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Photo via Outsideleft

2/8/2024

While obscure to many, late musician and DJ Mojo Nixon stood as an iconic part of fringe music movements and subcultures. His music blended elements of classic outlaw country, rockabilly, roots, and cowpunk with his quick wit, cynical and crude comedy, and political and cultural scrutiny. Born Neill Kirby McMillan Jr., he developed his musical persona, Mojo Nixon in the early 1980s as he began to play with Skid Roper. It was their 1987 album titled Bo-Day-Shus!!! that launched Nixon into subculture stardom. It featured the song “Elvis is Everywhere”, a novelty song exalting Elvis Presley with lyrics such as “Elvis is everywhere, Elvis is everything, Elvis is everybody, Elvis is still the king”. It was that song that garnered play on MTV and college radio stations around the country. Nixon went on to collaborate with Jello Biafra of Dead Kennedys, Dave Alvin, and Buddy “Blue” Seigal of the Beat Farmers. As his career progressed, Nixon moved further away from recording music and focused on his radio shows, of which in 2008 he had three of: The Loon in the Afternoon, Mojo Nixon's Manifold Destiny, and Lyin' Cocksuckers that covered three bases of his interests, outlaw country music, NASCAR, and politics. In 2009, Nixon released Whiskey Rebellion, an album of tracks that he found in “an old shoe box full of cassette tapes.” Upon the release of this album, he temporarily allowed free downloads of all the tracks. An outspoken supporter of illegal media downloading sites, Nixon supported free media overall, both in both in the sense of money and speech. 

The 1980s sparked a contentious debate that captured the music industry, the United States government, music consumers, and parents: censorship. While not a new issue by any means, the 1980s fostered a passionate resurgence of this debate on both sides as the culture around music undeniably changed. The desire to uphold moral standards in American music clashed with many artists and record labels of the time. The height of this debate came in 1985 when the US Senate held a hearing on the so-called “porn rock”. On one side, Tipper Gore, found of the Parents Music Resource Center, claimed she was working to push against “the twisted tyranny of explicitness in the public domain.” Among the opposing artists was Frank Zappa, musician and composer, who stated, “It is my understanding that, in law, First Amendment issues are decided with a preference for the least restrictive alternative. In this context, the PMRC's demands are the equivalent of treating dandruff by decapitation.” The hearing ultimately resulted in the requirement of the use of the Parental Advisory labels we know today. While providing some comfort for concerned parents, many artists remained dissatisfied as this “labelling” had consequences for them and their music. Walmart refused to sell these records, independent record stores were occasionally threatened with eviction if they sold them, and some cities including San Antonio banned artists that had been “labeled” from performing. This controversy continued to expand in the 1990s with the rise in popularity of rap containing explicit lyrics and subjects. 

It was this wave of censorship controversy that Mojo Nixon found himself advocating in. In 1990, he debated Pat Buchanan, Communications Director under the Reagan administration, and Missouri State Republican Representative Jean Dixon—who presented a bill that would limit the display of “labelled” records and ban children under the age of 18 from attending concerts of “labelled” artists—on CNN where he stated that, “I think we’re way off the mark here. I think parents have a responsibility, when they bring children into the world, to raise them to know right from wrong... Saying that we don’t want to talk about drugs and alcohol and caffeine and nicotine doesn’t mean it’s going to go away.” Continuing through to his death, Nixon remained an unabashed voice on many controversies regarding moral outcry in America, notably outspoken against the Westboro Baptist Church’s condemnation of queer people, all with the flare of his irreverent and eccentric persona. 

Mojo Nixon passed away on February 7th after performing with his band, The Toadliquors on the annual Outlaw Country Cruise of which Nixon was a regular performer and host. “How you live is how you should die” his family wrote in a statement on Facebook. “Mojo Nixon was full-tilt, wide-open rock hard, root hog, corner on two wheels + on fire… Passing after a blazing show, a raging night, closing the bar, taking no prisoners + a good breakfast with bandmates and friends. A cardiac event on the Outlaw Country Cruise is about right… & that’s just how he did it. Mojo has left the building. Since Elvis is everywhere, we know he was waiting for him in the alley out back”. 

