How The Toyota MR2 Is Like Jimi Hendrix

“Look man, you can listen to Jimi but you can’t hear him. There’s a difference man. Just because you’re listening to him doesn’t mean you’re hearing him. “

Jimi Hendrix is a bit of an enigma. Staggeringly talented music man strangely shrouded in some discorded cacophony of amplifier feedback and riffing, rhythmic, freelance guitar play, and little purple pills.

Though his albums play like a seamless soundtrack for late 1960s and early 1970s rock-and-roll (which is, of course, a metaphor for life), when Jimi died in London in 1970, the world shuffled on without him, dragging with it Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, and The Rolling Stones, but in many ways leaving Hendrix behind as a modern Sisyphus, forever riffing a Vietnam soundtrack, much the way Janis Joplin was when she died just over two weeks later. Undoubtedly there is legacy here, but there is a tragic chasm between what earned and what is historically recognized. In terms of sheer talent and progression of the art of music, Hendrix–and Joplin for that matter– gives up nothing to anyone.

Born stateside in Seattle, Washington, Jimi and London were an odd but nonetheless natural fit. Jimi first set foot in London on Saturdy, September 4th, 1966 at the ripe age of 23 years old, lured there by eager manager Chas Chandler (of Animals fame) and the promise of meeting Eric Clapton. Racism never sleeping, Hendrix was quickly nicknamed the “Wild Man of Borneo,” a lanky, awkward spectacle that sent the British press reeling, a devastatingly original product set to revise previous notions of what could be called rock and roll. Worldwide however, Hendrix still was a bit of an unknown, his three years on the Chitlin’ Circuit in the States allowing thousands to have listened to Jimi play, but few really having heard him. So, this MR2 thing. Does any of this talking of pioneering spirit, talent, and under-appreciation sound familiar? The Toyota MR2, so easy to see, so easy to miss the point.

Climb into an MR2–and MR2 of any vintage–and just sit for a few moments before you start it. A driver-focused cabin will be obvious, as will be an intimate and well-considered interior. Charming to be sure, but, well, can we be honest for a moment? The MR2 never was quite the ringer the MX-5 turned out to be. Not hairy-chested-cool like a TVR or Viper, or even an open-exhaust, popping, crackling WRX, nor is it the riotous sedan the Mitsu Evo is. It’s something else.

Jimi Hendrix was something else. True, we often mistake something else for genius, but Jimi found music where there wasn’t music before, played his guitar upside down, sang without singing at all. (OK, so Bob Dylan could do this too.) Never a rolling stone, beatle, or lead dirigible, Jimi was simply Jimi. What the MR2 is of course, depends on who you are. This is a sign of a true sports car–it is a bit of a moving target, not settling anywhere, never stagnant, philosophically dynamic, and always relevant no matters its source epoch.

Consider the big picture of all three generations of MR2, and the consequences of its relative lack of mass appeal. In lieu of a timeless mid-engine, rear-drive arrangement, and in the MkII’s case drop-dead good looks, it still crouches off the beaten path. The MR2 found success and its share of press clippings, but never did it hit that critical mass of absolute mass appeal.

As proper gearheads, we’re moved by a wide range of automotive product. Even the stuff that’s polarizing and difficult to stomach in some spectacularly wretched way at least moves us. We react to it in the same way that metal and citric acid conduct electricity but wood does not. So let’s finish this line of thought. What exactly moves you–really makes you grin–holds within it a lighted kernel of self-awareness. Whether you’re drawn more to MR2s or Evos, WRXs or something made in Hegel says as much about you as your taste in the opposite sex (brown eyes or blue?), or how you have your tea (or if you’ll have it at all).

To be fair, we’re all here because of the Toyota MR2, and the platform for this argument being title ‘MR2 Only’ rather than some mass market magazine gives it a different resonance. No matter which road we took in, or other cars we’ve waxed and coddled in the past (and may even secretly covet now), we’re here because of the MR2.

There’s a bit of discovery—and self-discovery—to the reality of owning a Toyota MR2. First, depending on the generation and model, they can be a handful to drive. They’re either slow and prone to understeer/oversteer oscillations (AW11), very fast and very unforgiving (SW20), or awkward ‘tween cars that are good but never quite as good as you want them to be (ZZW30). But in any guise, you’ve found something here not from Lotus, not from Ford, nor from Honda, Mitsubishi, or even Subaru, but rather from the lumbering, lukewarm titan Toyota (not exactly the birthplace of grit and soul Jimi’s unkempt hair might be). And you found it not in your neighbor’s driveway but in the modest sidebar of ‘other mid-engine cars’ in Evo magazine while they fawn over the latest Zonda. That should make you feel something—that your role was beyond forehead-slapping obvious recognition, and took a bit of wisdom or insight. You stopped at the MR2 and stared while others walked right by. And they didn’t keep walking out of logic like people do with Kia and Saab, but rather some myopic and faithless oversight.

This hey-look-what-I-found theme does add to the MR2s draw, and to our collective affection for it. Let’s not kid ourselves—it is still a successful modern sports car produced by major manufacturer Toyota, even if they haven’t acted like real gearheads for decades now. Properly sorted, an MR2 is deadly-capable. And there is something comforting about the MR2’s shape in any generation—a bit awkward at times, but all the more endearing for it.

Still, in the end the MR2 is not at all the life of the party, and that’s okay; this draws us in and makes us listen more closely to its music. In lieu of its clear brilliance–durable, potent mechanicals, classic configuration, and relative affordability–to hear the pleasing resonance of an MR2 implies an ear for music, a palate for greatness that other drivers may not understand.

Because anyone can listen to Jimi, but not everyone can really hear him.