If That’s Country, I’ll Kiss Your Ass


Chris Angel, Mind-Freakin’ Douchebag, at the ACM Awards Sunday Night

Felicia and I put the baby to bed early on Sunday evening and settled in to watch the 43rd Annual Academy of Country Music Awards show, broadcast live from Las Vegas on CBS. Before the three hour show was over, I found myself desperately missing Marty Robbins.

Maybe it’s me, but shouldn’t this show be broadcast from Nashville? Why was Chris Angel there handing out an award, and why did he borrow his outfit from Nick Manning? And when George from Seinfeld  stepped out onto the stage — cracking Jewish jokes, yet — I thought I’d somehow tuned into the wrong telecast. What the hell is all this? Who’s the wet chick singing in that waterfall? Why are Reba McEntire’s eyes so fucking wide? What is this, “Dr. 65616”?

(By the way, 65616 is the zip code for Branson, Missouri. Population 7010. Sal-ute! )

I have to admit I like George Strait, and it was nice to see him there celebrating his 56th birthday. That fucker can sing. But the whole Garth Brooks “Artist of the Millenium” greatest hits medley left me a bit cold, even when he mistakenly referred to Reba as “Miss Yearwood”. Hell, I was born and raised in West Virginia. I lived in nothing but mobile homes until I was 16 years old. I know all the words to “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain”. My first concert was Kenny Rogers and Dottie West with special guest the Oak Ridge Boys, at the Memorial Field House in Huntington, West Virginia. I grew up on “Hee Haw”. I am COUNTRY, goddammit, and let me tell you — this faux country awards show was nothing short of embarrassing.   

I found myself fantasizing that David Allan Coe would walk out onto the stage, take a pull off a bottle of Jack Daniels, pull out a knife and disembowel that fat guy who sings for Rascal Flatts live onstage.

The entire awards show was best typified by Keith Urban, sitting in the front row — dressed impeccably, hair blown and styled and with a noticably pregnant Nicole Kidman. In other words, We’ve Done Gone Hollywood, Y’all.

Fuck. Kill me now. 

21390cookie-checkIf That’s Country, I’ll Kiss Your Ass

If That’s Country, I’ll Kiss Your Ass

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One Response

  1. A-men Brother. It jest ain’t too country nowadays. Frankly, I think we’ve lost a lil bit more of who we are in an effort to be who we ain’t and in the end, we’ll simply turn into No Body.

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