Psychobillies, outlaws are my very own tribe
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Two weeks ago, I had the distinct and undeserved pleasure of accompanying my best friend on her annual Outlaw Country Cruise. Her sixth time, my first. First. Cruise. Ever.
And, it went exceedingly well. I missed out on getting sunburnt – if you’ve seen me you know it takes work to stay pasty. The weather for the most part was warm and gorgeous and welcomed after all of this WNC winter fatigue.
I met and was embraced by a wonderful group of folks whom my friend has curated over the past few years and was well-known to them by way of our own well-documented shenanigans which led them to instantly recognize me. They took me in under their wings and into their fold as the Cruise Newbie and I’ve never met people who are just genuinely nice and pleasant. Guess it’s hard to be a Karen or Chad on a cruise, but really these folks are just some of the warmest and kindest I’ve run across on this great big globe.
But, there was a pall cast upon us by Wednesday February 7.
This is what the news industry refers to as “burying the lead.”
Singer, actor, DJ and irreverent “Psychobilly” character Mojo Nixon departed this earthly life, shook off this mortal coil, ceased to be and, well, died aboard the ship.
Whispers and shockwaves started reverberating immediately. It could scarce be believed. Mojo, having had a twenty year relationship with Sirius XM was one of the founding members behind the coalition to start the Outlaw Country Cruise.
Mojo also had a family history of heart disease and cardiac issues, having survived his father by over 20 years. The mood swiftly turned from one of pure jubilation to mourning and memorialization.
Everyone began to share the memories of each cruise, of which there’ve been nine and all of which he attended, of his enthusiasm for meeting and greeting fans and for his shows which were some of the most fiercely played and swayed over the cruise’s nine storied years.
What could I possibly add to this outpouring of love for this wild-eyed madman, this shamanic guru of those more affiliated and affected.
Having been perhaps one of the last people to speak with him on that Tuesday night. Having just gotten to the last show of his for the final riffs, then hanging at the bar with him and several others. When I lamented I’d missed all of his performances he gave me a full pouty lip and then when I prodded him for just one more he bellowed “No more! Done. I’m Done.”
Nixon’s career isn’t what I’m exploring here—he’d been well-known to lapse into and out of retirement in terms of playing gigs, but for those to have been the words with which I met and can’t forget him, well. . . .
It begs the question and the dilemma that none of us are guaranteed another day. Biblically, we’re admonished about keeping hours, days and times as more important than anything we know of God or from him. We’re also taught to give no thought for tomorrow, for the day has sufficient evil and trouble of its own.
Of course, in hindsight and in tribute from the many fans and Outlaw Cruisers, Mojo has been not quite deified, but definitely his legacy as the “spiritual chairman” of the cruise has been elevated. His charm and unbridled showmanship is the stuff of legend now more than ever.
Every artist who performed after the official announcement of his death partially eulogized the daredevil antics and the absolute solid camaraderie of Mojo. His benevolence, his support of playing beginning artists on his SiriusXM show, his willingness to render aid to his fellow musicians.
Of course, Mojo is a bona fide GenX icon. His takeovers of and being banned from and severing all ties with MTV are the stuff of basement legend, those late-night stories for those of us who can remember when MTV actually played music videos. His “Elvis Is Everywhere” song was one of the most played of my senior year of high school, when MTV played music videos.
Too, I couldn’t help but think of it a couple of years later as I watched Jim Jarmusch’s film Mystery Train, when an Elvis devotee sees Elvis everywhere and has clippings in her King scrapbook in the vignette “Far From Yokohama.”
But, I digress, which is a very Mojo thing, the very kind of GenX rabbit-hole we learned to follow from reading Alice in Wonderland to the World Book Encyclopedia to Encyclopedia Brown.
His campy take on tabloid headlines culminated in what is arguably his most famous song, “Debbie Gibson Is Pregnant With My Two-headed Love Child.” Just give the internet a search and see what you find. Winona Ryder plays Debbie G., while Nixon name-drops pop music’s trifecta of popularity at that time, including Tiffany and Rick Astley.
I’ll spare you some of his other song titles, but suffice to say this song was a staple of the late 1980s and on MTV’s 120 Minutes, which gave music that was out of the mainstream an outlet until he parted ways with the network over the seemingly in this day and age benign word usage “fornication nation.” He – along with musical partner Skid Roper – were perennials on my and my friends’ “mix tapes,” which then morphed into “mix CDs” and in those circles that eventually became classified as indie or alternative.
He brought a certain flair and odd assertion to the strange, arty kid, the outcast and the outlier that you could have fun and mock the establishment or “rage against the machine” before it was the machine.
Nixon took on the music industry, our addiction to malls and even added a bit of rebel cabal with a little ditty about purging the banking system.
We GenX’ers have lost some icons of late as last year was a triple blow with PeeWee Herman, Sinead O’Connor and Shane McGowan of The Pogues. Talk about an alternative trinity.
The year 2024 seems to have already taken its eclectic toll with cult leader Mojo. It’s also fitting that Mojo stayed on the boat, although he died whilst we were docked in San Juan, Puerto Rico. His wife and son, who were both onboard, flew home to Ohio, but Mojo took his last cruise in the morgue. Yes, they have morgues on ships, but let’s not think or talk about that right now.
Everyone began joking how Mojo had left the boat, like Elvis was famous for leaving the building. Of course, the announcement of Elvis’ departure was to disperse crowds hoping for a sighting. Mojo’s widow added the phrase to her heartfelt official Facebook announcement of his death.
Everyone can agree, even if you’ve not been around for all the cruises and shows, Mojo went out doing what he loved, surrounded by so many who loved him. If that’s the trouble sufficient for a day, I feel we’d all take that. Boots, Hawaiian shirts and Daisy Dukes on.
Don’t think though that there will never be a little irreverence regarding his legacy and leaving that boat. I’ve already got some lyrics bubbling around my head as a tribute he’d probably deem fitting.
Sufficiently, I’ll save those for another day.
Nicole Wright of Andrews is a staff correspondent for the Cherokee Scout. Email her at nicole.wright.scout@gmail.com.