like legalizing pot and spending more
money on public education, but you were also very tough
on border security.
Kinky: Well, I always say, who would Jesus deport? It’s
a thorny issue. Some of the issues are clear cut though.
All this mockery of Trump, it’s not right. There are
only two people I can think of who was mocked more than
Trump. Abraham Lincoln, maybe, and Jesus Christ. So we need
a reality president for a reality world. And we’ll
see what happens. I’ve never been a fan of Trump’s,
he’s never been a hero of mine. I used to joke that
my heroes were Bill Gates, Justin Bieber, and Donald Trump.
But they’re not. Trump has done three or four or five
things he said he’d do, and they all needed to be
done.
Q: One more thing I wanted to ask about. Don Imus
retired recently to very little fanfare. You were a regular
on his show for years and a friend, what do you think his
legacy will be?
Kinky: I just talked to him yesterday. He’s doing
well. His place in history stands very high. Imus was actually
on the air longer than anyone we can think of, as whatever
you want to call him. He started out as a disc jockey but
he became so much more than that. A lot of people, especially
on the East Coast, only know me through Imus. No doubt about
it.
It’s different when I tour Europe and Australia.
I get a purer audience there. (laughs) They understand the
difference between significance and importance. Importance
might be when you’re governor of California or something.
Significance is Hunter Thompson, Abbie Hoffman, Shel Silverstein,
maybe Tom Waits, Warren Zevon, Gram Parsons. Mostly people
who didn’t quite make it. The mainstream is important
but it’s rarely significant. Garth Brooks is important.
I’m sure he’s important to his record company
and his fan club, but he’s really not significant.
Cesar Chavez and Barbara Jordan, they’re significant.
So we strive for significance, and that’s why “Ride
‘Em Jewboy” wound up being played by Nelson
Mandela in his jail cell. That was a song he played to himself
every night from a smuggled-in tape cassette. I know it
sounds like a Kurt Vonnegut thing but it’s true. That’s
one thing that my producer Chuck Glaser told me. He said,
Kinky, any time you record something, you never know who’s
going to be listening, you never know who’s going
to hear it. That’s an intangible award I think I’ve
received because of country music. The guy who told me about
Mandela said to me, now Kinky, don’t get a swelled
head over this, because you’re not Nelson Mandela’s
favorite singer. That was Dolly Parton.
Still, I never dreamed that would happen, and I should
would like to see another Nelson Mandela pop up once in
a while in Africa or America who would help the political
landscape. I’d like to see another Democrat like Barbara
Jordan. I don’t see any, they’re not really
Democrats. Ann Richards would be disgusted with them. Molly
Ivins would be disgusted. Harry Truman would. JFK would.
Sam Rayburn would. They’re not Democrats, they’re
liberals.
You can share a glass of Texas mouthwash with Kinky
at Monty Hall in Jersey City on Tuesday, July 10. Check
kinkyfriedman.com for
the rest of his tour dates or to order Circus Of Life.
JerseyBeat.com
is an independently published music fanzine
covering punk, alternative, ska, techno and garage
music, focusing on New Jersey and the Tri-State
area. For the past 25 years, the Jersey Beat music
fanzine has been the authority on the latest upcoming
bands and a resource for all those interested in
rock and roll.
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