Photo by BBC News

1/19/2023

The following article is an expansion and transcription of a radio show that was aired on Axe Radio in September 2022. Listen to the full episode  here.

When it came to radio in England in 1964, you could only get rock and pop during one 45-minute slot per day. The BBC had a monopoly on radio broadcasting, and regularly aired only three programs: “The Home Service” (news and politics), classical music, and “The Light Programme”. Twice per day, they aired “Mrs. Dale’s Diary”, a radio soap that began with the phrase, “the recording of the daily happenings in the life of a doctor’s wife”. When contrasted with the pop and rock revolution that was taking place in the United States at the time, audiences were unsatisfied and wanted change.

Ronan O’Rahilly took it upon himself to give the vast majority of people what they wanted to hear on the radio. O’Rahilly ran a club in Soho called “Scene” and he worked in PR for celebrities. He was friends with the keyboard player Georgie Fame who was having trouble getting his music heard, and O’Rahilly made a record company to get his friend’s music out there. After making his record company, neither Radio Luxembourg nor the BBC would play it, so just as he made a record company, he made a radio station. He was initially financially backed by six investors, and eventually by advertisers. Although, he had to find other ways around the traditional licensed radio due to the BBC’s monopoly. People were able to skirt these issues by having “offshore” radio stations on boats right outside of the territory of the country they would broadcast to. According to Radio Fidelity, this idea was popularized in 1958 by Dutch stations, notably Radio Veronica in Holland. 

That brings us to March 1964, when the first transmissions came from a former Dutch passenger ferry, known once as the Fredericia, and then as Caroline. It was a hit, and they weren’t technically breaking any laws. They broadcasted pop and rock from 6 AM to 6 PM daily.

Radio Caroline's 1st broadcast Easter 1964 

In July 1964, the companies behind Radio Caroline and Radio Atlanta announced that they were going to merge, which eventually created Radio Caroline South and Radio Caroline North, broadcasting from two boats, MV Mi Amigo and MV Caroline, respectively. Between the two boats, they were able to broadcast to most of the British Isles. Eventually, some shows were pre-recorded on land so they could be broadcast from both ships at the same time. 

On January 20th, 1966, the MV Mi Amigo, which hosted Radio Caroline South, lost its anchor in a storm and ran aground, damaging the hull, but luckily none of the crew or staff. Caroline South was temporarily broadcast from a makeshift station on the Cheeta II that once hosted Radio Syd, a Swedish pirate station. Just a few months later, the Mi Amigo returned to its anchor point with a new antenna and transmitter.

Throughout all their broadcasting, the government and BBC were trying to figure out ways to shut down pirate radio stations. In June 1967, the UK Government enacted the Marine Broadcasting (Offences) Act, which made it illegal to advertise on unlicensed offshore radio stations. The justification they gave was that these pirate stations were posing a danger to other ships in emergency shipping channels through frequency interference. In addition to that, they said the stations weren’t paying royalties, and that the use of the frequency wavelengths broke international agreements. This lack of funding shut down two other offshore stations in the UK (Radio 270 and Radio London), but Radio Caroline kept broadcasting -- now from Netherlands waters, renaming to Radio Caroline International.

On the morning of March 3rd, 1968, both Radio Caroline ships, Mi Amigo and Caroline, were seized and towed to Amsterdam by a salvage company because of unpaid bills from previous servicing. Caroline was scrapped in 1972, putting Radio Caroline off the air. However, the Mi Amigo hadn’t been scrapped, but instead bought from the scrap yard by a man who intended to use her as a free radio museum. They anchored the ship off of a Dutch coast. They began broadcasting again, this time with a Top 40 format. But Radio Caroline never came without its issues, and this time it was money. Mi Amigo was once again, seized and towed because of unpaid bills. But, there was no one to issue any documents because it was Christmas vacation, so they towed her back to sea until the documents got written up.

