Brantley Gilbert is the bro-iest of bro-country bad asses.
This is a dude who sings into a microphone decked out with brass knuckles, who has the chiseled physique of someone who eats sit-ups for breakfast, and who is pretty much a pair of truck nutz incarnate.
Of the 36 songs featured on Gilbert’s three full-length albums, at least 67 of them involve someone getting punched in the face. So, there’s a lot that this “Grown Ass Man” can teach us about life, liberty, and the pursuit of Southern girls in cut-off jean shorts.
With Gilbert headlining the Target Center on Saturday, let’s review some of his most crucial bro country do’s and don’ts.
Do: Support the troops in tunes so damn patriotic, it’s as if they were voiced by a giant, three-story-tall bald eagle clutching an M-60 in one talon and the Bill of Rights in the other while nursing its young with the flesh of vanquished commies.
Don’t: Ponder in song the efficacy of America’s interventionist policies in the Middle East, questioning how they might, in fact, be counterproductive in terms of bridging the centuries-long divide between Shiites and Sunnis. Let’s face it, you can’t simply use military force to compel Dale Jr. to get along with that dickweed Kyle Busch, can you?
Do: Make frequent mention of the fact that you drive a “bad toy” — a.k.a. a big-ass 4X4 featuring dead raccoon remnants lodged in the front grill and a large cup of chaw spit that your buddy occasionally sips from by accident when he’s had one too many Busch Lights. That shit’s funny, dog.
Don’t: Boast about the fuel economy of your Prius. Can you even fit a gun rack in there, bro?
Do: Pen at least one song per album noting how you hail from a small, backwoods town while implicitly casting aspersion on city folk and their fancy schmancy Ikeas with their Swedish meatballs.
Don’t: Acknowledge the fact that you never play said towns on tour, because, you know, they’re too damn small. These are markets, after all.
Do: Namecheck Uncle Sam like he’s a blood relative.
Don’t: Namecheck your real-life Uncle Sam, whose prime mode of transportation is a riding lawn mower with a big, blue No. 88 spray painted on its hood (Junior’s number!), on which he once managed to get a DUI.
Do: Point out how fond you are of roaring down dirt roads in the sticks.
Don’t: Question whether or not wiser infrastructure spending might add a layer of asphalt to said roads. Milton Friedman be damned, clearly the Keynesian model of stimulus spending is the way to go here, chief.
Do: Pay tribute in song to hell-raisin’ rock and country greats like AC/DC and Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Don’t: Bemoan the fact that One Direction just won’t be the same without that one dude who looks kind of like a Pakistani Ryan Phillippe.
With: Michael Ray and Canaan Smith.
When: 7 p.m. Sat., April 23.
Where: Target Center.
Tickets: $34.75-$39.75; more info here.