The day of the Kid Rock con-cert on April 20 is also the date of Hitler’s birthday, the anniversary of the Columbine massacre and the international day of observance and celebration for pot smokers everywhere. This was a veritable hot bed of drunks stemming from the harshest nether regions of Oildale and beyond the most dilapidated trailer parks.
Security ushered in the crowd with a penal megaphone signal. An hour later the halls were filled with the hoops and hollers of whisky-stained breath and a Jack Daniel’s-Dixie stagger. As the opening band Twisted Brown Trucker began to warm up the crowd with their Eddie Vedder drone and mix of Southern rock and grunge, the first arrest of the night was being made.
On my way to my seat I approached an engrossed crowd surrounding three large girls screaming, punching and pulling hair as three Bakersfield police officers struggled to separate them with a nightstick. As one was handcuffed, I just imagined what a great highlight reel this would make for next episode of “COPS: Bakersfield.”
The presence of Kid Rock does precede him and I think he likes it that way. Though some critics label his new album as a little softer his live show is an invocation of the bombast of ’70s stadium rock. The pyrotechnics and exploding fire 40 feet high warmed my face and burned out the smell of the vomit from a row behind me. Aside from any other day I’ve been to Centennial Garden, I’ve never seen a crowd more comprised of the rowdier side of this soupy goulash called Bakersfield.
Kid Rock exploded from beneath the stage on “Son of Detroit” a Midwest revamp of David Allan Coe’s “Son of the South.” And the grandiloquence and worship of the South was revealed in the fitting and well instrumented cover of “Freebird” used as a transition to a harder Southern rock. From in front of a dizzying spectacle of a Confederate flag, local dancers grinded behind cages as the crowd cheered and lifted lighters in approval, as some 7- and 10-year-olds were scarred for life.
And it couldn’t have been concluded without Kid Rock busting out an old school word up to little Joe C. Rest in peace, God bless. If it weren’t for all the classic rock teaser intro transitions into songs like “Jackson, Mississippi” and “American Bad Ass” the pride of this audience was going to explode like a toad under the swerving off-road wheels of midnight frog giggers. God bless America and God bless Kid Rock.