Radio Caroline’s history is one of many twists, turns, relocations, formats, and temporary broadcasting halts. The years between 1973 and 1980 were especially convoluted: O’Rahilly decided that Caroline should instead be broadcast in an album format, which was similar to what progressive rock stations were doing in the US -- yet that no one was really doing it in the UK. They called this Radio Seagull and broadcasted it over Radio Caroline at night. Caroline couldn’t find enough advertising, so they began sharing a wavelength with Dutch pop stations. September 1st, 1974 -- Dutch government banned unlicensed offshore radio. Radio Caroline moved to Spain. Throughout 1976, Caroline kept experimenting with different transmitters, occasionally shutting down for a week or so at a time. On the 20th of March, 1980, Mi Amigo sunk after losing its anchor in a storm. The crew was all rescued and they tried pumping water out, but it was unsuccessful and she sank ten minutes later.

20th March 1980 - Radio Caroline (Mi Amigo) Sinks

However, even a sinking ship couldn’t stop Caroline from broadcasting. Caroline took on many other ships and formats through the next 8 years. In 1983, Radio Caroline continued broadcasting, this time from the MV Ross Revenge. After mast collapses, and various other troubles, Caroline eventually met its end in 1989 when it was raided in a large-scale coordinated raid, carried out by the governments of several countries. Not only was the ship raided, but also houses, recording studios, and offices that they suspected were being used by Radio Caroline. Government officials were only able to disable the transmitters after the raid had started, so some of it was aired. Equipment was destroyed by Dutch officials, and its said that one of them was armed and became violent when the crew refused to stop broadcasting.

Radio Caroline - The Final Minutes

“Whether Caroline was right to maintain her defiance for so many years is irrelevant. Her story illustrates how uniquely dangerous government regards an independent voice transmitted over unrestricted airwaves and to what ends it will go to silence it.” 

- The Real Story of Radio Caroline, Steve McGann

Caroline remained off the air for most of the 90s, broadcasting here and there. In 2002, they started broadcasting on WorldSpace satellite radio until WorldSpace went bankrupt in 2008. They went on to stream through online radio and have been doing so since. Now, they also have a 24-hour “Flashback” stream playing the classics and original jingles.

In order to gain a better understanding of the impact of Radio Caroline and pirate radio stations, I interviewed Acadia University professor and interim Dean of Arts, Dr. David Duke, who frequently listened to pirate stations in his youth. Below is a transcription of the interview.

Gwen Raffo: Could you tell me what you know about Radio Caroline or pirate radio stations in general?

