Live at the Regent Theatre, Sydney, March 17-18, 1979
MUSICIANS
Rodriguez: Vocals, Acoustic guitar Steve Cooney: Guitar, mandolin (from Australia) Doug McDonald: Drums (from New Zealand) Jake Salazar: Bass José Guadiana: Flute
Jake and José were Americans who left three-quarters of the way through the tour and were replaced by an Australian Joe Creighton on bass. The local boys all came from the Mark Gillespie Band who were the support act.
REVIEWS
…his aussie tour in 79 was an awesome experience…
Stuart, Australia, May 1998
We will never forget the atmosphere and power of Rodriguez first Australian performance at Melbourne’s Dallas Brooks Hall on 15 March, 1979. (We have the “Alive” record released here and treasure it)
Jason and Anne, Australia, April 1998
Sydney Morning Herald, 19th March 1979
Rodriguez – 10 years after by Ted Robinson
Rodriguez Regent Theatre
Rodriguez’s first Sydney concert was the stuff that dreams are made of. A man lost in time and space he reeled on to the stage to pick up the threads of a 10-year old career. A generally young audience on Saturday embraced both the myth and the man supporting his every move with astonishing warmth. He was theirs and they were his. Not such an unusual occurrence or at least until you know the Rodriguez story. A decade ago he made a couple of records in the United States. They went unnoticed and he turned his thoughts to other things: an academic life, social work; and unsuccessfully running for both local and State office. Unbeknown to him, his records continued to sell… and sell in Australia, where until recently his background has remained a total mystery and the subject of much conjecture. He has long since passed the cult stage with gold records, a published anthology of his writing and now nationwide sold-out concerts. This huge success has something of the fairy tale about it. Not only for Rodriguez, but for the two young Australian promoters who have seemingly pulled off an enormous gamble… to play Svengali to his Trilby.
Rodriguez writes (or wrote) simple but often dark songs of street life, drug culture and street life love. His neon-lit world celebrates characters that would be equally at home in Damon Runyon or William Burroughs. Some songs take the form of powerful commentaries and some are merely musings, most seem to somehow, almost inexplicably, touch the emotional pressure points of a young middle-class white Australian audience. Technically the night was sometimes shaky but more sound than you might expect from someone who virtually hadn’t performed for eight years. Someone plucked from innocent obscurity and delivered to the pressures of expectation and anticipation that surrounds the living legend. Whoops of joy and recognition greeted the introduction to each song, often a chord, feel or broken arpeggio was enough for the identification.
Even when he faltered in the introduction to a song and had to start again the spell remained intact. Ovation poured on ovation. Rodriguez sang his songs, hunched over his guitar and drank nervously from empty cups. Finally he told his audience “after ten years you gotta be kidding… I’m just an everyday person”
Rodriguez has several more Sydney concerts at the Regent and State theatres.
The Australian, 19th March 1979
Nervous virtuoso by Karen Hughes
Rodriguez was nervous. On Saturday night the house lights of the Regent Theatre dimmed and the band began to play but there was no sign of the tall, enigmatic Mexican singer. Suddenly from the wings he appeared, looking frail in a beige suit and open neck blue shirt carrying what appeared to be a student’s briefcase and a handful of music sheets. Hard core fans screamed, shouted and gleefully exchanged knowing smiles as Rodriguez, eyes downcast, but beaming excitedly, sat on his stool, turned side-on to the audience and after a sip of something soothing began the familiar opening to Street Boy. There was a collective sigh of relief as the phrases tumbled out with the same intensity that had enamoured listeners of his two solo albums. Obviously his talent had survived the changes of a decade completely intact.
Unused to playing large concert halls, Rodriguez managed to transform the Regent Theatre into a smoky intimate club. A kind of holy communion which only cult performers inspire was taking place…The only thing wrong was the singer’s own continuing nervousness — though he did eventually manage to move around the stage, face the audience and exchange jokes. Rodriguez sang and played his guitar with great authority and presence. The thunderous applause which greeted every number was modestly directed to his musicians. With him from America were Jake Salazar on bass guitar and José Guadiana on flute, though it was the Australians, guitarist and mandolin player Stephen Cluney (actually Cooney) and drummer Doug McDonald (both from the supporting Mark Gillespie Band), who provided the music’s real push.
Apart from a rare and strong empathy between performer and audience the music was the most important factor in the Rodriguez concert, a not insignificant fact in these days of glittering stage and lighting extravaganzas.
Perth 1979 I remember going to his Perth concert in 1979 because I loved Cold Fact. The concert was pretty disappointing and I said so in a review I wrote for the local evening newspaper, the Daily News. Rodriguez appeared to be right out of it, mumbling and carrying on like more excessively than Dylan in 1966. I wrote a scathing review which his daughter may have shown you. In hindsight, I should have been more tolerant. I look back on his music with great affection. I’m astonished and pleased to hear he is still on this earth and singing.
Arthur Hanlon, May 2000
Steve Cooney Fair play to you! I played guitar/ mandolin on the Australian tour in 1979 and my name is Cooney not Cluney! I was amazed at the Perth reviewer’s ‘repentence’!
