Rodriguez

One night in 1969, producers and session musicians Dennis Coffey and Mike Theodore stumbled into the Sewer, an appropriately named Detroit nightclub, where they saw onstage a Mexican-American street poet. Though Sixto Rodriguez’s back was turned, the crowd was enchanted by his urban folk songs of drugs, sex and crooked politicians. He floored Coffey and Theodore: His music reflected the intellectual ambitions of the singer’s Wayne State campus compatriots while still holding the interest of patrons of the “faggot bars, hooker bars, motorcycle funerals…and halfway houses” Rodriguez sang to and about.

Signing with the Theo-Coff production team, Rodriguez quickly released two poor-selling albums. After the label dropped him, he retreated into academia and politics.

If this were a typical lost-masterpiece fable, it would now jump to the rediscovery of Rodriguez’s LPs by hip-hop crate diggers, English überhipsters or psychedelic collectors. But for the last couple of decades, it was the South African and Australian scenes that revived interest in Cold Fact, Rodriguez’s debut in which amazing lyrics combined Dylan-esque structure with prison-toast grittiness, complemented by fuzz guitar. Just last year, Cold Fact was finally reissued in the U.S., with the follow-up, Coming from Reality, returning to print this month.

Less funky than Cold Fact, the sophomore effort dabbles in soft rock, strings and hints of countrypolitan; Rodriguez’s lyrics, voice and conviction remain distinct and impressive. As he hits the road supporting the new reissue, certainly the sets will be sparer and tougher than the lush Reality. And word is he even faces the audience these days.

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