Mojo Nixon left this world, but he hadn’t yet left the building, when he arrived at Austin’s Continental Membership hosting a final version of his annual “Mojo’s Mayhem” gathering on Saturday at South by Southwest, serving as a sort of raucous memorial six weeks after his death. premature exit.
There was a time when they wanted Crisco to put one more person on stage for the end of “You Can’t Kill Me” from the supposedly final Mayhem. Worlds collided when Jello Biafra, Dan Baird, John Doe, Jon Dee Graham, members of the Beat Farmers, Exene Cervenka, Jon Langford, Invoice Davis of Sprint Rip Rock and Eric “Roscoe” Ambel joined Nixon’s bar backing band , the Toad Liquors, to conclude a furious set.
Trying to enlighten blues/alt-roots punk iconoclast turned SiriusXM radio host Mojo Nixon for most people is an act of futility. Trying to commemorate the life of such a singular force of nature, who died of a heart attack on the Outlaw Nation cruise on February 7, would seem like an impossible task.
Leave it to the raving lunatic and social commentator to organize his own memorial, having declared before his death that his 2024 Mojo’s Mayhem – his long-running SXSW subversion – would be the definitive incarnation of the mostly annual showdown. Personally booked by the free singer, the nineteenth or twentieth Mayhem was hand-designed as a bespoke day of music with every band – all previous friends – with whom Nixon wished to share the stage. Designed as a farewell to the now-legendary event, the eight-hour event ultimately served as a celebration of life, a summit for divergent people, and a retrospective survey of a time when cowpunk, alternative and school radio were everything.
And it was a meeting of tribes, from Anglo-American punks the Waco Brothers to straight-up Southern rockers Dan Baird & Selfmade Sin and the Texas high plains psychedelic assault of James McMurtry. Los Angeles’ Appalachian-raw Knitters, the PC satellite acoustic band that includes X’s Doe, Cervenka and DJ Bonebrake with the Blasters’ Dave Alvin, also made their first appearance in over a decade. He was the crème de la scene playing with passion not only for the songs, but also for his late friend’s desire to live.
The chaos began long before the doors opened at 9:30 am. A polka band dressed in oom-pah-pah lederhosen walked through the corner of South Congress to serenade fans who began lining up in earnest shortly after 6 a.m. in a cold, torrential rain, while a large Stand-up by an unadorned Nixon appeared on the balcony of the San Jose Resort, immediately over the road. The club reached its breaking point long before the Allen Oldies Band, which appeared on every Mayhem, launched into 50 minutes of ’60s pop classics in suits, ties and tuxedos. This line would last all day, 30-50 people deep.
This shows Nixon’s potential to create a space where truth-telling is a game of contact. Just mixing obscene lyrics, unthinkable allusions and lots of food and medicine for a “get this” cocktail, the man who once ran wild promos for MTV has created a world based on piercing the bloat, attachment and self . -interested with a punch in the throat to the apparent and arrogant rock ‘n’ roll dose of excessive impression.
When the Beat Farmers took the stage, participating in a furious “Riverside”, time opened up. Although Nixon’s best friend, “Nation Dick” Montana, died onstage in 1995, it confirmed the fire of the scene from which the Jethro BoDean-on-mushrooms revivalist vocalist emerged: tense, untethered, unfiltered, but a powerful undertow of power-pop, huge hooks and no worries about an anthemic chorus. To see Rosie Flores, the 2024 Nationwide Endowment of the Arts recipient, just the evening’s utilitarian attendee—who previously strapped on Langford’s guitar for the Wacos’ “Folsom Jail Blues”—happily don Montana’s boots for the Dr. Phil favorite. it was knowing how effervescent the cowpunk scene was and beyond.
Of course, there were moments of true respect. Steve Earle joined Baird for a straightforward take on the Rolling Stones’ “Useless Flowers,” declaring that Nixon “would always be the voice of the outlaw nation.” Baird also took a poignant approach to Mojo’s direct request for the lives of the Fabulous Yayhoos, “What Are You Ready For.”
But these moments are often accompanied by the obscene. Female duo People Uke, a big Nixon favorite and last-minute insert, offered their tender, understated “I Gave A BJ To A DJ” with a wink and a laugh, fearlessly delivering wry business commentary and angelic harmonies. There were go-go dancers; girls dressed as bees, holding a hot plate and preparing pancakes at the base of the stage for the opening performance; bartenders in Hawaiian shirts and men’s Daisy Duke shorts; and a big stand-up Mojo outdoors for one last selfie with the man who shouted “OUTlaaaaaaaw CounTREEEEEEEEEE…” on the PC satellite radio station where he served as afternoon disc jockey.
As outrageous, as muscular, as musical as it was – and it was a day that saw Creedence, the Small Faces, the Doorways and more invoked or covered – it all paled after Toad Liquors’ final set-for. -o-Gipper. Avoiding the obvious selections (which could have been “Burn Down The Malls”, “Elvis Is In Every Place”, “Debbie Gibson is Pregnant” and “Don Henley Should Die”) for a six-song set from the elegant “Wetdawg” Pete Gordon” on keys, Mike “Wid” Middletone on drums and Matt “Earl B Freedom” Esky performed it onerous.
If Dead Kennedys founder Jello Biafra, issuing an onerous national lament, “Are you drinking with me, Jesus?” BBQ” which was hardcore, punching the air above the group’s heads. The raw pummeling of both performances demonstrated that it was not style, but dedication, that shaped Nixon’s work.
In the end, it was the prepared wreckage and the euphoria of “Tie My Pecker to My Leg”, the versatile catalog of perversions and familiar delights, that outlined the night. Arm in arm, choking with laughter, Toad Liquors, Your Mother and Some Other Whore – as they were billed – delighted in the lewdness that their friend delivered with gusto. Realizing that this was the type of revelry he was presenting, there were screams, boos and spectators singing along.
At that moment, although not actually in the flesh, perhaps Nixon had returned to “the building.” If his physique was gone, his spirit was robust and clearly – like his Elvis-invoking breakthrough hit – contained in the assembled tribe that flew across America to be there. Some came for the legendary bands of a sure classic; to relive their coming of age when Nixon gave them permission and even persuade them to fly an even stranger flag. Others were teenagers, in their twenties and early thirties, seeking the same frenetic chaos that led Nixon to push through whatever restrictions were imposed as he fought any form of censorship that came his way.
It was sweaty, uneven and noisy. People got drunk before noon. The voices were lost. The musicians were reconnected and jammed. Short stories were advised. They were all the things he represented, all the things he wished his final chaos to be. Whether it was prediction or pure luck, we should all always have a celebration of a life that was as difficult as this one.