Country singer, writer, raconteur, songwriter, politician and yarn-spinner par excellence Kinky Friedman – the Kinkster to those in the know – is thirty shows in with three to go on his current ‘Bipolar World Tour’. The scene in Whelan’s is intimate and relaxed – all seated, a few bodies propping the bar, another few holding up the walls, and the man himself head to toe in black regaling all with story and song.
Friedman is an old hand at this by now, and the anecdotes and jokes come easy, well-populated with figures from history and popular culture. He even manages a few plugs for his new tequila brand (“Tequila is the Barry Manilow of drinks…it makes you feel good for a short while”), before raising a glass and calling for a toast – “here’s to honour…get on her and stay on her”. This is going somewhere, though – Kinky was drunk on tequila when he wrote Nashville Casualty & Life, “…so high I needed a stepladder to scratch my ass”, and a mellow version follows, as does a pint of plain chaser.
It’s by and large a sophisticated crowd in attendance, most knowing what to expect and digging the gags before the rest, but nonetheless things remain jovial and even the man himself seems amused by the reactions of some of the more vocal Friedman fans. Whoops and hollers precede Homo Erectus. Get Your Biscuits In The Oven and Your Buns In The Bed gets the same treatment, and with Old Ben Lucas – penned apparently by an eleven year old Kinky – he tells us he never likes to say fuck in front of a C-H-I-L-D. Blink and you’ll miss a gag, that’s the way with Friedman.
Stories about Texas Jewboys vs lesbians, the first pro-choice country song, his loss of hearing and subsequent areas of interest (“Libya and Charlie Sheen”), Bob Dylan’s perceived lack of IT smarts, and Charles Whitman (a surprisingly upbeat little jaunt) all come thick and fast, as does some light ribbing for Texas Governor Rick Perry and the Germans – “The Germans are my second favourite people. My first is everybody else.” One name that crops up above all else is that of a man Friedman clearly holds in high esteem, Willie Nelson, who apparently has no issues with IT. Amidst all the humour, though, come moments of genuine pathos – The Ballad Of Kevin Barry; The Ballad Of Ira Hayes; a particularly affecting moment as he reads a chapter about his father from his book, a story spanning generations. With this, he retires to the merch stand – “I’ll sign anything…except bad legislation.”
The second half of the show is a more song-oriented affair, and a fine Sold American and Silver Eagle Express settle everyone back in before a raucously received Waitret, Please, Waitret. Autograph goes out to Levon Helm, and more hollers go up with Asshole From El Paso. Friedman switches between the serious and the sardonic with ease (“Jesus loves you can be comforting words…unless you hear them in a Mexican prison”) and from the inevitable They Ain’t makin’ Jews Like Jesus Anymore, with the audience joining with gusto on the chorus, he bows out on a more sombre note with Woody Guthrie’s Pretty Boy Floyd, and Ride ‘Em Jewboy. With that, he’s back down amongst the folk, pressing the flesh and no doubt spinning yarns well into the night. Damn fine company.