[rating=8.00]
Listening to any given record by Mojo Nixon is a lot like getting hit straight in the head by Epiphone guitar and nursed back to health one quart of Jack Daniels at a time. No one has quite been able to match his intensity, his raw power, his unequivocal joie de fuckin rock in the decades since Mojo first hit the scene. Under the banner of Mojo, punks united with hillbillies united with greasers united with anarchists. His was a revolution of audacity, tearing down walls to prove the walls never existed in the first place. Fueled by sex, drugs, rock and roll, and a highly literate sensibility, Mojo Nixon exists, if for no other reason, than to remind us that we’re only as free as we believe ourselves to be. But more than that, Mojo Nixon exists to rock your goddamn face off.
Like all great rock and rollers, Mojo Nixon even has his own origin story. Legend has it, on a bicycle trip across the country, young Neill Kirby McMillan Jr. was hit by The Mojo Revelation, which involves a bluesman who is the son of Richard Pryor’s Ms. Rudolph and Richard Nixon. The legend has multiple permutations, some involving voodoo, others involving graveyards, but all leading to McMillan’s alter ego, the man we know so well, that gravel voiced punk who inspired generations to greatness by being terrible, Mojo Nixon.
Matt Eskey’s long gestating documentary, The Mojo Manifesto: The Life and Times of Mojo Nixon, previously set to have its premiere at the now cancelled SXSW 2020, explores the man and the myth of Mojo Nixon, letting Mojo himself narrate the debaucherous tale that even today serves as a how to for young musicians looking to make their marks on the music world in the snottiest, most brash way possible.
Though somewhat standard in its presentation, The Mojo Manifesto is still a fascinating rock doc that takes us deep inside the mind of rock’s most enigmatic punk. Starting with the recording of Mojo Nixon’s legendary Otis and the subsequent Amuck in America tour with The Dead Milkman, Eskey veers back to the beginning, when Mojo Nixon was just a 12 year old Kirby, arguing against his town’s leash laws with his mayor. He always has been, we learn, a stirrer of shit, unafraid to speak his mind to whatever power might be in his way. Never mind if they don’t want to hear it. Mojo’s gonna make sure they do.
It’s impossible not to, frankly. Anyone who’s ever heard a Mojo Nixon song can attest to that. Even if you hate it, even if you disagree, you can’t ignore it. Mojo Nixon designed all his records to match his personality, which is brash and loud and confident to the point of foolishness. Except it’s not really, is it? Mojo Nixon has always matched his confidence with his output, rising to his own impossible standards in the most impressive and impossible to dismiss of ways. What The Mojo Manifesto does best is reintroduce the world to the larger than life intensity of Mojo Nixon, taking us behind the scenes and exploring the drama that swirled the punk rock carnival barker, to get at the man himself.
It’s as wild as a Mojo album and an absolute must see for fans. Hell, even if you’ve never heard of Mojo Nixon in your life, this is as good a place as any to make your introduction. He is a force of nature, an act of god, the human embodiment of the spirit of rock and roll the likes of which won’t be seen for decades. Eskey captures that spirt beautifully, distilling it down to into its essence and turning it into a ride as wild as Mojo himself.
One Response
How the hell do I get my hands on this masterpiece?!?!