“I’m still the same old redneck fuck, don’t give a damn…”
I turned to my wife during HARDY’s first song at Stagecoach, the recently released “SOLDOUT,” and asked her, “Did he just call himself a “’Redneck Fuck?’”
“I’m still the same old redneck fuck, don’t give a damn
Ain’t afraid to throw a dead buck on my Instagram
Grain alcohol in my cup, got the whole house
Wall to wall and I still ain’t sold out…”
My vote is that “fuck” is used as a noun, thereby altering the typical noun “redneck” into an adjective modifying the noun “fuck.” For an ACM award-winning writer like HARDY, it can’t be a random expletive.
And I can’t get enough of this redneck fuck, HARDY.
I looked up “fuck” in Urban Dictionary, just to be sure HARDY and I were using it correctly.
“3; A person who is far from intelligent.
[as in]
3; You’re one huge moronic fuck to have had to search what fuck means on the Urban Dictionary….”
The thing is, I think HARDY is smart, and this “I’m a redneck fuck” gig is a hilarious act that followed him to Stagecoach last weekend. And I’m here for it.
First, he spent all of Friday incognito, dressed as a dad on vacation in Mexico: wide-brimmed straw hat, long sleeved tie-dye t-shirt, shorts, and two beers which he promptly spilled on an innocent bystander.
Next, he made a surprise appearance during Thomas Rhett’s headlining set when he pretended to be a fan called up on stage to sing “Friends in Low Places” with Rhett.
People on my bus on the way home that night still thought he was a random guy from the crowd with a great voice, because he was upstaged by the far-more-famous (and not a fuck) Ashton Kutcher shortly thereafter.
And finally, when he performed his set on the Mane Stage on Saturday, HARDY was wearing the same ridiculous, wide-brimmed straw hat, probably the same shorts, and a Fernando Tatis Jr. Padres jersey in what is clearly Dodgers and Angels territory. You Fuck!
It was perfect.
HARDY vaulted himself from successful yet obscure songwriter into the mainstream with “One Beer” and “Give Heaven Some Hell.” At Stagecoach, he performed those songs back-to-back, and then declared to the crowd, “Alright, enough slow songs, let’s party!” or something like that.
I cheered loudly, maybe with a few “fuck yeahs” thrown in for my favorite redneck fuck. It was like he was contractually obligated to play those songs, but all he really wanted to do was yell and scream and party with the rest of us crushing midday beers in the desert heat.
I love following HARDY because he keeps things simple. He wants to have a good time on his terms, and he’s going to throw everything he’s got, along with a few middle fingers, at that mission.
If you’re at a HARDY show, he’s going to play some country, he’s going to play some rock (“SOLDOUT” was, in fact, released as a rock song, giving us a possible window into HARDY’s future trajectory), and he’s going to act like a fuck.
And I love a guy who pushes the envelope, does what he wants, and doesn’t take himself too seriously.
HARDY, please keep being you, you crazy, wonderful, redneck fuck. And I’ll keep showing up, “middle finger to the sky ‘til I’m gone and dead.”
