Kinky Friedman, the satirical and often provocative musician, author and one-time politician, has died at the age of 79.
“Kinky Friedman stepped on a rainbow at his beloved Echo Hill surrounded by family & friends,” read a post on his social media. “Kinkster endured tremendous pain & unthinkable loss in recent years but he never lost his fighting spirit and quick wit. Kinky will live on as his books are read and his songs are sung.”
Throughout his career, Richard Samet “Kinky” Friedman developed a cult following for his unique, quirky approach to country and Western music. The self-proclaimed “governor of the heart of Texas” released a robust number of albums starting with 1973’s “Sold American,” often considered his foundational record, and in addition to touring with Bob Dylan on his “Rolling Thunder Revue,” he became the “first full-blooded Jew” to appear at the Grand Ole Opry.
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Outside of his music career, Friedman was a prolific writer, penning detective novels and serving as a columnist for Texas Monthly. He dabbled in politics, running for Governor of Texas in 2006 with campaign slogans like “My Governor is a Jewish Cowboy.” In the end, he received 12.6 percent of the votes among six candidates.
Born in Chicago, Friedman grew up in Texas and attended University of Texas at Austin to study psychology. An interest in music led him to form King Arthur & the Carrots followed by Kinky Friedman and the Texas Jewboys, which he described as a “country band with a social conscience, a demented love child of Lenny Bruce and Bob Wills.” The group stirred controversy with songs like “They Ain’t Makin’ Jews Like Jesus Anymore” and “Ride ‘Em Jewboy.”
When his music career waned in the 1980s, Friedman shifted to being a novelist and writer at large, publishing 1994’s “Elvis, Jesus and Coca-Cola: A Novel” and 2004’s “Kinky Friedman’s Guide to Texas Etiquette: Or How to Get to Heaven or Hell Without Going Through Dallas-Fort Worth.”
With his sister Marcie, he helped run the Echo Hill Gold Star Camp for children. Kent Perkins, a longtime friend of Friedman, remembered him in a post on his social media.
“Somewhere in heaven,” he wrote, “I’m sure there’s a quiet corner with a big easy chair, a bright floor lamp, a big stack of biographical books, and a few old dogs wagging their tails to the faint smell of cigar smoke.”
