Welcome to the Deep Dive. Today we are opening
the throttle on the chaotic, brilliant and fiercely
uncompromising career of a true American original,
Neil Kirby McMillan Jr. Right. A man better known
to the world as Mojo Nixon. And we're diving
into the history here, looking at someone who,
well, built his whole reputation on just refusing
the rules. Celebrity, the music industry. He
wasn't having it. Yeah. His professional path.
It's really a master class in holding these anti
-establishment views, but somehow still operating
successfully within the very corporate structures
he wanted to tear down. It's fascinating. Our
sources today, they really give us the full picture.
A cultural provocateur, a master of satire, blending
genres, and making sure that, well, no celebrity,
no politician, no institution was really safe
from his songs. Exactly. Our mission today is
to trace how this psychobilly musician evolved,
you know, became this multimedia cult. hero.
We need to understand how he navigated his career,
keeping that reputation for relentless, often
controversial, and let's be honest, pretty hilarious
attacks on the whole pop culture machine. Right.
So if you need like an initial snapshot of the
Mojo Nixon universe before we really dive in,
there are three defining things you got to know.
First, the sound. That psychobilly genre, that
raw kind of sped up mix of like 50s rockabilly
structure mashed with punk rock speed and aggression.
Yeah. And second, the song that really put him
on the map globally, that anti -pop novelty anthem,
Elvis is Everywhere. It was huge on alternative
stations, MTV. It really cemented his place.
Totally. And third, that. That ultimate career
pivot later on. Right. Becoming this beloved,
though still totally irreverent, satellite radio
host on Sirius XM. The Loon in the Afternoon.
Exactly. The Loon in the Afternoon on Outlaw
Country. So that's the whole landscape of anarchy
we're going to unpack. Okay. Let's do it. Let's
start at the beginning. The source of the sound,
the psychobelly foundations, and that really
essential early partnership he had with Skid
Roper. Okay. So. Neil Kirby McMillan Jr., born
in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, August 2nd, 1957,
started his music journey in Danville, Virginia,
then headed west out to the alternative scene
in San Diego. And what's interesting there is
how fast he seemed to find his lane. You know,
people throw terms around like rockabilly, cowpunk.
But the specific thing he helped define was psychobilly.
Yeah. So for listeners who maybe haven't spent
time with that genre, what is psychobilly exactly?
And why was it the perfect fit for his brand
of anger and humor? Well, psychobilly is. It's
a beautiful mess, really. Structurally, you've
got the classic slapback bass, the reverb heavy
guitar from Rockabilly. Right. But then you inject
this relentless, super high tempo drumming, the
raw energy of punk rock. And crucially, the themes
often mix in horror, sci -fi, general social
transgression. It's inherently not commercial
music. No way. It's too fast. It's too loud.
Lyrically, it's way too dark or satirical for
mainstream radio. So Nixon, with that booming
voice and his satirical rants, he was the perfect
frontman because the music itself rejects. did
that clean, polished pop sound just as much as
his words did. And starting out, he needed someone
to play off of musically. He found Skid Roper
in San Diego, early 80s. And looking at how they
worked together, it was always Nixon's personality,
his lyrics that were front and center. Roper's
role was, well, pretty specific. Just minimalist
backup, right? Totally. Minimalist is the word.
Often the stage setup was just Roper on guitar,
maybe banjo sometimes. Yeah. And perhaps like
a basic drum machine. Wow. And that minimalism
was actually genius because it forced you, the
listener, to focus completely on Nixon's lyrics.
Roper wasn't there to compete with him. He was
there to provide this frantic stripped down foundation
for whatever rant mojo was on. It was perfect
for this kind of. Anti -commercial lyrical theater.
Their first album, 1985, on Enigma Records. That
kind of set the stage. The first single, Jesus
Set McDonald's. I mean, right away. Right out
the gate. Injecting irreverent humor into two
of America's sacred cows. Religion and fast food
consumerism. And being on Enigma was important
then. Enigma was a pretty significant indie label.
