Songs like Tequila Shiela and She's Doing Quaaludes Again amused me, but what made him a super-star was what I think ought to be the official hymn of the Church of Monday Night Football. I refer, of course, to his Drop-Kick Me, Jesus (Through the Goal Posts of Life).
On one of his live albums, he violated the "never go onstage with dogs or children" rule by bringing on his young son, Bobby Jr., to do a duet called Daddy What If. The kid did a good job, sounded like he was on leave from the Nashville School for the Terminally Cute, and the song was a real tear-jerker. So when I stumbled upon some web links which indicated Bobby Jr. now had a musical career of his own, I couldn't wait to hear his stuff.
I got two albums. The first was for a musical he wrote, called Brainwasher, and the other was his band's self-named Young Criminals' Starvation League.
In a phrase, he is TERRIBLE. He did not inherit his father's voice. Or any voice at all, unfortunately. He never seems to be sure what key he's singing in. Perhaps he doesn't know there are keys to sing in. Melody and form are also foreign to him. 'nuff said.
