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When I was a kid, I was always getting compared unfavorably with the do-gooder son of my mama’s best friend. Doug Zellner got straight A’s, ascended the ranks of the Royal Ambassadors at our Baptist church, and started a lawn-cutting business in the sixth grade. I, meanwhile, was half-stepping for B-minuses and sneaking Wild Turkey into Quiet Riot concerts. (I am happy to report that Mr. Zellner ended up getting divorced twice and living in a trailer park.) I’ll bet that the jealousy and inadequacy that I once felt are similar to what Hank Williams III must feel toward Kid Rock. As a child, Hank III (born Shelton Hank Williams) knew very little about the musical legacy of his famous dad or his more famous granddad. He was mostly ignored by Jr., who was busy getting drunk, popping pills, bedding gals, and running from the shadow of Saint Sr. And not only did young III have to endure the paternal neglect of the man with the hat and glasses, but this year he had to watch his dad deep-frying turkeys and sipping Coors with his ìadoptedî son on A Kid Rock Christmas. I can hear poor Hank III now: Daiddy, I got scraggly hair, a bad attitude, and propensity for smoking the doobie! Come flip the bird with me for a change! Hank III channels the spirit of his dead gramps—both in appearance and voice—so accurately that you believe all the drunkenness and loneliness in his songs, and he’s got the Black Flag-esque tat to back it up to the young’uns. Hell, even I got fooled for a second by Kid Rock’s outlaw-country dabbling—call me a Cocky-sucker—but I sure hope Jr. comes around on this one. Hank III plays with Scott Biram at 9:30 p.m. Saturday, Feb. 21, on the Black Cat’s Mainstage, 1811 14th St. NW. $15. (202) 667-7960. (David Dunlap Jr.)