It gave them enough distribution to get their
counterculture stuff heard. Got them onto compilations
like Rat Music for Rat People. So they kind of
had one foot in the underground, but also one
foot. Stepping towards, you know, wider recognition.
But the moment it all just blew up was their
1987 album Bodacious. And that gave us the ultimate
rock and roll religious text. Elvis is everywhere.
That's the one. That's the track that defined
him. Yeah. It it secured him a spot in the whole
alternative music zeitgeist and ironically got
him tons of airplay on MTV. which is wild the
song's brilliant because it takes elvis this
deceased pop icon and makes him this omnipresent
god figure and nixon immediately ran with that
concept adding his own unique kind of southern
fried absurdity declaring his personal religious
trinity It wasn't just Elvis. No, no. It was
Elvis Presley, Foghorn Leghorn. Foghorn Leghorn.
And Otis Campbell, the town drunk from Mayberry.
It's almost profound sociology disguised as a
joke. It really is. By putting the king next
to this cartoon rooster known for being loud
and bombastic and a fictional drunk, Nixon was
celebrating these American archetypes while totally
mocking how seriously we take celebrity worship.
The message is pretty clear. The only real gods
in America are... fictional, flawed, or just
really loud. And that desire to just lampoon
contemporary celebrities, that became the absolute
core of the Skid Roper era. He was like a ruthless
sniper targeting the manufactured pop machine.
Relentless is the word. Think about who he went
after. The classic MTV establishment figure,
VJ Martha Quinn in Stuffin' Martha's Muffin.
Right. And then that double -barreled attack
on the whole late 80s teen pop industry. Rick
Astley and Debbie Gibson. and Debbie Gibson is
pregnant with my two -headed love child. And
here's where the intense irony of his career
really starts showing up. The video for Debbie
Gibson is pregnant. Who's in it? Winona Ryder,
who is starring with Nixton in the 1989 movie
Great Balls of Fire. See? That's the ultimate
act of subversive complicity. He uses the Hollywood
connections he's making, the system he supposedly
hates, to amplify a song mocking the very culture
Hollywood creates. It's genius marketing dressed
up as anarchy. But his anti -establishment critiques
weren't just about pop stars. He went after basic
societal structures, too. Songs like I Hate Banks
and that huge anti -consumer anthem Burn Down
the Malls. Those tracks are really key to understanding
the depth of his satire. Burn down the malls
isn't just a catchy phrase. It's a specific jab
at corporate sameness, consumer culture. Right.
He was basically telling people to reject the
idea that you could buy your identity inside
some air conditioned shopping center. And then
just to throw you off balance, you get the total
surrealism of the amazing Bigfoot diet. He never
let the listener get comfortable. And that natural
instinct to bite the hand feeding him led to
a very public showdown with the biggest tastemaker
back then, MTV. They decided they wouldn't air
the Debbie Gibson is pregnant video, said it
was too inflammatory. And Nixon, he didn't blink,
just cut ties with the network. He chose artistic
freedom and provocation over the massive reach
MTV could offer. That move, so early in his career,
it cemented his reputation as genuinely anti
-corporate. He walked away on principle. His
fans remembered that. OK, before we leave the
Skid Roper era completely, there's this one deep
cut detail we have to mention. It just perfectly
shows how he merged satire with this kind of
meta commentary. The B -side to Elvis is everywhere.
Oh, yeah. 619 -239 King. Exactly. Pure mojo brilliance.
The track actually included a real working phone
number. It did. It was his direct, playful response
to all those conspiracy theories going around
then that Elvis was secretly still alive. Nixon
was basically daring the king to call him up
and leave a message. It's like this low -tech,
anarchic piece of interactive performance art
hidden around a B -side. It let the audience
kind of participate in the whole. Rumor mill.
So we move into the 1990s and the provocation,
it doesn't stop. If anything, it ramps up. Nixon
and Roper split in late 89. And Mojo didn't waste
any time. His solo debut, Otis, came out in 1990.