Dr. David Duke: The pirate radio phenomenon was one that was primarily a phenomenon of the 1960s and 1970s. The pirate radio penomenon ended because it ultimately was successful. So, what was it? Well it was these DJs, and musically attuned folk, counter-culture folk growing out of the hippie movement of the 1970s who wanted to break the copyright shackles that were imposed by particularly, in Britain, by the BBC. The BBC was essentially the broadcaster of the state. And it was, in terms of music, it had tremendous power over what songs were played and when. And also the BBC had pretty strong censorship powers, so lots and lots of songs were banned or restricted on the BBC. By the late 1970s, for example, “God Save the Queen” by The Sex Pistols, you know, the origin of the punk movement and everything that came out of that. “God Save the Queen” was banned for a whole bunch of reasons. A few years later, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, “Relax”, that song was banned because it had explicit references to orgasms, etcetera. And the BBC, in Britain, is known as “Auntie Beeb”, like an older lady kind of thing, very prim and proper. And “Auntie Beeb” just couldn’t handle this. So in reaction to the BBC’s overwhelming influence of the airwaves, these more counter-culture focused young folk decided that they wanted to start their own radio stations. They started with terrestrial radio stations -- that is broadcasting from land-based sites in the UK. Very quickly, these were shut down because they were illegal. Under the terms of the BBC and broadcasting in general, they were illegal. However, thanks to international law, a state’s jurisdiction ends 12 miles off the coast. It’s economic jurisdiction, in many cases, ends 200 miles off the coast, but it’s legal jurisdiction only extends to 12 miles. So, in the 1960s, 1970s, there were lots of vessels that had survived from World War II that were not in good shape. Like they were rusting, they were falling to pieces, but they were still sea-worthy, and they were cheap. So these guys, and gals, because there were men and women heavily involved, they would lease these boats from ports in northeastern England, places like Hull, and Barrow-in-Furness along the East Coast, they would refurbish them, fit them out with a pretty powerful radio transmitter, and they sailed into the North Sea. And they dropped anchor in the shallows, there’s lots of sand banks in the North Sea. But outside the 12 mile zone, and then they proceeded to start broadcasting. So Radio Liberty, or Radio Luxembourg was the most famous one, and they became a phenomenon. The British response was either, they really only had one choice which was to ignore them. If you tried to jam the signals, then you really are starting to look like a totalitarian society, which in the 60s and 70s was not a good thing considering it was the middle of the Cold War and the whole point was “our side is free, their side is not”. If you start suppressing speech, and start suppressing music, that distinction becomes muddier. So the ships were essentially left to broadcast. And they were boarded on occasion, they were towed away from their locations, sometimes for the safety of the crew and DJs, etc. because they were in danger of sinking. But generally speaking, they were unmolested. 

“I’m getting goosebumps, I remember you’d just sit there tuning the dial just enough to pick it up, and you’d listen to this incredible music.”

- Dr. David Duke

And they had, as I say, a huge, critical, and artistic impact on popular music in Britain in the 1960s and 70s, especially the 1970s. Because, you know, those aforementioned banned songs, they were still played. They were played on the airwaves that everybody could access. More and more advertisers started to advertise with these pirate radio stations because they knew that these radio stations had huge listeners, huge listener numbers. And I remember listening to Radio Luxembourg in particular and it was this bizarre blend of European and North American. Some of the early DJs in the pirate radio movement, they were Americans who had moved. But it lent an air of exoticism, it was really exotic to sort of listen late at night, to tune in, and -- because the anteni were often unidirectional, as the ship drifted around on its anchor, the signal would fade in and fade out and you could -- I’m getting goosebumps, I remember you’d just sit there tuning the dial just enough to pick it up, and you’d listen to this incredible music from the United States, or homegrown from Britain that was just, you know, not considered right for the BBC to play. Things like Iron Maiden, or Black Sabbath, or The Sex Pistols, Siouxsie and the Banshees, etc, etc. So basically any kind of “out-there” music as the BBC was concerned, that got heavy play and heavy rotation on the pirate radio stations. 

I said at the start that they were a victim of their own success in a good way. What I meant by that was eventually the broadcasting acts had to be completely rewritten. You had a choice, you could either continue to try to shut these boats down, or tow them in shore and arrest everybody, but it got so annoying and so counterproductive that ultimately allowed for private broadcasters, terrestrial broadcasters, to set up. So you got Radio Liverpool, for example, or Radio London, which ultimately evolved into LIV. Corporations came in from America and began to set up radio networks and so on. And many of those DJs from those pirate radio stations were hired by these independent companies, and they took their following with them, and even the BBC said “we’ll hire you too”. And so many of those DJs that cut their teeth on the pirate radio stations, as you see in the film The Boat That Rocked, they really end up as major figures in the British musical movement, the British radio movement. And when that happens, there’s no need for the pirate radio stations anymore. There’s no need for the pirate ships. I don’t think there’s any left, all of them were broken up and scrapped, none of them were kept for historical purposes or anything like that, so. It’s an era, if we can talk about something lasting less than 20 years as an era, it’s an era of tremendous ferment, tremendous excitement in British music, and in the audience that listened to British music. So that would be my recollections of the pirate stations.