My abiding memories of Rodriguez are his sensitivity and vulnerability. I particularly remember a delicate moment when a gentle breeze blew his lyric sheets around, but he caught them so delicately; he and the wind seemed to be really at one…
Steve (in Ireland), March 2001
My name is Jake Salazar. I am the bass player who went to Australia with Rodriguez the first time around in 1979. What an experience it was for all of us. I am ecstatic although not surprised that Rodriquez is still making music and doing well as an entertainer. I got an email from someone who stumbled upon my name while visiting a website pertaining to Rod.
It has been many years since that tour. I have nothing but admiration for him and feel honored to have worked with Rod. The thing we went through to prepare for that tour and the events leading to each concert were ritually rock and roll. Rod is a phenomenal song writer and composer. A composer who creates melodies that establishes lyrical visions.
I remember the afternoon José Guadiana who was on the tour asked me if I would join him and return back to the US on account of him and Rod having a fall out. I tried to change José’s mind and I also tried to talk to Rodriquez but to no avail so we were both asked to leave. Basically, Rodriguez fired us both in the middle of the tour. I have always regretted what happened. I enjoyed being around Rodriguez, Connie and the kids.
José Guadiana has since passed away and I haven’t done so bad after 3 Grammy Nominations as a record producer (1986, 1997 and most recently in 1999). I really hope that Rodriquez continues writing and performing his great songs. I will always be a fan and a friend. I would enjoy to someday jam with him again.
Sixto Rodriguez, shown here in 1969, is now 78 and lived through decades of musical obscurity. COURTESY: Rich Tupica
In a 1969 interview, Mexican-American singer-songwriter Sixto Rodriguez had some harsh words for some of his fellow Michigan musicians. “I don’t have much respect for the MC5 because they stopped fighting the machine,” he casually told the Detroit Free Press.
While today both parties are known for their own revolutionary sonic missions, it’s no wonder why Rodriguez felt lukewarm about the hard-partying and grandstanding MC5. The modest Rodriguez lived the life he sang about. He was, and still is, a true underdog — a disconnected outsider who sings songs for other outcasts.
“I grew up in an orphanage and I’m grateful to the sisters of the Roman Catholic corporation for all they gave me and instilling that higher motivation thing,” he said in the same 1969 interview. “But that doesn’t work on the street, you know?”
And he knew all about the streets. During his 1950s youth, it served as his makeshift education. Though he never attended high school, he took part in the University of Michigan’s mature student program in the late ’60s. He fought for his education. “Street life teaches you a lot,” he said at the time. “At school, they’re just giving me different names for the things already in my head. … I function out of the reality of things around me.”
And that reality is cemented on his two now-legendary albums: 1970’s “Cold Fact” and 1971’s “Coming from Reality.” Billed simply under the name Rodriguez, the now-cherished records flopped here in the United States, causing the songwriter to sink deeper into the underground and step away from the stage. For years, his small but loyal fanbase didn’t know if he was dead or alive. Info on him was scarce. His followers were limited to reading tidbits written in his LP liner notes and clues he peppered into his poignant storytelling song lyrics.
However, on the other side of the globe, his two loner-folk LPs were secretly bootlegged and released in the Apartheid-era South Africa. Because it was pre-Internet, Rodriguez didn’t even hear about his South African success until years later. There, he was a mysterious celebrity, but here in the U.S. he was living hand to mouth in inner-city Detroit.
So what sound was it that captivated a far-away country to worship an unknown Motor City folky? A 27-year old Rodriguez explained it best. “Some people say I’m a folk singer because most of my stuff is soft with an acoustic guitar and all that,” the prophetic songwriter said. “But on my album, there are some very Motown-ish things. The division they talk of in music really isn’t there. … Later on, they’ll integrate music on the stations. There’ll be no ‘This is ours and that is theirs.’ It’s all music. It’s the universal thing.”
After years of obscurity, after a slowly swelling grassroots cult following grew, Rodriguez finally got his due. He began touring the world, sharing stages with the likes of Brian Wilson. During the last decade, he’s gone from scraping by, to earning an easy living thanks to his poetic songbook.
In 2012, his life was artfully documented in the “Searching for Sugar Man” film (“Sugar Man” being one of his most notable tracks). That year, it won the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature. Not a bad feather in the cap for most, but the elusive Rodriguez was nowhere to be found at the ceremony. He later humbly admitted he didn’t want to steal attention from the filmmakers, among a few other reasons.
“We also just came back from South Africa and I was tired,” the forever-enigmatic Rodriguez told Rolling Stone at the time. “I was asleep when it won, but my daughter Sandra called to tell me. I don’t have TV service anyway.”
Rodriguez to perform during The Cabot’s virtual 100th anniversary celebration
Sixto Díaz Rodriguez, the previously obscure (to Americans, at least) subject of the Oscar-winning 2012 documentary “Searching for Sugar Man,” had been scheduled to play at The Cabot this past April. In what proved to be an optimistic assessment of COVID-19’s staying power, the show was rescheduled for June.
Alas, his visit to Beverly is not among those that are now on the 2021 calendar.
That’s because the singer-songwriter – whose preternatural talent was captured on the early 1970s albums “Cold Fact” and “Coming from Reality” – has been tapped as one of many marquee performers participating in The Cabot’s 100th anniversary virtual celebration on Thursday, Dec. 3.