And Otis gave us what might be his most notorious
solo track ever. Don Henley Must Die. This wasn't
just satire anymore. This was like an aggressive
public demand. Okay. And this is where the industry
power dynamics get really fascinating. We know
the song was super controversial. Our sources
say it caused such a fuss that his own record
company, Enigma, was actually begging radio stations
not to play it. Think about that. That's the
definition of a commercially disruptive artist.
A record label. asking DJs not to play their
own product because they're worried about lawsuits
or just offending people. That's extraordinary.
But the way the whole Henley incident resolved
itself, it's legendary and just deeply ironic.
The guy he's singing should drop dead, Don Henley.
He hears about it. And on July 31st, 1992, at
the Hole in the Wall in Austin, Texas, Henley
walks on stage. And performs the song with Mojo
Nixon. That's unbelievable. What does that tell
you about Henley, about Nixon? Well, it says
Henley was either incredibly smart or just supremely
confident. He completely turned the controversy
around by just leaning into the joke, right?
He stole Mojo's thunder. And Nixon, always quick,
was totally won over. Praised Henley for having
balls as big as church bells. But then, immediately,
classic Mojo, he couldn't resist, asked the crowd,
is Debbie Gibson here too? Always had to bring
it back to the pop machine. Incredible. But even
with that, like, artistic win and that personal
high point, commercially, things immediately
went south for his back catalog. You sure did.
Just months after Otis came out, Enigma Records
went bankrupt. And this wasn't just a small bump.
It was a disaster. The whole legal situation
around his early work, the Skid Roper stuff,
Otis got thrown into total chaos. His music was
stuck in legal limbo for years while they sorted
out the bankruptcy. Wow. The ultimate anti -establishment
guy gets completely sidelined by the financial
messiness on the fringes of the establishment
itself. So after Enigma collapsed, Nixon just
kept going, working relentlessly, often with
a backup band called the Toad Lickers, jumping
between different indie labels all through the
90s. And the controversial songs kept coming.
Keeping pace with the times. He had this amazing
knack for tuning into American absurdity and
whatever was happening in the news, like Orenthal
James was a mighty bad man. Clearly a satirical
take on the whole O .J. Simpson saga. Right.
But if Don Henley Must Die tested the limits
of roasting a celebrity, his next big target
really tested the limits of distributor power.
Explain that. Why was Bring Me the Head of David
Geffen even more inflammatory than the Henley
track? What was the power difference between
Henley and Geffen in the music industry then?
That's a really crucial point. Henley was a huge
artist, sure. But David Geffen, with Geffen Records
and his other ventures, he was a mogul, a gatekeeper
for the entire industry. Targeting Henley was,
you know, artistic commentary. Targeting Geffen,
that was like attacking the industry's plumbing.
And our sources confirm Bring Me the Head of
David Geffen ended up relegated to a B -side
collection because of intense pressure from album
distributors. Not the label this time. No. It
was a logistical backbone. The company's actually
shipping the CDs to stores they refuse to carry
it. It really showed that the real power wasn't
just in the corporate suites. It was also in
that distribution network. And this era also
gave us tracks that... pushed lyrical boundaries
into, frankly, genuinely shocking territory.
We have to mention, just for the full picture
of his anarchy, songs like Tie My Pecker to My
Leg, which contains stuff referencing bestiality,
incest, coprophilia, pretty extreme. That track
is kind of the ultimate flip side to his political
wit. It shows the whole spectrum of his need
to provoke. On one hand, you get brilliant, sharp
political satire. On the other, you get pure,
unfiltered shock value designed to test everyone's
tolerance, the listeners, the industries, maybe
even the laws. It wasn't always subtle. Sometimes
the goal was just pure transgression. Okay, moving
away from the extremes for a second. The 90s
also saw him really solidify his place within
that punk and outlaw country scene through collaborations.