GR: I was wondering sort of about the cultural reach it had because obviously a lot of people were tuning into these stations, but when it came to sort of the things that were happening -- like when they passed the Marine Offenses Act that outlawed advertising on these stations, and when one of the boats sank -- things like that. How impactful were they culturally?

DD: They weren’t, to be honest. People only cared about the music, I mean that sounds very facile, but it is true. That’s why people didn’t really mourn the end of the pirate era because they got more of what they wanted. They got more of what pirate radio produced and delivered. From the same people! You know, the DJs didn’t arrive on shore and they would all be thrown in jail, although there were a couple of attempts for that early on. But generally speaking, they just shifted paths and moved into the mainstream, and they contributed to the tremendous breadth that I think you see in British music, and European music. You know, we talk about, for example industrial. So that’s -- I don’t want to say it starts exclusively in places like Belgium and Holland, but Belgium and the Netherlands are key components of the industrial scene which as you know, it sort of a mix of heavy metal, and a little bit of new wave. But it’s certainly not rock and it’s certainly not pop. That was influenced, so I’m thinking of bands like Neon Judgement or Front Line Assembly, etc. they are influenced by the pirate radio stations as well. And they -- because of what they’re listening to. Because they don’t hear the same thing on the continent either. So that’s one area where I think they have tremendous impact outside Britain, but it’s in Britain itself, the ability to take a transistor radio and listen to this amazing music, then get your mates together and form a garage band, to do that, that I think really contributes to the growth of punk, the growth of heavy metal as a reaction to like prog rock, which was safe and middle of the road and twiddly and all that kind of stuff. And it contributes as well, I think to the garage band. The thought that you can start a band with a couple of friends, send some demo tapes out, and you know, a lunatic up in Manchester will pick it up and all of a sudden it’s the next New Order. And you talk to anyone from the 80s where they make it big, what are their origins? What are their big influences? It’s listening to pirate radio in the 60s and 70s, the breadth that they get. So I think it’s huge.

Sources

Special thanks to Dr. Duke for the insight, information, and reflection on personal experiences

Radio Caroline Wikipedia

The Real Story of Radio Caroline

Radio Caroline is Silenced

Radio Caroline's 1st Broadcast

Radio Caroline North, live from the Ross Revenge

Radio Caroline - The Mi Amigo Goes Down

RADIO CAROLINE. Chart countdown 1968 - Rodger Day.

Radio Caroline Jingle Compilation

Forty years ago today Sheerness lifeboat crew rescued Radio Caroline DJs from the sinking Mi Amigo

Offshore Stations' Pop Charts

The History of Radio Caroline

Radio Caroline

Radio Caroline Airplay Chart

10/19/22

Relatively unknown by the masses, but adored by the rockabilly scene, neo-rockabilly singer, Robert Gordon, passed away at age 75 on October 18th. Gordon’s musical reach was vast and impactful in the spaces he inhabited. Growing up and enjoying rock and roll, at a young age, Gordon declared that he would be a musician. He cited some of his influences as Gene Vincent, Jack Scott, Billy Lee Riley, Eddie Cochran, and Elvis Presley.

When Gordon moved to New York City in 1970, he joined the punk band Tuff Darts, one of the earliest bands to gain a large audience at CBGB. The band’s original lineup featured Robert Gordon (vocals), Jeff Salen (guitar), Bobby Butani (guitar), John DeSalvo (bass), and Jim Morrison (drums).

“It was sort of a signature punk band, ya know? It was like before the word was even being used, or new wave.” -Robert Gordon, 1977

Their sole album, “Tuff Darts!” (1978), never received immense commercial success but was instrumental in laying the foundation of music at CBGB, and earned them opening gigs for the New York Dolls. Before their album release, they were featured on the 1976 “Live At CBGB’s” album, produced by Atlantic Records, featuring other smaller bands that got their start at CBGB.

