Yo, Here’s a Digression, My Shameless Confession...

Since leaving the glamourous (not) world of music journalism, I’ve bought just a couple CDs. Macy Gray’s "Big," which is the album I’ve been waiting for her to release for nearly a decade (Go Macy, you crazy mofo). The soundtracks to "Rome" and "Bride and Prejudice" (I dig anything in harmonic minor). And now...

Wait, I need to explain something. I have purposely placed myself in a pop culture vacuum since leaving my previous career. I have no idea if Britney and Fiddy are still alive and/or married (hey, it could happen), and I like it that way. I actively avoid Rolling Stone and the Billboard charts and anything remotely connected to Jennifer Lopez or Radio Disney.

So, Saturday I was at Target to pick up Drano, because yes, that is the exciting life I lead, and walking past the music department I saw that Kid Rock had a new album, on sale for $7.98. I bought it without hesitation, even though I haven’t heard a single track, or a single review (thank God).

It. Is. Awesome.

It is the perfect synthesis of AC/DC muscle, Lynryrd Skynyrd melodic drawl and old school rap, three things for which I have a deep and unapologetic fondness.

I love every damn song on the album, which made me reflect (probably not the typical reaction to a Kid Rock album) on our long relationship.

An advance copy of his breakthrough album "Devil Without A Cause" was one of the first CDs I got as a music reporter. I gave it one listen and, even though there was no buzz about him at the time, I told my editor we had to do something with it. She happened to have an inexplicable crush on him, by her own admission, so she agreed.

Since he hadn’t hit the big time or schtupped either Pam Anderson or Sheryl Crow yet, I, as a mere reporter from a smallish Midwestern daily, was able to land an interview with him.

We went way past the 15-minute time slot. About 45 minutes, if memory serves.

It was one of my favorite interviews. He wasn’t a delightfully brainy smartass like Dave Wyndorf of Monster Magnet (probably my favorite interview ever) or a thoughtful, somewhat droll professional like Rob Zombie. He was more of an Everyman, who gave honest, unrehearsed answers and was most passionate about the side of his music that people never seemed to acknowledge (we spent a lot of our time talking about his kid and race relations in America as well as his love of Lynyrd Skynyrd, back at a time when any press about him lumped him into the "white rapper from Detroit" category).

I met him at his show in town a couple weeks later. He shook my hand and thanked me for my support in an earnest kinda way.

I don’t know if fame changed him from the easygoing guy I talked to twice, but I think not. I can remember years later hearing grumbling from industry people that he refused to fire his drummer because she was a longtime friend, even though she was judged by the suits as "too fat" and "really unattractive."

Over the years, as his fame exploded and he circled back through town, first playing clubs, then arenas and finally amphitheaters, I dreaded having to write a negative review of him. After all, I liked the guy, and his music.

I had no cause for agitas. While I’m sure he had a bad night here or there, I’ve never seen it. Every show was pure power and energy and excitement, with turn-on-a-dime precision. He’s one of the few showmen I’ve seen that threw every ounce of himself into every moment of the performance.

I took a lot of crap for my support of Kid Rock. I got it from all sides.

Angry parents would send me emails along the lines of "You and that filthy-mouthed redneck are responsible for corrupting the morality of America! I took my five-year-old to the show!! You never warned me there would be strippers and expletives!!" Uh... have you listened to a Kid Rock song? Seen a video? Looked at an album cover? And what the hell are you doing taking a five-year-old to any rock concert, jackass?!

The hip-hop crowd called me a racist for liking "only" white rappers and suggesting that 50 Cent was cliche (nevermind that I gave some of my best reviews ever to Common and early Kanye West and pre-sell-out Black Eyed Peas... because I was white and a girl and happened to like Kid Rock, I was a no-good hata’).

At the same time, those insufferable hipsters would tell me what a moron I was for being able to appreciate only the common plebe noise of Kid Rock, while failing to grasp the musical brilliance of, say, The White Stripes or whatever pathetically overrated band was currently the darling of the black-rimmed glasses and ironic t-shirt crowd.

Please.

Now that I am a mere citizen again, with no ostensible power or responsibility, I say: I love me some Kid Rock. Kid Rock Kicks Ass. Every Freakin’ Song on "Rock and Roll Jesus" Is Freakin’ Awesome. Kid Rock for President.

(Hey, come on. It couldn’t possibly be worse than what we’ve had the last seven or so years... and wouldn’t you love to see Putin’s face when President Rock brings out the stripper poles at the G8 summit?)