He did Prairie Home Invasion with the ultimate
anarchist, Jello Biafra. Yeah, that was a perfect
philosophical pairing. And you also see him working
with Dave Alvin. And frequently with guys from
the Beat Farmers like Buddy Blue Seagal, these
connections really reinforce his identity as
this kind of outlaw figure who was embraced by
the, you know, alternative music elite. And that
connection to his peers led to a really poignant
tribute after the tragic death of his close friend,
Country Dick Montana, from the Beat Farmers.
Yeah, Montana died right on stage in 1995. It
was a huge blow to that whole scene. And Nixon
paid tribute to him on his 1999 album, The Real
Sacre Bleu. It's just a necessary reminder that
behind all the chaos and satire, Nixon was deeply
loyal and really embedded in this specific supportive
music community. What's truly amazing about Mojo
Nixon, though, is that his career was never just
going to be contained by the music industry.
Even when he tried to quit, he was fully committed
to being this multi -platform cultural disruptor.
He was a persona first, really. And that persona
just translated seamlessly to other mediums.
Yeah. His first jump into film was that debut
acting role in 89, playing drummer James Van
Eaton in the Jerry Lee Lewis biopic Great Balls
of Fire. Right. Playing a drummer in a rock and
roll period piece makes sense. But then he followed
that up with some really unexpected roles in
the 90s. Oh, yeah. He was in five other movies,
and the variety is just wild. He played Toad
in that famously bizarre Super Mario Bros. movie
in 93. Toad. Think about that arc. From Psycho
Billy Ranter attacking MTV to playing a mushroom
-headed creature in a huge studio movie based
on a video game. Then he pops up as a sidewalk
preacher in Car 54, Where Are You? in 94. He
clearly used his notoriety to get into Hollywood
and then just picked the weirdest parts he could
find. And his voice, that distinct voice, found
a perfect home in the growing video game world,
too. In 1997, he voiced Sheriff Lester T. Hobbs,
a recurring bad guy in the computer game Redneck
Rampage. That character was basically just an
extension of the Mojo Nixon persona, right? This
angry, kind of unhinged southern archetype. The
synergy was perfect, especially because the game's
soundtrack, which was licensed Psycho Billy stuff,
also featured two of his own songs. He was integrating
his brand across music, film, interactive media,
maximizing his cultural reach. But the ultimate
career pivot, really, was radio. That gave him
a daily stage for his quick wit, his irreverent
takes, moving those anarchic rants from song
lyrics into actual conversation. He started out
as a regular DJ in the late 90s, you know, learning
the ropes in San Diego and Cincinnati. But Satellite
Radio, with its niche channels and frankly its
willingness to embrace edgier stuff, it was practically
made for him. And by 2008, he was a genuine fixture
on Sirius Satellite Radio, which became Sirius
XM. He was hosting three different shows, each
tapping into a different part of his personality.
The Loon in the Afternoon on Outlaw Country was
his main gig. And The Loon became so popular
because he brought that totally unfiltered, anti
-Nashville attitude to the country format. It
wasn't just playing records. It was like this
daily celebration of country's counterculture,
always loaded with his commentary and personal
stories. And then he had two other completely
different shows, the NASCAR -themed Mojo Nixon's
Manifold Destiny over on the NASCAR radio channel,
and the political show Lion Cocksuckers on the
Raw Dog Comedy channel. And this is key, I think.
It shows the incredible width of his appeal.
He could talk to the outlaw music crowd, the
hardcore race fans, and the politically cynical
audience all in the same week. That political
show, Lion Cocksuckers, was exactly what it sounded
like. Unfiltered, definitely not partisan, but
very politically charged. He was basically delivering
the same kind of anarchic rants he used to put
in songs. He even took on an admin role. Started
in 2005 as a general manager on the Sirius Howard
100 channel. He really did become kind of a media
mogul for the outlaw world. But we absolutely
have to talk about the weirdest footnote on his
entire resume, the Olympic oddity. He went from
attacking MTV to being the honorary captain of
the United States luge team. This is one of those
facts that just makes you stop and say, what?
