Singer became beacon of hope for South Africans

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Sixto Diaz Rodriguez was the subject of “Searching for Sugar Man,” winner of this year’s Academy Award for a documentary film.Courtesy photo

This year's Academy Award-winning documentary film still seems like pure fiction.

It's not. It's an astounding - somewhat reassuring - story of musical resilience and revival.

"Searching for Sugar Man" is sweet redemption for Sixto Diaz Rodriguez, a folk-music singer-songwriter hardly anybody in America knew existed until a couple of guys embarked on an unlikely odyssey to locate their "Elvis Presley of South Africa."

Hopefully, this heightened visibility will lead people back to his remarkable music.

Known only as Rodriguez, the native of Detroit - shrouded in more mystery by his ever-present shades and an enigmatic persona - released just two albums of exquisitely crafted songs in 1970 and 1971. Almost nobody in the U.S. ever heard them.

However, at the height of apartheid in South Africa, bootlegged copies of Rodriguez's "Cold Fact" (1970) and "Coming From Reality" (1971) became talismans of the struggle for racial justice among that nation's idealistic white Afrikaner young people.

South Africa was isolated behind cultural and economic boycotts. There was no television and no hint of texting or tweeting. Rodriguez's music was considered contraband.

"I Wonder," a pretty song on "Cold Fact" with a fairly benign reference to sex, accrued anthemic significance. Young Afrikaners were emboldened and empowered by such frankness being expressed in a police state.

When government censors confiscated copies of the vinyl album, they would scratch the grooves of "I Wonder" so it was unplayable.

The Rodriguez albums - Bob Dylan's name is invoked for comparative purposes in the film, though his vocal qualities ares closer to Donovan Leitch - sold millions of copies (mostly on cassette tapes).

Singing/talking with gently ironic intensity, Rodriguez became a beacon of hope. His lyrics spoke of the real world from street level - with all its dreams (shattered and otherwise), heartbreaks, Dylan-esque urban landscapes and characters, love stories, beguiling introversion and almost instantly memorable melodies.

Rodriguez, now 70, had no idea. Seeming almost like an apparition, he would materialize in smoky downtown Detroit dives to sing, sometimes with his back to the audience.

Urban legends spread. He'd shot himself in the head on stage. He'd doused himself with gasoline, lit a match and immolated at the end of a show.

No. He'd just run afoul of the greedy American music industry. It happened a lot back then, especially to non-materialistic free spirits.

The hippie era was ending as the singer-songwriter age began. Artists in the Rodriguez mold (Tim Buckley, Tim Hardin, Jimmy Webb, Elliott Murphy, Eric Andersen, Paul Siebel, Scott Walker, Willie Nile) only developed cult followings.

Rodriguez didn't even get that far - except in South Africa, where they assumed he had to be a Dylan-level icon in the United States.

During "Sugar Man," a defensive, dismissive and profane Motown Records executive gets flustered when asked about Rodriguez never being compensated fairly. He also says Rodriguez is one of the five top talents with whom he'd ever worked. Disconnect.

He's mystified why Rodriguez's albums didn't sell more than "six copies." The viewer isn't.

In the 90-minute documentary, Rodriguez's South African loyalists finally locate him - when one of his daughters responds on Facebook, of course. They remain disbelieving until he actually phones.

Rodriguez was working as a laborer - tearing down old buildings in a suit and shades - which the South African "Elvis" had been doing, without any apparent bitterness or regret, during the five decades since he was forgotten. He's lived in the same downtown Detroit house for 40 years.

After being "discovered," the somewhat baffled and bemused Rodriguez wound up playing to rapturous sold-out crowds of 20,000-plus in South Africa. He gave all the money away to family and friends. He's now doing a full U.S. tour, including a sold-out April 23 show at the Warfield in San Francisco.

Aside from getting almost zero promotion, it's difficult to understand why Rodriguez - of Mexican and American Indian ancestry - got zero attention.

The 14 songs on the "Sugar Man" soundtrack, released last year, are an ideal sampler. The songs that captivated and motivated his Afrikaner followers are all here. Rodriguez sings in a mostly mellow, soothing voice of vulnerability and subdued volatility.

Built around Rodriguez's acoustic guitar, the songs - produced by Mike Theodore, Dennis Coffey and Steve Roland - are flecked with hints of baroque or chamber music (horn, strings, flute, intriguing keyboard bits), recalling Hardin, Buckley and Phil Ochs' last albums.

The "Sugar Man" soundtrack, DVD and his two original albums are available through

While it's clear from this compelling documentary that Rodriguez never made music for money, the liner notes do include this encouraging advisory: "Rodriguez receives royalties from the sales of this release." It's about time.

Contact columnist Tony Sauro at (209) 546-8267 or

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