Though the Herald Citizen’s interview with Rodriguez was conducted by phone in February with the plan of previewing his spring concert, much of what was discussed still serves the same purpose for next week’s celebratory event.
The Detroit native described his family as “musical people who danced and sang.” Thus, Rodriguez grew up in a household of people who played music themselves rather than listening to records on a turntable. “I think they were more live,” he explained.
Mississippi-born electric blues guitarist and songwriter Jimmy Reed is the one specific artist Rodriguez names when asked about his influences. However, he tried to understand the style of “anyone playing guitar,” including folk artists who didn’t “write only boy-girl songs.”
On that latter point, Rodriguez aimed to “broaden the scope” as a lyricist when he began composing songs as a teenager.
“I’m Mexican, you know, so English is my second language,” he said.
“I have a lot respect for the English language … I play with the words,” he added, affirming his interest in how words can be manipulated and used to mean different things.
“Literature is based on experience and personal interpretation,” he also averred, indirectly describing his approach to lyric writing.
Statements like this make it unsurprising that the 78-year-old has a degree in philosophy (from Detroit’s Wayne State University, which he has long lived a few blocks from) and profoundly admires the American philosopher, psychologist, and Harvard professor William James.
“He was very optimistic,” Rodriguez said of the founder of pragmatism. “I’m optimistic. I want to live to be 350 years old. But like you, I can only do one day at a time.”
While this might be true on a personal level, Rodriguez’s lyrics are frequently far from Pollyannish with regard to societal or political concerns. For example, his 1970 song “This Is Not a Song, It’s an Outburst: or, The Establishment Blues” includes lyrics such as “Public gets irate/but forgets the vote date,” “gun sales are soaring/housewives find life boring,” and “Adultery plays the kitchen/bigot cops nonfiction.”
The recent election was nine months away when the conversation happened. As would be expected of a self-described “musico-politico” who has run for local offices in the past, Rodriguez had some thoughts on the matter.
“I’m supporting Bernie Sanders,” he shared. “I made posters for him and I carry them around.”
Asked about the then-non-lame duck Oval Office occupant, he responded, “My first line of the show is, ‘I have something to say to the commander-in-chief.’ Then I put on my hat and I shake my head down. That’s what I think of this administration.”
Expert songwriting and sage-like wisdom aside, Rodriguez is a modest and unassuming human being. That likely comes from decades of being more or less forgotten as a musician (though not everywhere, as the documentary makes abundantly clear) despite his immense talent.
Eight years of previously unexpected time in the spotlight and the economic windfall brought about by extensive touring has done nothing to change this.
“I put a roof on my house. I got new floors and new doors,” is his answer to whether he has afforded himself any indulgences. “I’m proud of the place.”
This is the same house seen in “Searching for Sugar Man,” and which a 2013 MLive article reports his having paid $50 for in 1976.
Cold Fact was recorded in Detroit during August & September 1969 and released in the USA on the Sussex label (catalogue number SXBS 7000) in March 1970.
OTTAWA, ON – SEPTEMBER 17: Rodriguez performs on day 5 of the CityFolk Festival at The Great Lawn at Lansdowne Park on September 17, 2017 in Ottawa, Canada. (Photo by Mark Horton/WireImage)WIREIMAGE
It’s one of pop music’s unlikeliest and greatest comeback stories ever: a Mexican-American singer-songwriter from Detroit named Sixto Rodriguez recorded two albums of psychedelic folk rock in the early 1970s that went nowhere in the U.S. upon their initial release; afterwards, he worked in construction. Unbeknownst to him, his music was a huge hit in South Africa, where his unsentimental and gritty outsider lyrics resonated with young liberal Afrikaners during that country’s policy of apartheid. Rodriguez’s impact on South Africa and his subsequent reemergence in the late 1990s–thanks to the efforts of some dedicated fans–formed the crux of the 2012 Academy Award-winning documentary Searching for Sugar Man, directed by the late Malik Bendjelloul. Due to the success of the film, Rodriguez’s music has experienced belated and renewed attention.
The New York record shop Other Music will close its doors on June 25, after over two decades in business. We asked the co-owner Josh Madell about the records that represent the soul of his store.
There’s something about carefully
placing the needle into the groove of
a record, then carefully having to lift
it again to turn the record around and listen
to the other side. It’s the kind of interaction
with music you just don’t get when
listening to a CD in the front-loader of your
car or a digital file on your phone or MP3
player.
The allure of vinyl has seen many a
music-lover dedicate a room or more to
house precious collections, with Martin
Scorsese and Mick Jagger even naming
their TV series homage to the 70s US
recording scene in honour of the format.
With World Record Store Day (April
16), on the horizon, Atlantic Sun speaks to
two vinyl enthusiasts, record store owner
Stephen Segerman and Paul Waxon, DJ
and organiser of one of the city’s hottest
vinyl-only parties.
Stephen, the co-owner of Mabu Vinyl
record store owner, and also one of the
men who initiated the search for folk
singer Rodriguez documented in the film
Searching for Sugarman, said that it is great
to see the younger generation coming into
his store and buying records.
“I can only talk from experience from
my own shop which is now 15 years old –
and according to the Oranjezicht residents,
that is a long time for a record shop in
Cape Town.”