It's so incredibly no Joe Nixon. 1998, he gets
named honorary captain for the U .S. luge team
at the Winter Olympics. How does a psycho Billy
Rocker end up giving advice to luge athletes?
It's the ultimate collision, right? High -speed
corporate sports and lowbrow punk rock. Exactly.
And of course, he couldn't just take the title.
He had to immediately capitalize on the absurdity
by writing a song about it. He got members of
the Beat Farmers together and even convinced
luger Gordon Shear, who was competing in men's
doubles, to play drums on the track. Get out.
Yeah. The song was Luge Team USA. And the band
name they used was just the perfect, ridiculous
mashing of themes, the Arctic evil nipples. It
just perfectly illustrates his whole approach.
He takes this random, highly official, corporate
adjacent thing like the Olympics and twists it
into pure punk rock absurdity. He used the platform
not to endorse the games, but to make a joke
about the very idea of a guy like him being involved
in elite winter sports. So despite all that energy
across different platforms, Nixon did officially
retire from music in 2004, marked his last live
show March 20th that year, Continental Club in
Austin. But, you know, the retirement didn't
stick. Which kind of proves some people are just
born to store things up. His first little comeback
was in 2006, and it was purely to support Kinky
Friedman, fellow musician running for governor
of Texas. And his quote explaining why he came
back is just pure mojo poetry. He said, if supporting
Kinky for governor is what it takes to drag my
ass out of retirement, consider my ass dragged.
He always had a line, didn't he? But the full
unretirement happened a few years later, October
2009. He announced a new album, Whiskey Rebellion,
claimed it was a collection of unreleased tracks
he found in a shoebox full of old cassettes under
his porch. Which is a charmingly low key origin
story for a comeback record. Totally. But the
way he promoted Whiskey Rebellion, that's where
he tied his art directly into this unique kind
of anarchic economic theory he laid out in a
press release. We need to spend a minute on this
because it just perfectly sums up his whole anti
-corporate thinking. Absolutely. So to promote
the album, he didn't just. sell it. He temporarily
made the new CD and his entire solo and skid
roper back catalog available as free downloads
on Amazon. This is 2009. Remember, the music
industry is still freaking out about file sharing.
Exactly. And his reason for giving away his life's
work. It was extraordinary. He said he couldn't
wait for Washington to fix the economy. He argued
his bold move was necessary because giving away
his music would actually overstimulate the economy.
His economic logic. Mojo Nixon style was flawless,
if completely backwards by normal standards.
He claimed history proved that when people listen
to his music, money immediately starts flowing
towards, well, vices and entertainment. Right.
He specifically listed money going to bartenders,
racetracks, late night greasy spoons, bail bondsmen,
go -kart tracks, tractor pulls, football games,
peep shows, and several black market vices. His
conclusion. Yeah. His music causes itches that
it usually takes some money to scratch. It's
the ultimate libertarian, cynicalist argument
for economic stimulus through basically music
piracy and having a good time. And this wasn't
just a stun in 2009. It connected right back
to his long held beliefs about intellectual property.
Precisely. He was always an outspoken supporter
of free file sharing. Way back in July 2000,
right in the middle of the Napster Wars, he publicly
backed the movement, explicitly said he was not
an asshole like Metallica. Oh, direct shot. Yeah,
direct reference to Metallica's very public,
very aggressive lawsuit against file sharing.
Nixon just took the opposite stance on principle.
He really lived his philosophy. But his politics
were complex, weren't they? He called himself
a libertarian, cynicalist anarchist. Yet despite
all that anti -establishment talk, he publicly
supported Barack Obama in 2012. Which I think
shows his anarchy wasn't just anti -government.
It was more anti -convention, anti -hypocrisy
within the system. He could embrace these radical
anti -establishment labels, but still participate
in conventional politics when he thought it served
a purpose. And we have to touch on the cultural
world he inhabited, especially his, let's say,
spiritual side. He was a member of the Church
of the Subgenius. For anyone listening who isn't
familiar, what is the Church of the Subgenius?
