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Kirk the Idiot
Published: December 2003
Story: Theresa Katalinas
Photo: Shanin Goelz |
Kirk "The Idiot" Folk is at a crossroad. The York-based, classic
rock-loving acoustic singer has outgrown his stage moniker, but
hasn't yet grown into his given name.
"This thing's starting to be a curse for me," a droopy-eyed Folk
laments over his stage name while sipping a bottle of Budweiser.
"They didn't used to [ask me what it meant] because of the way I
acted before. They'd be just like, 'Eh, I see.'"
Clad in blue jeans, a plain black T-shirt, and simple, moccasin-style
shoes, Folk, whose wavy, dirty blond hair parts in the middle and
snakes past his shoulders, looks more like a hard rock-inspired
answer to Dave Matthews than a comedic rabble-rouser. Yet, the latter
describes the man who, throughout the mid-1990s, served as half of an
acoustic duo dubbed Two Idiots and a Lamp.
"At the time, we had a couch and stuff up on stage, and a coffee
table and TV," Folk says. "I just thought, 'Two Idiots and a Lamp,'
because I had a lamp and it had four bulbs on it and I'd say, 'This
is a heavier song. It's a three-bulb song.' The band had, like, 100
stage lights, which took three hours to set up. It was my light show."
Eventually, the duo's bulb burned out, and solo gigs became the norm.
Folk christened himself Kirk The Idiot, never realizing that years
later he'd be stuck with the name.
Folk contends his drinking tastes have mellowed along with his
personality during his 15 years as a professional musician and have
paved the way for a brand-new, yet-to-be-determined stage name. "I'm
kind of a much kinder, gentler idiot now than I used to be," he
quips. "[I'm not] drinking, like, 20 shots a night and slobbering and
foaming at the mouth and barking at the ladies - as much. Now,
apparently, [idiot's] not as obvious. Inside my head I think I'm more
scathing than I used to be, but I'm not letting it out."
He credits his pre-school-aged son, Skylar - "A chip off the old
blockhead," according to Folk - as the inadvertent driving force
behind his almost idiot-free makeover. "There's nothing worse than
being called an idiot by a 3-year-old," Folk says, cracking a smile.
"I was at the York Fair with him and WSBA was broadcasting live and
said "We've got all kinds of idiots in the crowd tonight and we've
got Kirk The Idiot." I had to explain to him, 'Well, that's what they
call me.' So now whenever he wants to be a smart aleck, he says,
'Kirk The Idiot, at least I'm not an idiot.' So I really gotta get
rid of it before he gets to school and starts getting into fights at
the schoolyard."
Although he's toning down the idiot antics, don't expect Folk to go
completely, well, folk. His surname, he says, is just a coincidence.
"I wasn't that corny on purpose," Folk laughs when asked if his last
name is made up. "I'm kinda the anti-acoustic acoustic guy. People
who want to hear James Taylor and stuff, I would have to put down my
beer and go learn how to play guitar. It's not what I do."
Instead, his craft involves pumping fresh blood into rock hits, both
new and old. Imagine an upbeat, yet melodious version of "Rebel
Yell," equipped with the vocal styling reminiscent of '70s greats
like Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd. "A lot of stuff I play I
shouldn't," Folk says. "I tend to not care if it sounds like the
original song. [Impersonating] is really hard on the voice. You're
gonna end up doing damage to yourself."
Within his foot-thumping set, Folk makes room for an odd array of
covers, including "We Just Disagree" by Dave Mason and Sublime's
"What I Got," among others. All are equally received by the small
gathering of listeners who loudly throw critiques and compliments
Folk's way during the set.
Folk takes it all in stride. "I like to mess with people and be able
to talk to them," he says. "There's not a lot of one-on-one anymore."
Although he's got a new, more serious persona, Folk isn't afraid to
play the comedian on-stage. As his head - barely a foot from a
booming, towering speaker - shifts back and forth to the rhythm
strummed on his black acoustic guitar, he yells, "Is that too loud
for you?" After a resounding "no" from the intimate crowd gathered
inside the bar, Folk goes for the punch line: "Are you sure? Because
I can turn it up if it's too loud."
Despite stints with original rock bands such as Back Talk, Duck
Butter, and Cotton, Folk says he mostly leaves his penned lyrics at
home. Instead, he brings a crumpled array of "cheat sheets" with him,
as is obvious this night when scattered music pages cover a tabletop
while he hurriedly sets up. "I tend to not even bother [with
originals] because, unfortunately, the crowd kinda goes, 'What the
hell was that?'" Folk says, widening his blue eyes and spinning
around in mock emphasis. "It's depressing in a way, but I can't
complain. It's what I do for a living. It sure beats a full-time job.
This is all I do. I haven't had a job - ever."
At the request of a spectator, Folk finally gives in and offers an
original song. "Here's a song about drinking from a drunk," Folk
says. "If you slit your throat afterwards, I'll know it wasn't that
funny."
When he's not working to please crowds in the Central Pennsylvania
area, the Phoenix, Arizona native says he spends his days playing
"Mr. Mom" to Skylar, who gets a kick out of seeing his dad consume
imaginary "leopard juice and cream of reindeer horn."
Spare moments between the toddler's naps are graciously used to pen
Folk's first children's book. "I've been threatening to write a
children's book for a long time," he says. 'Now I have a reason to
write it, but I also now don't have any time. I have my son all day.
It's a catch-22."
Folk says he endures the same difficulties when it comes to creating
new music and touring. But he stresses that he has no regrets.
Playing music and clowning with his blond, curly-haired son make it
all worthwhile. "I can't go do things out of state. Now that I can't,
I've been offered stuff that I've wanted to do, like play in Vegas,"
he says. "I was offered a gig playing out West all winter. You get
offered the things when you can't do them. It's karma. It's come back
to get me - to bite me in the ass."
Kirk The Idiot performs every Tuesday at Silver Lake Inn in
Lewisberry, every Wednesday at Banana Max in York, every Thursday at
McCleary's Public House in Marietta, every Friday at Fat Daddy's in
York, and every Sunday at WaterWay Raw Bar and Grill in York. For
more information, visit www.kirktheidiot.com.
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