Cocky

Reviewed by:
David Peisner

Kid Rock is hardly the first guy to meld rock and rap. He’s not going to dazzle anyone with lyrical prowess and his Twisted Brown Trucker band doesn’t do much most AC/DC cover bands can’t do just as well. He’s not really brimming with any unique insights into the human condition—hell, even his girlfriend, Pamela Anderson, is a well-worn rock totem. These are but a few of the reasons why his latest record, Cocky, oughta suck, but despite its many flaws, it—like the self-proclaimed Pimp of the Motherfucking Nation himself—is incredibly hard to dislike. He’s a foulmouthed hedonist with a heart of gold and Cocky, which steals most of its good ideas from either the Beastie Boys’ Licensed to Ill, Bob Seger’s Night Moves, or Lynyrd Skynyrd’s debut, shows this off with pride. His rhyming is consistently laughable, but on melodramatic ballads like “Midnight Train to Memphis” and “Picture” (a duet with Sheryl Crow), he actually sings kinda nice. If you can stand the cavalcade of rock clichés and the silly braggadocio, Cocky’s a reasonable guilty pleasure.

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