Sixto Rodriguez is the centerpiece of one of rock’s all-time fascinating stories. It spans four decades, four continents, two albums and at least three generations of music fans. Yet you probably never heard of him.
Then:
In 1969, Rodriguez (he makes music under his surname only) recorded
Cold Fact — an album of Dylan-like ruminations on sex,
drugs and America at the end of the ’60s — in his native Detroit.
It was released a year later and quickly forgotten. A year and a half
later, he released Coming From Reality, which also bombed. Then
Rodriguez (already a shadowy figure who played gigs with his back to
the audience and was prone to erratic behavior, on and offstage)
disappeared.
In the late ’70s, South Africans began scooping up used copies of
Cold Fact and Coming From Reality from record stores. So
did Australians and New Zealanders. Rodriguez briefly re-emerged for a
tour of Australia. Then he disappeared again.
In 1996, a writer penned a story about Rodriguez, who was doing
blue-collar work in Detroit. The singer-songwriter learned that he was
a multi-platinum star in South Africa, where young listeners heard
liberation in his rebel music about sex and drugs and politics. He
toured and sold out South African venues. Then he disappeared
again.
Now:
Last year, Light in the Attic, an indie label based in Seattle,
reissued Cold Fact. It became one of 2008’s most drooled-over
records. Hipsters all over the world rejoiced over the shaky-voiced
Rodriguez’s songs, some of which feature post-hippie funk grooves
bubbling beneath the surface. Rodriguez really had no idea what his
producers were doing with his original spare arrangements, which
basically consisted of him and his acoustic guitar.
Now, the 66-year-old Rodriguez is preparing to take his music on the
road for the first time in almost 40 years. He’s scheduled only a dozen
or so U.S. dates (including a stop at the Beachland Ballroom on
Friday), before heading over to Europe for festival season.
He’s quick to talk about his records (Coming From Reality is
being reissued in a couple weeks), his tour and his band (which is made
up of fellow Detroit musicians). Rodriguez will even tell you the story
about how the record company folded after his albums came out (“The guy
who started it became chairman of Motown Records for five years,” he
says. “There were a lot of changes going on”).
But ask him about what happened — why he just disappeared for
all those years — and he brings the subject around to his old
producer. Press for details about where he was and what he did, and he
lets out a nervous laugh.
“It’s a different world,” he sighs. “Music is another world almost.
It’s a hard business, and there are no guarantees in music. Everybody
who’s slept in a van knows the story. You try, but you can only do so
much.”
He’s comfortable with his sudden fame in what he calls the “global
underground.” He gushes over Pitchfork (which gave the Cold Fact reissue a glowing review and pretty much jumpstarted the U.S.-hipster
bandwagon) and the Internet (“it’s a different arena now”). But ask him
how he feels about the delayed acceptance of his music, and he talks
about the “American creative inventiveness.”
In a way, Rodriguez is still living in 1970. He’s evasive when it
comes to his work. He maneuvers around questions about writing songs
during those lost years and about giving up his music. “I’ve always
written, but I never put pen to paper,” he says, somewhat cryptically.
“I tried [recording] a couple things, but it wasn’t me.”
He’s happy, though, and he wants everybody to plug into his
peace-and-love vibe. “The thing is,” he begins and then pauses. “Be
kind, man.”
Rodriguez still lives in Detroit. That’s where he lived when he made
his records; that’s where he’s been all these years. He’s still a huge
fan, he says, going to clubs and listening to new artists whenever he
can. And he’s excited about playing his music again.
So is he writing new songs?
“I’m going to be [touring] until October.”
What about after the tours are over, after he returns from Europe
later this year? What’s he going to do? The only music he ever recorded
has already been reissued. Will Rodriguez, 40 years after he recorded
his debut album, start writing and recording again?
“That would be a good idea,” he laughs. “But I can only do it one
day at a time.”
This article appears in Apr 22-28, 2009.