“I was doing the rockabilly thing which always seemed to get people off, but I was an angry young man, I had split from my first wife and punk worked for me. But I wasn’t really into punk. I missed singing those old songs.” -Robert Gordon, 2014

After parting ways with Tuff Darts, Gordon joined forces with producer Richard Gottehrer in pursuit of a solo career in rock and roll. Gordon suggested working with the well-established guitarist, Link Wray. Wray accepted and they released Robert Gordon with Link Wray in 1977, gaining more airplay after Elvis Presley’s death. Wray and Gordon teamed up again the following year and released Fresh Fish Special, which gained more popularity than their debut album, with Billboard magazine writing: “Robert Gordon, the new voice of Rock and Roll, and Link Wray, the legendary guitarist, are together again! FRESH FISH SPECIAL follows their red hot first album -- and it’s a killer! Bruce Springsteen wrote a song for it. Elvis Presley, Gene Vincent, Eddie Cochran and Jack Scott are faithfully remembered in it.”

Gordon had no issue with retaining the legacy of being an homage to Elvis, he described it as “a dream come true” when he was signed to RCA Records, which he called “Elvis’s label.” He went on to record nine other studio albums and four live albums, including his most popular album, Rock Billy Boogie, released in 1979.

Robert Gordon’s impact on the rockabilly revival of the late 1970s and 80s is undeniable.

Originally published 4/28/22 

Cover image from GQ

This morning I sat in my bed wearing my Danny Elfman shirt fighting off the urge to fall back asleep after waking up at 1:45AM to watch the Coachella Weekend Two livestream. As someone who grew up on the movies that Elfman scored and later became a fan of Oingo Boingo, I was excited, but no less confused when I heard he would be playing Coachella this year. His name stood out like a sore thumb on the lineup and I think everyone had the same questions about what he was going to play. For the past 27 years, the only live performances he did were showcasing his film scores, with the occasional Boingo song here and there, (Hollywood Bowl in 2018 following a film score showcase) not particularly the music of a festival like Coachella. The prospect of him playing Oingo Boingo songs excited lots of fans, both long-term who had not seen Boingo live since the 90s, as well as newer fans who have been stuck with the same recordings of their performances from 30 years ago (my personal favorite being from 1985 at The Ritz). And of course, Elfman released a full length industrial rock/metal album in 2021, Big Mess, a product of the pandemic. All three of these prospects were exciting to fans, and honestly, we were just thrilled to see him on stage again.

When he performed for the first weekend of Coachella last week, he took command of the stage and presented only the weirdest and most Danny Elfman-like performance possible, blending all three major components of his 40-year career. With a small orchestra and choir on stage along with a band, we heard scores like the Batman theme sandwiched between the eccentric Oingo Boingo tunes and the heavy, pounding songs from Big Mess. With his stage of 50 musicians, it goes without saying that a performance like this has never been done before at a festival, let alone Coachella - one that is often chalked up to becoming more and more shallow and strictly for the photos.

In an interview with Variety, Elfman said “Look, we have 30 minutes to set up a show that’s never been performed with 50 musicians on stage.” That proved to cause some issues during the first weekend, specifically with the balance and mix. Elfman expressed his distaste for the mix in the same interview: “You know, there’s that perfectionist side of an artist that’s like, if I don’t hear these things (in the mix), it throws me totally off balance. And was most proud of myself at the end of the evening for being able to push past that and enjoy it regardless of the part that was difficult for me — the handicap.” He continued to explain how the mix was especially off for the YouTube livestream, now a ten-year tradition of the festival to be able to share the music with everyone at home - something that has become even more important since the beginning of the pandemic. Despite these tech issues, the first performance was still very well received. Elfman worked alongside his team for the past week to ensure that the mix was where they wanted it to be for weekend two, specifically upping the guitars, bass, and vocals.

