Detroit-born singer Sixto Rodriguez’s passing feels a bit like when Nelson Mandela died. While his records had little success in the U.S., bootleg copies surged through South Africa as the unofficial soundtrack to protests against apartheid. I was 13 when I laid hands on one of them in the early 90s,- its edginess stirred and shook me, giving me a gold-plated invitation to question everything.
Something wasn’t right. I remember feeling it at school, while out at play, bike riding, and in public spaces: segregation, separation, cold signs that said “blacks only” and “whites only” enforcing that. It was “the norm” in South Africa, although there was a discomfort that I couldn’t reconcile.
One day, I remember getting home from school, away from all the “rules”, heading straight for the safe space that was the living room with our vinyl player and reaching instinctively for a 12-inch bootleg copy of Sixto Rodriguez’s Cold Fact. It belonged to my older sister who had a great ear for music and played guitar. I played it over and over again.
The songs were punchy and folky, with an edginess that was stirring for times that were a changing in SA in the early 90’s, and it was clear that the apartheid regime was no longer working. The government was about to change and a new president would come in, and this record somehow captured the moment.
Bizarrely Rodriguez knew nothing about his fame for a long time. The Mexican American singer’s albums had little success in his Native U.S. but had a cult following in South Africa, where many were moved by the call to arms in his songs, which had rebellious undertones that invited listeners to question everything. He was like SA’s Bob Dylan, and only realised this after his daughter saw a fan website in ’97 dedicated to him.
He sold millions of records and played stadium gigs in post apartheid SA. So great was his impact on me that for my English speech at school, I decided to talk about about the hope for change contained in his songs, which were emblematic for their time:
The earie pleas of Sugar Man “won’t you hurry because I’m tired of these schemes, for a blue coin, won’t you bring back all of those colours to my dreams,”, the acerbic I Wonder “I wonder about the love you can’t find, and I wonder about the loneliness that’s mine” the accepting Forget it “Well thanks for your time, and you can thank me for mine, and after that’s said, forget it” and the rebel rousing This is isn’t a song, its an outburst or the establishment blues.
I was lucky to see Rodriguez play live at the Union Chapel in Islington in 2009. We were right up front, closely witnessing the slight figure who had a lot of talent.
Then in 2012, the Oscar-winning Searching for Sugar Man was screened. This brilliant documentary is about two South Africans who tracked Rodriguez down to see what had become of him, following rumours that he had died. He wasn’t dead but living in Detroit and they convinced him to tour in SA.
He passed away on Tuesday but his spirit will live on and his songs will continue be played at many South Africa braais (or BBQs).
So long, Sugar Man and thanks for your time.