Let me be clear: This is not a matter of taste.
"You should be vaccinated," a friend warned. "You should be institutionalized," suggested another. "Why the fuck would you do this again?" my father asked. It was a reasonable question. After all, this wasn't my first rodeo — but for the love of God was I hoping it would be my last.
Two years ago, I described walking into my first Kid Rock show as feeling like a disoriented and wounded gazelle staggering into the lion's den. I planned to attend all 10 of Kid Rock's shows at DTE Energy Music Theatre — a sort of travel diary from the heart of American kitsch. But I was without the support of a publication or an editor; the piece ultimately went unpublished, and I had little to no faith that what I was doing at the time meant anything. To this day, I remain unconvinced.
I promised myself that I would never endure another Kid Rock concert again. (Especially after I was urinated on in the cheap lawn seats. Don't ask.)
A lot can change in two years.