"Because you always say you'll think about somebody every day after they die," he says, "and you know that fades away sometimes. I'm glad I got it, to this day."He has one other tattoo, the Detroit Tigers D on the inside of his right forearm. Thank God I don't have an addictive personality.
"I need them for my wall of shame."The captain of the Jamaican fishing boat nods. Sixty-five dollars a head is handed over by Kid Rock and his Detroit buddies (including his DJ and best friend, Kracker; the rest of his band stays on land), two cases of Red Stripe are loaded ("When the beer's gone," Kid Rock swaggers, "the trip's over"), and the boat slips past the cruise ships in Ocho Rios harbor, straight out to sea. Isn't that what everything is the right reason for? It takes about ninety seconds ashore for him to start talking of his sea adventure as a funny story about something that happened once.
"At the Grammys, I was, ' Once again I won't get an award, and I'll be the most entertaining thing there.'" He considers this for a moment.
Those evenings were fine, unless the adults got drunk and asked Bobby to start jumping around, lip-syncing Jim Croce's "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown" or Seger's "Ramblin' Gamblin' Man" to entertain their friends. [ And it is true: When you listen to it now, it is hard to remember that the album was made by a man largely untroubled by an overabundance of money, fame and attention. Kid Rock doesn't plan to fly commercial too much longer.
During the days, he would listen to their big stereo and imagine that the people he heard – the Stones, the Beatles, Marshall Tucker, Johnny Cash – were little people jamming right there inside the box. The record assumed these things and predicted them, and they came to be. He recently had a guy over to explain the financial practicalities of private jets. I'm also suspecting that you didn't reprise for Bill your couplet, "I gave an invitation to the president just for kicks/It said, ' You're cordially invited to suck my dick'" ("Freestyle Rhyme," 1996).
And now – on this blustery, sundrenched Wednesday in Jamaica, beer in his hand, sharks on his mind, his freshly braided hair swinging in the wind – he assumes his position as the king of the sea. Then he reaches for a plastic bucket and begins vomiting. "Smell his breath," he advises the girl.), but they have taken the opportunity to enjoy a week's rest in the sun. Right now their boombox blares "No Woman, No Cry," turned up to drown out the hotel's Eurodisco.
Kid Rock – shirt off, sunglasses on – takes the chair from where the biggest deep-sea catches are reeled in, a central raised throne bolted to the back of the deck, and watches the coast of Jamaica recede. These days, Kid Rock is used to being the king of it all: the king of old-school partying and take-no-prisoners boasting; the king who has cut through the false modesties, nervous ironies and uncertain melodies of our times with his own clever, crude, anthemic upsurges; the king who predicted his each and every triumph while recording the album that then went on to crown him. It also takes about ninety seconds for him to be approached by a hotel guest."Will you take a picture with me? "I thought you'd never ask."Kracker looks amused.
This May 5, 2015, photo shows musician Kid Rock performing during National Concert Day in New York.
If theres anyone who can make Donald Trump seem sort of hip, its Kid Rock.
"Well, except for Elton John – that was pretty fucking good."He is not joking. "Elton John has got a fucking great voice, and you just can't deny it. I love all his shit, man – ' Bennie and the Jets,' ' Daniel,' all his slow shit.""Daniel"!
The sappiest song ever."Well, I've got a nephew named Daniel," he mutters.