Stephen, who says he “grew up going to
record stores and loving record stores” was
born and raised in Johannesburg and
studied at Wits University. He worked with
his dad at a jewellery factory for 20 years
and in the 90s he decided to move to Cape
Town.
“I watched as CD’s came and records
disappeared and people gave up on them.
I didn’t, because I didn’t want to give up
my records.” Stephen said his business
partner, Jacques Vosloo, started the shop
on Kloof Street, not far from their current
location in Rheede Street.
“Across the road, where Vida Café is
now, was a double shop. It was a secondhand
shop called Kloof Mart and it was his
dad’s shop. Jacques bought a batch of
records and turned part of the shop into a
record store.” This was the beginning of
Mabu Vinyl. They have been in there current
location for the last eight years. “I’d
been a big customer in his shop and
helped him advertise. In the 13 years that
we’ve built this shop and moved here
(about eight years ago) we’ve seen nothing
but the rise of vinyl. Vinyl has been massive
and come back.”
He said that originally the shop just
focused on dance, trance and house
records.
“This is what kept vinyl alive. Slowly as
DJs started using computers and CDs, pop,
rock soul and jazz records became popular
again. There were record shops where you
could buy (vinyl) records which there hadn’t
been for years.”
“With electronics you won’t be able to
touch things, put a needle on it and get that kind
of quality. We’ve watched records become popular
with the younger generation which is wonderful.
There are thousands of records out there.”
At Mabu Vinyl, they only sell second-hand
records. “We have a saying that the universe has to
bring it to us. In the old days these records were
analogue and you could feel the sound. These new
records are made digitally and then converted to
vinyl. It doesn’t have the same soul,” said Stephen.
“People nowadays download tracks but we grew
up listening to whole albums. You had Ziggy Stardust
and you would put it on your record player.
You looked at the cover to find out who the musicians
were. After 20 minutes you had to turn it over
and listen to the other side. I still think that people
who love music want to hear the whole album.
What we’ve seen now is that this analogue world has
come back. It has a place and it is not going anywhere
because these records are valuable.”
“We are supportive of World Record Store Day
but we are not going to go out and get new records
just for it. We are a 365 day celebration. We are all
music addicts and it is wonderful that this addiction
has bought records back.”
DJ Paul Waxon said he has been collecting vinyl
records since he was young and started his WaxOn
events, at The Waiting Room, two and a half years
ago because he just loved playing music.
“I have been collecting records and DJing for a
long time. I stopped for a while when everything
went to digital. I went away on a holiday with my
friends and I realised how much I missed playing
music to people.”
He said that he also knew that the only way he
would get back into it again would be with vinyl
records. “I’m not a purist but I didn’t enjoy playing
the CDs and MP3s. I started my event because I
wanted to play music in the way I wanted to.” Vinyl,
he said, was the only format being played in the
clubs up until the early 2000s, and it was this scene
that contributed to keeping vinyl alive when many
vinyl pressing plants were shutting down.
It was the introduction of CDs to the market
which pretty much killed off vinyl sales. Then came
digital formats such as MP3, which turned the
music industry on its head, challenging recording
companies and music stores to reconsider their traditional
ways of looking at the music business.
Over the past few years, however, vinyl has
regained its popularity. “They started Record Store
Day to create interest in a broad way,” said Paul. “It
put some weight behind and sales started growing
on a very rapid scale. We are close to the point
where vinyl will outsell CDs in the next couple of
years.
But it hasn’t all been positive, with record pricing
often in the upper-hundreds as everyone seeks
to cash in on the renewed interest in the vinyl
record.
Now the big major record labels have jumped
on to it. The people that kept the plants open were
doing small indie rock bands and electronic music.
They are reissuing albums now that are already
there and also overpricing the new records. I saw
a Saturday Night Fever album for R500.
“I feel like we should promote our own music in
this country. If we want to promote Record Store
Day we have to find a way to support local music
and not just bring in old re-issues.
“There is a lot of music from the 60s and 70s that
sit in our record stores and nobody cares about it.
Then what happens is people overseas find them
and reissue them. Then they become popular. We
need to value our own music more. If I find the
right store, I walk out of there really happy.”
The story of Sixto Rodriguez as depicted in the Academy Award-winning 2012 documentarySearching for Sugar Man was one that intrigued the world.
The plot centred around Rodriguez, a musician based out of Detroit in the ’60s and ’70s, who was never able to gain traction in the United States despite numerous industry professionals comparing his songwriting chops to those of Bob Dylan — but perhaps even better.
But more than a story about a musician who somehow sadly flew so far under the radar, the film — and now the book, Sugar Man: The Life, Death and Resurrection of Sixto Rodriguez — are about a man who unknowingly became the soundtrack for a revolution half a world away. His first album, Cold Fact, became immensely popular in South Africa during the time of apartheid, unbeknownst to the singer himself.
The film follows two South African men as they search for Rodriguez (the name Sugar Man references a line in one of his songs), who was presumed to be dead. Once they discover he’s alive and well and living in Detroit, they take him to South Africa to perform for thousands of fans and to give him a taste of the life he should have had.
Written by Craig Bartholomew Strydom and Stephen (Sugar) Segerman, two men who play a large role in the film, Sugar Man is an exhaustively detailed account of all that happened before, during and after the time frame covered in the film. Segerman’s first encounter with a Rodriguez song while doing his mandatory time in the army, Rodriguez’s multiple stints in local politics, the eventual suicide of director Malik Bendajelloul not long after the film won an Academy Award — every conversation, every email, Sugar Man covers it all.
