Kinky Friedman, the irreverent singer-songwriter who lampooned “wuss” culture both on record and on the ballot, has died at 79.
The artist’s friend, Kent Perkins, announced his death on Facebook June 27. “My great friend for half a century, Kinky Friedman, slipped away peacefully at home in his sleep early this morning,” Perkins said. “He leaves a legacy of laughter, music, loyalty, mercy, tolerance, servitude, and wisdom.”
Richard Samet Friedman – nicknamed Kinky because of his curly hair – was born in Chicago, but grew up on his parents’ Echo Hill summer camp ranch in the Texas Hill Country. As a songwriter, he infused the Seventies outlaw country wave with both-sides satire, mocking racists (“They Ain’t Makin’ Jews Like Jesus Anymore”) and feminists (“Get Your Biscuits in the Oven and Your Buns into Bed”) in equal measure. Though the National Organization for Women wasn’t too fond of the latter, he counted Nelson Mandela as a fan of Holocaust tribute song “Ride ‘Em Jewboy.”
During a decades-long break from music, Kinky wrote a series of detective novels and authored a Texas Monthly column. In 2006, he launched a semi-serious bid for Texas governor, proposing the legalization of marijuana (and, given his penchant for a cigar, the banning of all smoking bans), the tightening of the border, and the passing of gay marriage. He received 12 percent of the vote.
Speaking to the Chronicle in 2019, Friedman revealed that his return to songwriting – first with 2018’s Circus of Life, his first album of original songs since 1983, then with Resurrection the following year – emerged out of a depression.
“I came back to songwriting strictly because of personal unhappiness, loneliness, and my idea of being miserable,” he said at the time. “It was not an accident. I was living in this old farmhouse, and when you’re alone and feeling sorry for yourself, you start thinking, ‘Jesus, some people have all this stuff and a house on the hill and Darby’s Castle, but I’m still living in this fucking place where it still rains through the roof and I got pots catching water.’”
Still, reflecting on the songs on his final album (which the Chronicle called “some of the best he’s ever written”), a surprisingly sincere Friedman enthused, “Resurrection is what we all need…Imagine if the world turned off Matlock, what we all could produce.”
This article appears in Best of Austin 2024 (Insert).