And why is that connection so important for understanding
Mojo? The Church of the Subgenius is maybe the
ultimate piece of American counterculture satire.
It's basically a parody religion started in 1979
designed to make fun of commercialism, organized
religion, conformity, everything mainstream.
Its main figure is this guy, often depicted,
J .R. Bob Dobbs. And the core philosophy is based
on achieving slack. Slack. What does that mean
here? Slack is essentially... freedom. It's the
time, the spiritual energy you get back when
you reject the usual demands of work, life, corporate
society. It's the ultimate rejection of the whole
rat race. So for Nixon, whose entire career was
about railing against the pinks, the conformists,
and demanding irreverence, being part of the
subgenius church just perfectly aligned with
his lifelong mission to disrupt the system and
celebrate absurdity is basically his philosophical
home. All this rich, wild history, this constant
push and pull between anarchy and the mainstream,
it naturally led to people wanting to document
his life. A documentary film, The Mojo Manifesto,
The Life and Times of Mojo Nixon, was actually
announced way back in 2013. Yeah, it took almost
10 years to finish. Finally premiered at South
by Southwest in 2022, became available to stream
in March 2023. The film really solidified his
status as someone whose unique cultural impact
deserved a serious, albeit appropriately irreverent,
look. Which brings us, sadly, to the final cut
and call. Neil Kirby McMillan Jr., Mojo Nixon,
died February 7th, 2024. He was 66. Yeah. The
cause was a cardiac event. Okay. And the setting
where he passed away, that's where the story
of his complicated career gets really, truly
poignant. He died while he was on board the Elwha
Country Cruise. He was there as both a performer
and a host. The ship was docked in San Juan,
Puerto Rico at the time. The ultimate anti -corporate
icon dying while taking part in this highly curated
commercial ticketed fan experience. Wow. And
the final coincidence around his death is just
genuinely eerie, tying back to his movie career.
It is. Just two days after Nixon passed away,
James Van Eaton, the very drummer he played in
Great Balls of Fire, also died. It was this completely
surreal, final moment of connection in a life
that was built on strange juxtapositions. And
fittingly, his life was celebrated by the music
community he championed. There were memorial
events, including an all -day concert down in
Austin during the South by Southwest Festival
in March 2024. So when you look back at the sheer
volume of work we've covered here, six albums
with Skid Roper, three with the Toad Lickers,
including that Jello Biafra one, plus multiple
solo albums, it's just a relentless, uncompromising...
This deep dive, it really shows us that Mojo
Nixon's career was defined by this constant tension,
right? Anti -establishment anarchy mixed with
brilliant satire. Yet he was still this savvy,
engaged player on mainstream platforms like MTV,
Hollywood and the hugely centralized Sirius XM.
Exactly. He mastered the system not by fitting
in, but by using its loudest microphones to shout
about his refusal to fit. in. He was the ultimate
outsider who somehow got insider access without
ever losing his edge or his dedication to finding
that slack. He was yelling, burn down the malls
while simultaneously selling tickets to watch
Denilition. Precisely. He used the commercial
system to undermine it right up until the very,
very end. So maybe let's leave you with this
final thought on his legacy. Given that Mojo
Nixon was this. passionate public supporter of
free music sharing, constantly attacked corporate
control, called himself a libertarian, cynicalist,
anarchist. What's the ultimate meaning of his
final performance and his death happening on
board a highly curated commercial cruise ship?
A controlled, packaged fan experience. You need
pre -bought tickets, centralized organization,
the works. What does that final setting tell
us about the inevitable commodification of outlaw
culture? Does the system always eventually absorb
the rebel? Or maybe, maybe he was performing
one last massive piece of subversive theater,
bringing the anarchy right onto the high seas
of commercialism, celebrating the community that
grew around his rejection of the mainstream right
in the belly of the beast. That's the question
worth mulling over. Think about that. Thanks
for joining us for this deep dive into the anarchic
legacy of Mojo Nixon.