The book is broken up into four sections — the mystery, the man, the music and the movie — which is very helpful given the amount of voices and storylines that weave together to create the narrative picture as a whole.
On occasion, however, all the details and historic references do become overwhelming, and are not always necessary in order to move the story forward. In certain instances, it feels more productive to skim over those parts instead of reading word for word.
The most interesting tidbits are those excluded from the film (or that hadn’t happened until after the film was made), namely the fact that after his initial shows in South Africa, Rodriguez toured the country several more times in the early and mid-2000s with varying success, and the surprising falling out between Segerman and Rodriguez spurred by Segerman’s move into a more managerial role.
For those who loved the documentary, Sugar Man: The Life, Death and Resurrection of Sixto Rodriguez is an excellent companion piece that bookends the film beautifully, answering any and all questions one may have about the lives of all those involved, both pre- and post-documentary.
In the prologue of the book, Strydom and Segerman say the film was “the search for the man who didn’t know he was lost.” This book proves to be the rest of the story we didn’t know we were missing.
Erin Lebar is a multimedia producer at the Free Press.
[Please scroll down for Google’s translation from German to English]
Eigentlich wollte ich einkaufen gehen. Dann sehe ich im Schaufenster dieses Platten-Cover. Im nächsten Moment saugt mich ein Zeittunnel ein. Ich treffe auf einen totgeglaubten Superstar, Südafrika in den Seventies, treue Fans und ein Stück Musikgeschichte: Searching for Sugar Man
„Was sind die wichtigsten Sehenswürdigkeiten von Kapstadt“, frage ich Stephen “Sugar” Segerman. Er lacht. „Der Tafelberg, Robben Island und Mabu Vinyl“, antwortet er und guckt mich aus seinen großen Brillenaugen an. „Kein Scheiß, wir haben hier richtig viele Besucher“, fügt er grinsend hinzu. „Besonders seit Sugar Man…“
Es gibt wahrscheinlich keinen Ort auf der Welt, der mehr über Sugar Man erzählen kann als dieser Plattenladen
Zurück in die Zukunft
Mabu Vinyl ist Sugars Plattenladen. Gemeinsam mit einem Kumpel hat er ihn aufgebaut. Ein paar Regale Bücher, ein paar CDs und DVDs, vor allem aber Vinyl. Überall Kartons mit Langspielplatten. Abertausende! Sein Freund Brian arbeitet auch hier. Sugar Man hat sie zusammengebracht. Und wenn sie von Sugar Man erzählen, dann ist das die Geschichte, die ihr Leben verändert hat.
Ich kenne diese Geschichte schon, als ich den Laden betrete. Ich kenne sie aus dem Film „Searching for Sugar Man“. Einer der besten Dokumentarfilme aller Zeiten, finde ich, und eine fantastische musikalische Entdeckung obendrein. Ohne den Film wäre ich niemals auf Sugar Man alias Sixto Rodriguez gestoßen, und das wäre jammerschade, denn dieser Sixto Rodriguez kreiert nicht nur geniale Songs, er hat auch wirklich was zu sagen. Trotzdem verschwindet er jahrzehntelang in der Versenkung – vielleicht, weil er einen spanischen Namen hat oder weil er aus den Slums von Detroit kommt. Doch dann macht das Schicksal einen dieser irrwitzigen Schlenker und katapultiert ihn aus dem Nichts wieder auf die Bühne, wie im Märchen.
Dieses Wunder verdankt er drei treuen südafrikanischen Fans: Sugar, Brian und Craig. Zwei von ihnen stehen jetzt vor mir und erinnern sich, wie das damals war. Auf einmal ist aus dem Film Wirklichkeit geworden.
Stephen „Sugar“ Segerman in seinem Plattenladen: Vom Fan zum Musikunternehmer
Searching for Sugar Man
„Sugar man, won’t you hurry, Cos I’m tired of these scenes, For a blue coin won’t you bring back, All those colors to my dreams“
Sugar Man, der Koks-Dealer aus Rodriguez‘ gleichnamigem Song, wird zum Synonym für eine unglaubliche Gralssuche. Sie beginnt 1997. Rodriguez steckt zu dieser Zeit in einer Sozialwohnung in Detroit. Er entrümpelt Wohnungen, jobt auf dem Bau oder an der Tankstelle. Seine Gitarre hat er immer dabei, weil die sonst gestohlen wird. Ab und zu tritt er mit ihr in Kneipen auf.
Mit dem Musik-Business hat er nichts mehr zu tun, nachdem Anfang der 1970er Jahre zwei Alben gefloppt sind – in den USA! Was Rodriguez nicht weiß: Südafrika ist total verrückt nach ihm! Dort wird er zum Helden der Anti-Apartheid-Bewegung, seine Songs treffen das Mark einer ganzen Protestgeneration. Auch Sugar, Brian und Craig hängen am Radio, wenn Titel wie „Sugar Man“, „Cause“ oder „I wonder“ gespielt werden, tauschen Kassettenaufnahmen aus und glauben wie alle anderen, dass Rodriguez sich wahlweise auf der Bühne erschossen hat, verbrannt ist oder an einer Überdosis zugrunde ging.
