I would jump in that time machine straight out of “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure”, and go back to the Old West, to some town straight out of that show “Deadwood”. There I would find the guy that started country music, take out a pistol and end him right there. Then, most of us wouldn’t be subjected to this travesty of an art form we have to put up with during NASCAR commercials and Kid Rock concerts.

The reason I write this is the fact I decided to do a little sociological experiment the weekend of May 16. Me, Art H. You, of all people, attended, GASP, the 2004 Downtown Hoedown and I will tell you it was everything I expected it to be. Why this event is in downtown Detroit is beyond me. Nothing says Detroit less than country music. In a town where Eminem, the White Stripes, and (until about 2003) Kid Rock ruled; Detroit is about as much of a country town as I am a ladies’ man.

I know this genre has a loyal base, which is consists mostly of people south of Cincinnati and west of Chicago who watch NASCAR on Sundays. I thought country had been killed it off about 6 years ago as Faith Hill and Shania Twain all seemed to be dousing it with pop music and Garth Brooks was retiring to try out with (and be cut immediately by) the San Diego Padres. Somehow this vile form of music is alive and well and the Hoedown proved it. Here is a timeline of the events:

8:15 P.M. Sunday: As I walked in to the nauseating sounds of twangs and Tennessee accents, I immediately made my first stop at the beer line. And I hadn’t seen a mullet yet.
8:20 P.M. Sunday: After downing one 22 ounce beer; I was ready to survey the scene. Through the seas of wannabe suburbanites with cowboy hats and belt buckles (and the couple in the ICP shirts), I still couldn’t find a damn mullet and that grating sound was still evident.
8:31 P.M. Sunday: Order second beer.
8:47 P.M. Sunday: I get berated by some hillbillies for screaming “Kerry For President”, just to screw with them.
9:00 P.M. Sunday: Headliner Tracy Byrd (who is that?) goes on. Get third beer. Everybody is singing to some song about whiskey and probably getting a gun rack installed on their pickup truck. But low and behold, I found the first mullet of the night; on a chick of all people.
9:15 P.M. Sunday: I realized probably about 67 percent of this crowd would probably be at OzzFest as well as the hoedown, I begin to cry.
9:18 P.M. Sunday: I decided enough was enough, after an hour of drunken redneck singalongs, I left Hart Plaza to watch the rest of the Pistons game.

I can’t believe I made it through a whopping 63 minutes of the Detroit hoedown. Here are the stats for the event: $24 spent on beer; 2 artists seen, one mullet and one good rape of the senses for an evening.

But this brings me to my point, country music is everything I am not. Sure, the stories about drinking are something I can or probably have related to one time in my life, but the other stuff; the twangs and the lifestyle described in these songs are something that someone raised in a major city which is dominated by rock and rap is light years away from.

If I lived in Flatwoods, Kentucky (Billy Ray Cyrus’ hometown, I only know that because every interview he ever did, he said where he was from) or something, I may know a little more than this. But if I lived in Flatwoods, Kentucky and had to listen to country music and shop at Wal-Mart every couple of days I think I would have gotten out of my bed with my sister, got in my pickup truck, and lunged off the ol’ bridge, and did us all a favor. Thank God for everybody I live in Detroit.

Art Michalski believes in the genocide and extermination of mullets (the hair, not the animal); and thinks that Kid Rock should drop the “Rock” out of his name and should probably call himself “Kid Billy”. If you live for country music and shop at Wal-Mart out of choice, e-mail him with your hate mail at arthatesyou@detroitbuzz.com.