Music Review
Pitchfork
May 2009
Link
6.1
“I’ve played every kind of gig there is to play now,” intones Sixto Rodriguez on the track “A Most Disgusting Song”. “I’ve played faggot bars, hooker bars, motorcycle funerals… in opera houses, concert halls, halfway houses.” Not sure where opening up for Animal Collective in Chicago this past January ranks on that list, but it’s a safe bet his booking agent has a bit more pull these days. The once-obscure Detroit singer-songwriter is enjoying a reissue-fueled second chapter in his career– third, if you count his cult status in Australia and South Africa– and is finally receiving critical reception a few decades after the fact. Not bad for someone once billed under the silly pseudonym Rod Riguez because a producer/label owner “didn’t want to take a chance” that his artist would be pigeonholed by the public.
A big part of his appeal is his urban poet-style social observations, frank lyrics laid bluntly over folk-rock strumming, funky riffs, and intriguing instrumentation. Coming From Reality, originally released in 1971 and the follow-up to Cold Fact, loses some of the grittiness and directness of his debut, never striking the same balance of eclectic arrangements, reverb-heavy vocals and flourishes achieved while working with the production team of Detroit vets Dennis Coffey and Mike Theodore. Washed out a bit by soft, sometimes airy strings and lacking a killer single like the drug dealer-themed “Sugar Man”, it doesn’t hit quite as hard. But it’s a decent addition to the singer’s relatively scant output.
Recorded in London with producer Steve Rowland, a former Hollywood actor who would later discover and sign the Cure, Coming From Reality suffered from the change in studio and scenery. Opener “Climb Up on My Music” is a mellow, organ-heavy Steppenwolf/Santana jam with a screaming guitar riff and “Halfway Up the Stairs” exudes a sweet, cheesy 70s soft rock vibe. Rodriguez still delivers some pointed observations on tracks like “Street Boy”, one of a trio of solid bonus cuts recorded in 1972-1973 with Coffey and Theodore, and “A Most Disgusting Song”, a droll, overly long country-tinged narration told from the vantage point of a dive bar. But they’re thinned out by songs like “It Started Out So Nice”, a string-laden tale filled with some obscure myth-like references, and “Heikki’s Suburbia Bus Tour”, a rip on suburban life with an awkward chorus and a tired dig on lawn care. On the plaintive “I Think of You”, his voice leans too much towards James Taylor softness, and lyrics like “Baby I ain’t joking/ And it’s not what I’m smoking/ But I really think you’re nice” from “Silver Words?” which sounds like a tired Seth Rogen come-on, are a bit weak. When Rodriguez’s pastiche of styles coalesces, the music occupies an interesting niche at the crossroads of late-60s/early-70s music. But the second trip to the archives is a case of diminishing returns.