Die Legende vom frühen Tod des Lieblingsstars hält sich im medial abgeschotteten Südafrika mehr als zwei Jahrzehnte lang. Dann fällt das Apartheid-Regime und das Internet boomt, beides etwa zeitgleich. Anfang 1997 setzen Sugar und Brian unabhängig voneinander eine Website auf. Der eine will wissen, wie Rodriguez nun wirklich gestorben ist, der andere will ihm ein Denkmal setzen und alles über ihn herausfinden. Sie tun sich zusammen. Der dritte im Bunde ist Craig: DJ, Journalist und natürlich auch ein glühender Fan.
Von Anfang an dabei: Brian Currin am Tresen von Mabu Vinyl
Gemeinsam finden sie das Unglaubliche heraus: Rodriguez alias Sugar Man lebt! Was folgt, ist ein Jahr im Fieber. Schließlich machen sie sich auf die Reise und besuchen ihr Idol. Das Setting erinnert an die Weihnachtsgeschichte: Detroit ist Bethlehem, die schäbige Mietwohnung der Stall und die drei Südafrikaner sind die Könige aus dem Osten, die ihrem Heiland Ruhm, Glanz und Ehre darreichen.
Rodriguez nimmt die Gabe an. Gitarre spielen kann er noch und die harte Arbeit hat den 56-Jährigen in Form gehalten. Die Stimme ist auch noch da. So betritt er die Bühne.
When we were young – Rodriguez und seine Entdecker bei seinem ersten Konzert in Kapstadt 1998. Der zweite von links ist der Sugar Man selbst, rechts von ihm stehen Brian und Sugar
Neustart in Kapstadt
„Kapstadt ist Athen, Joburg ist Rom“, sagt Sugar selbstbewusst. Wenn es um Kultur geht, sieht er seine Heimatstadt klar vor Johannesburg oder Joburg, wie hier alle sagen. Kein Wunder also, dass der totgeglaubte Sugar Man seine Wiederauferstehung zuerst in Kapstadt feiert.
Brian kann sich noch genau daran erinnern. Am 2. März 1998 betritt Rodriguez in Kapstadt erstmals südafrikanischen Boden. Nur einen Tag später beginnen die Proben, und am 6. März bringt er das Velodrome in Bellville ganz im Osten der Stadt zum Beben. Was das beim Publikum auslöst, fängt die TV-Dokumentation „Dead Men Don’t Tour“ ein – ansatzweise jedenfalls.
Kapstadt steht Kopf. Dasselbe passiert in Johannesburg, Pretoria und Durban. Ganz Südafrika liegt dem Sugar Man zu Füßen. Und Rodriguez kommt wieder, mittlerweile fast jedes Jahr. Ende Januar ist der nächste Termin, die Konzerte sind fast alle ausverkauft. Mit dem Comeback in Kapstadt hat sich das Leben des Songwriters komplett geändert. Er tourt durch die ganze Welt, hat jetzt auch in seiner Heimat Erfolg und füllt die Arenen von den USA bis Japan. Für Sugar ist klar: Rodriguez ist „der größte alte neue Künstler auf dem Planeten“.
Sugar Man ändert alles
Sugar und Brian erzählen, als könnten sie immer noch nicht glauben, was da passiert ist. „Du musst dir mal überlegen“, sagt Brian, „wir waren einfach nur Fans. Keiner von uns war im Musikgeschäft“. Doch die unverhoffte Begegnung mit Rodriguez macht aus ihnen neue Menschen.
Gemeinsam starten sie 1999 das E-Magazin „The South African Rock Music Digest„, vier Jahre später steigt Sugar mit der Gründung von Mabu Vinyl ins Plattengeschäft ein. Brian, immer schon ein wandelndes Musiklexikon, verdient da noch seine Brötchen als Sales Manager bei Panasonic. 2007 zieht er den Stecker und steigt aus. Heute steht er jeden Tag im Plattenladen, unterhält eigene Websites und Online Shops und bestreitet zwei Musiksendungen im Internetradio.
Vinyl-Spezialist Brian findet jede Platte. Im April letzten Jahres setzte Mashable den Kapstädter Plattenladen Mabu Vinyl auf die Liste der 12 weltbesten Vinyl Stores
Dann taucht aus heiterem Himmel Malik Bendjelloul auf. Der schwedische Dokumentarfilmer hat von der wundersamen Suche nach Sugar Man gehört und will aus dem Plot einen Zehnminüter machen. Auf Zehnminüter ist er nämlich spezialisiert. Als er in Kapstadt ankommt, hat er nur eine Kamera samt Kamerafrau dabei, sonst nichts. Low Budget heißt die Devise.
Doch aus dem Zehnminüter werden rasch 15, 20, 25 Minuten, und immer noch ist der Film nicht fertig. Malik Bendjelloul ist fasziniert von dieser Musik, die mühelos Jahrzehnte und Weltmeere überbrückt. Er erliegt mehr und mehr dieser verrückten Geschichte mit ihrem theatralischen Knalleffekt.
