Beginnings
Switching between talking-head-type interviews and panning shots of desolate, random cityscapes of Detroit, accompanied by the music of Rodriguez, the film starts off heading toward what looks like a grim, depressing portrait of a deceased local musician.
We come to learn that he was considered an icon, a rebel, and a hero by Afrikaners. He brought the spirit of American Civil Rights protests to South Africa’s fight against apartheid purely through his music and lyrics, while living in America and doing construction work.
His music helped free the people, and especially inspired the Afrikaner musicians at the forefront of the anti-apartheid movement to step up, rabble-rouse, and speak out against the inhumanity of the apartheid system. South Africa censors banned his music from the airwaves and defaced his vinyl albums. Fans tattooed his face on their arms.
‘Follow the Money’
To scout out the story, a rock journalist and record collector who spent years investigating the story of Rodriguez, utilized the time-honored detective-work ploy of following the money. He tracked down one Clarence Avant, a manager, who doesn’t know what happened to his former client.They then joined forces with Swedish music-video director Malik Bendjelloul. Winding up in Detroit, they learned that enigmatic street poet Sixto Rodriguez had been signed to a division of Motown, and sold six records, according to a label executive’s estimation.
In South Africa, however, that figure was hundreds of thousands. There are still holes in Rodriguez’s biography, including questions about his marriage(s) and whether his signature tune “Sugar Man” was based on a real-life battle with addiction, but Bendjelloul compensates for the gaps with arresting imagery from America and Africa, which includes some powerful animation.
The trail then goes cold until a tip and a map-search turn up the name of Dearborn, Michigan. It also turns up three grown daughters—Eva, Regan, and Sandra Rodriguez, and this is when the film really takes off.
According to strikingly handsome eldest daughter Eva, an artist and intellectual, their father was a charismatic yet entirely humble Mexican-American musician. He was an incredibly hard worker who did construction and demolition, but with an entertainer’s flair, wearing tuxedos while carrying refrigerators on his back.
Rodriguez had majored in philosophy. He‘d run for city council. He’d raised his kids well. All the while, he exuded serenity and tranquility. And he was “bigger than Elvis” in South Africa. The mystery deepens.
Looking like a dead ringer for lead singer John Kay of the 1970s rock band Steppenwolf, Rodriguez’s voice sounds like a combination of Jose Feliciano, Dylan, and the 1970s Native American band Redbone. His music is distinctly ‘70s in its use of the string sections and flutes popular at the time.
There was a brief rediscovery and resurgence of Rodriguez’s music after “Searching for Sugar Man” debuted. One could say much more, but the film harbors an excellent secret about music, and about Sixto Rodriguez. It would be a major spoiler to say more.
One music executive sums up the magic of this film by quoting a Paul Simon lyric from Simon’s South African-influenced album “Graceland”: “These are the days of miracles and wonder.”