Then came weekend two. He opened the set with “Sorry” from Big Mess, filling the stage with the sharp guitar riffs and punching vocals of the choir. They jumped right into the Oingo Boingo classic, “Insects”, producing an iconic image of Elfman doing jazz hands while screaming “SUCK SUCK SUCK” following images of Mitch McConnoll being sucked into Donald Trump’s mouth on the screen behind him. More songs passed by, including the Spider-Man (2002) Main Title and two Boingo songs, “Nothing to Fear (But Fear But Fear Itself)” and “Just Another Day.” The lights dimmed and Elfman reemerged wearing the iconic white and black pinstripe jacket of Jack Skellington from The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993), launching into a three-song medley from the movie. His voice was iconic as ever with scenes from the movie playing behind him on the screen. I was absolutely elated to hear the first notes of “Breakfast Machine” from Pee-wee’s Big Adventure (1985), the first movie that Elfman scored. The whimsical tune was accompanied by Elfman and the choir playing snare drums with wide grins on their faces. Then the violent violins kicked in for “Kick Me” (Big Mess), with the guitars and Elfman’s vocals punching through the air as he sang “Fuck me, I’m a billionare, I love the attention.” Then we got “Insanity” (Oingo Boingo), the Batman (1989) theme, and “True” (Big Mess). After a moment of darkness, Elfman, now shirtless, chimed in with the choir to sing the iconic line, “The Simpsons” as they launched into the theme with the addition of blaring guitar solos. (It’s interesting to note that at this point, you can see far more phones out recording in the audience than any other song in the performance.) Without a break, they jump into “Only a Lad” (Oingo Boingo) then “Love in the Time of COVID” (Big Mess). Toning it down after Elfman sang the lyrics “I want to see you without your clothes, without your skin,” the orchestra plays “Ice Dance / Grand Finale” from Edward Scissorhands (1990), with beautiful images of snow adorning the screen. Then Elfman welcomed Steve Bartek, Oingo Boingo’s original guitarist and Elfman’s long-time work partner, to play guitar for the hit Boingo song, “Dead Man’s Party,” the only Boingo song they have played together since the band’s final years. Bartek went straight from conducting the orchestra to hammering out the long retired riffs of “Dead Man’s Party” in his casual looking style of not using a pick. He still sported the same exact moves from 30 years ago, doing his little steps in place and subtly grooving along. Then came the final score piece, “Alice’s Theme” from Alice in Wonderland (2010), followed by the first single to come off of Big Mess, “Happy” with its ever-so Danny-Elfman visuals. They closed out the set with “Who Do You Want to Be” (Oingo Boingo), with the addition of a verse that references the Kardashians, Logan Paul, Kanye West, and Justin Bieber. As the band came up to bow, Elfman ended the set by saying, “Thank you for bringing me out of hibernation and back to life again.”

Seeming to have aged backwards, the 68-year-old Elfman made it through his hour-long set with an incredible amount of energy, barely stopping to catch his breath. The outdoor stage only helped to make the performance look more magical with the wind blowing his hair across his face, giving even more life to the performance.

As exciting as it would be for Elfman to tour with this type of electrifying and eclectic set, he told Variety that “I really have no plans other than just do the shows and then just talk about it and see where it is… Obviously, I couldn’t make things more difficult for myself than doing this kind of show. If I were touring (just) with ‘Big Mess,’ it would be a lot easier, because I could do that with a much smaller string section and singers. But I think we’ll just see.”

Full Setlist:

Sorry (Big Mess)

Insects (Oingo Boingo)

Spider-Man Main Title

Nothing to Fear (But Fear Itself) (Oingo Boingo)

Just Another Day (Oingo Boingo)

Jack’s Lament / This is Halloween / What’s This? (The Nightmare Before Christmas)

Breakfast Machine (Pee Wee’s Big Adventure)

Kick Me (Big Mess)

Insanity (Oingo Boingo)

The Batman Theme

True (Big Mess)

The Simpsons Main Title Theme

Only a Lad (Oingo Boingo)

Love in the Time of COVID (Big Mess)

Ice Dance / The Grand Finale (Edward Scissorhands)

Dead Man’s Party (Oingo Boingo)

Alice’s Theme (Alice In Wonderland)

Happy (Big Mess)

Who Do You Want to Be (Oingo Boingo)