Dazu kommt Sugar, der den Regisseur mit seiner Begeisterung ansteckt. In Südafrika ist Sugar Fahrer, Location Scout und Caterer gleichzeitig. Aus der Zusammenarbeit wird Freundschaft. Am Ende steckt so viel Herzblut in dem Film, dass die Preise nur so hageln. Sogar einen Oskar gibt es, 2013, in der Kategorie „Bester Dokumentarfilm“.
Film-Destination Kapstadt
Der Film „Searching for Sugar Man“ gibt dem Comeback von Rodriguez noch einmal einen enormen Schub. Und Kapstadt bekommt dadurch eine neue Attraktion: die Fahrt vom Stadtteil Clifton an der Küste entlang. „Die Route im Film nachfahren, das machen viele“, erzählt Sugar. Und viele kommen auch zu ihm und Brian in den Plattenladen – nicht zufällig wie ich, sondern weil sie als Sugar-Man-Fans auf der Suche nach Devotionalien sind.
Unter den vielen Postern und Karten, mit denen die Wände von Mabu Vinyl gepflastert sind, hängt auch ein unscheinbares, handgemaltes Blatt mit der Aufschrift „Malik was here“. Darauf ist ein Zettel gepinnt: R.I.P. 13 May 2014. Malik Bendjelloul ist tot? „Selbstmord“, murmelt Sugar, „keiner weiß, warum“. Seine Augen hinter den Brillengläsern glänzen feucht. Ich frage nicht weiter.
„Malik was here“ – jedes Märchen hat seine traurige Seite
Service
“Sugar Man – the life, death and resurrection of Sixto Rodriguez” heißt das erst letzten September erschienene Buch, in dem alles über die “ Great Rodriguez Hunt“, die Jagd nach Rodriguez, steht. Geschrieben haben es Stephen “Sugar” Segerman und Craig Bartholomew-Strydom. Und Brian Currin? Der winkt ab: „Ich stehe nicht gern im Rampenlicht“, sagt er.
Wer das Buch bestellen will, kann das hier tun. Wer lieber online stöbert: www.sugarman.org ist die ultimative Website zum Thema. Dort gibt es auch jede Menge Infos zum Film „Searching for Sugar Man“.
Die nächste Kapstadt-Reise ist schon geplant? Dann unbedingt zu Mabu Vinyl in die Rheede Street gehen (kleine Querstraße zwischen Kloof Street und Orange Street im Bezirk Gardens). In dem Stadtteil ging’s mal sehr alternativ zu, mittlerweile hat die Hipster-Dichte zugenommen. Das Viertel ist reich an netten Restaurants und Cafés, außerdem ist das Programmkino Labia einen Besuch wert.
Actually I wanted to go shopping. Then I look in the window of this album cover. The next moment I sucked up a time tunnel. I meet a presumed dead superstar, South Africa in the Seventies, loyal fans and a piece of music history: Searching for Sugar Man
“What are the main attractions of Cape Town” I ask Stephen “Sugar” Segerman. He laughs. “The TableMountain, Robben Iceland and Mabu Vinyl,” he answers, and looks at me with his big eyes glasses. “No shit, we have right here a lot of visitors,” he adds with a grin. “Especially since Sugar Man …”
There is probably no place in the world who can tell more about Sugar Man as this record store
Back in the future
Mabu Vinyl is Sugars record store. Together with a friend he has built it. A few shelves books, a couple of CDs and DVDs, and especially vinyl. Everywhere boxes of LPs. But thousands! His friend Brian also works here. Sugar Man has brought them together. And if they tell of Sugar Man, that’s the story that has changed their lives.
I know this story, as I enter the store. I know it from the movie “Searching for Sugar Man”. One of the best documentaries of all time, I think, and a fantastic musical discovery into the bargain. Without the film, I would never have one alias encountered Sugar Sixto Rodriguez, and that would be a shame, because this Sixto Rodriguez created not only ingenious songs, he really know what to say.Nevertheless, he disappears from the scene for decades – perhaps because he has a Spanish name or because he comes from the slums of Detroit. But then fate makes one of these absurd Schlenker and catapulted him out of nowhere back on stage, like a fairy tale.
This miracle he owes three loyal South African fans: Sugar, Brian and Craig. Two of them are now in front of me and remember what it was like. Suddenly has become a reality from the movie.
Stephen “Sugar” Segerman in his record store: From Fan to music entrepreneurs
Searching for Sugar Man
“Sugar is, will not you hurry, Cos I’m tired of thesis scenes, For a blue coin will not you bring back, All those colors to my dreams”
Sugar Man, the coke-dealer from Rodriguez ‘eponymous song, is a synonym for an incredible Grail quest. It starts in 1997. Rodriguez infected at this time in a council house in Detroit. He cleared out apartments, Job T on the building or at the gas station. He has his guitar always with you, because that is otherwise stolen. From time to time he comes with her on in pubs.
With the music business, he has nothing more to do, after the early 1970s, two albums flopped – in the USA! What Rodriguez does not know South Africa is totally crazy about him! There he becomes a hero of the anti-apartheid movement, his songs strike at the heart of a whole generation of protest. Also Sugar, Brian and Craig depend on the radio, when songs like “Sugar Man”, “Cause” or “I Wonder” played, exchange cassette recordings and feel like any other that Rodriguez has either shot on the stage, is burned or from an overdose perished.
The legend of the early death of his favorite stars keeps more than two decades in the medial insular South Africa. Then the apartheid regime and the Internet falls booming, both about the same time. In early 1997 set Sugar and Brian independently on a website. One wants to know how Rodriguez is now truly dead, the other wants to put a monument to him and find out everything about him. Do yourself together. The third member is Craig: DJ, journalist and also an ardent fan.
From the very beginning: Brian Currin at the counter by Mabu Vinyl
Together they find out the unbelievable: Rodriguez aka Sugar Man alive! What follows is a year in fever. Finally, they set off on the journey and visit their idol. The setting is reminiscent of the Christmas story: Detroit is Bethlehem, the shabby apartment for rent of the stall and the three South Africans are the kings from the east, the proffering their Savior fame, glory and honor.
Rodriguez accepts the gift. He can play the guitar yet and the hard work has kept the 56-year-olds in the form. The voice is also still there. So he takes the stage.
When we were young – Rodriguez and his discovery in his first concert in Cape Town in 1998. The second from the left of the Sugar Man is himself, to his right are Brian and Sugar
Restart in Cape Town
“Cape Town is Athens, Joburg is Rome,” Sugar says confidently. When it comes to culture, he sees his hometown clearly in Johannesburg or Joburg, all say how here. No wonder, then, that believed dead Sugar Man celebrating his resurrection first in Cape Town.
Brian can remember still exactly. On 2 March 1998 in Cape Town for the first time Rodriguez enters South African soil. Just one day later start the sample, and on March 6 he brings the Velodrome in Bellville in the far east of the town to the quake. What triggers the audience, captures the TV documentary “Dead Men Do not Tour” a – to some extent anyway.
Cape Town is upside down. The same happened in Johannesburg, Pretoria and Durban. Southern Africa is the Sugar Man’s feet. And Rodriguez is coming back, now almost every year. The end of January is the next appointment, the concerts are almost all sold out. With the comeback in Cape Town, the life of the songwriter has completely changed. He is touring the world, has now also in his home success and filled the arenas from the USA to Japan. For Sugar is clear: Rodriguez is “the largest old new artist on the planet”.
Sugar Man changes everything
Sugar and Brian tell, as they could still not believe what has happened since. “You have to change your mind again,” says Brian, “we were just fans. Neither of us was in the music business. ” But the unexpected encounter with Rodriguez makes them new men.
Together they start 1999, the e-magazine “The South African Rock Music Digest”, four years later Sugar rises with the establishment of Mabu Vinyl into a plate business. Brian, always a walking music lexicon, there still earned his living as a sales manager at Panasonic. In 2007, he pulls the plug and gets out. Today, he is every day in the record store, maintains its own websites and online shops and denies two music programs on internet radio.
Vinyl Specialist Brian finds each plate. In April last year Mashable put the Capetonian record store Mabu Vinyl on the list of 12 world’s best vinyl Stores
Then appears out of the blue Malik Bendjelloul. The Swedish documentary maker has one heard of the miraculous Search Sugar and wants to make the plot a Zehnminüter. On Zehnminüter he is namely specialized. When he arrives in Cape Town, he has only one camera case with the camera woman, nothing else. Low Budget is the motto.
But from the Zehnminüter be quickly 15, 20, 25 minutes and still is not the finished film. Malik Bendjelloul is fascinated by this music that effortlessly bridged decades and oceans. He succumbs more and more of this crazy story with her theatrical bang.
In addition Sugar, which infects the director with his enthusiasm. In South Africa Sugar driver, Location Scout and caterers at the same time. The collaboration is friendship. At the end is so much passion in the film that prices only hail that. Even an Oscar there, in 2013, in the category “Best Documentary”.
Movie Destination Cape Town
The film “Searching for Sugar Man” is the comeback of Rodriguez again a huge boost. And Cape Town gets thereby a new attraction: the drive from Clifton district along the coast. “The route in the film descendants, which make a lot,” says Sugar. And many come to him and Brian to the record store – not by chance as I do, but because they are as Sugar-Man fans in search of memorabilia.
Among the many posters and cards with which the walls of Mabu Vinyl are paved, and a nondescript, handpainted leaf hangs with the inscription “Malik was here”. Then a list is pinned: RIP 13 May 2014. Malik Bendjelloul is dead? “Suicide,” mutters Sugar, “no one knows why.” His eyes behind his glasses shine moist. I do not ask further.
“Malik was here” – every fairy tale has its sad side
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“Sugar Man – The Life, Death and Resurrection of Sixto Rodriguez” is the only book published last September, where everything on the “Great Rodriguez Hunt”, the hunt for Rodriguez, stands. Written have Stephen “Sugar” Segerman and Craig Bartholomew-Strydom. And Brian Currin? The dismissive gesture: “I do not like to stand in the limelight,” he says.
Who wants to order the book, which can here do. Those who prefer Browsed online:www.sugarman.org is the ultimate site on the topic. There is also plenty of information about the film “Searching for Sugar Man”.
The next trip is already planned and Cape Town? Then necessarily Mabu Vinyl go into Rheede Street (small crossroads between Kloof Street and Orange Street Gardens in the district). In the district’s times went too alternatively, meanwhile the hipster density has increased. The neighborhood is full of nice restaurants and cafes, as well as the program cinema Labia worth a visit.
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SugarMan.org 