As fairytale stories go, Rodriguez’s takes some beating. Aged 49 and working as a builder on a construction site in Detroit in the 1990s, he gets a call from South Africa to tell him that across the globe he has become a multi-platinum artist; a leading light in their music scene for decades.
Wild rumours had sprung up amongst South Africans as to the fate of their enigmatic star: that he was in jail for murder, that he had died of a heroin overdose or committed suicide by setting himself on fire on stage. His return from the dead in 1998 was committed to film in the documentary Dead Men Don’t Tour.
Rodriguez has only written 29 songs in his life [between 1969 and 1971]. However leading critics agree that these songs, with their harsh Dylan-like tones, simple guitar and psychedelic, symbol-rich lyrics, capture a generation as sharply as Cohen or Donovan.
Rodriguez tours to 5,000 seat arenas in the southern hemisphere, played at the Big Chill and Green Man festivals in the summer of ’09 and also played at the Union Chapel in north London in late 2009 to promote the re-release of his second album, Coming From Reality on Light In The Attic [also available on iTunes].

What was it like one minute working construction in Detroit, and suddenly hearing that there’s this whole other world out there where you are multi-platinum?
Oh jeez…I mean, I never dreamed I would be a star like that. I took my family with me on tour just so they could share with me what was happening, so they could see it…I can’t explain this on the phone. They had to see it…I was happy to share it with them. That was rewarding in itself, just to be able to say to them: ‘Hey, check this out’.
The guys involved in re-discovering me [a South African music journalist and his friend] were strangers to me, who decided just to find me. The fact that there were people, from around the other side of the world, who were searching for me, still blows my mind.

Your lyrics display a strong sense of disillusionment. Did you feel part of the ‘summer of love’?
[Laughs loudly] Jeez, I think I was stuck right in the middle of it! People were burning their draft cards [for Vietnam], and moving to Canada to avoid the draft. They were taking this kind of drastic action. Everything was opened up so much in those years. Everybody was sick of the repression – there was a real division in society.
Around then, in ’71, a lot of new albums came out like Fleetwood Mac, Elton John – there was a lot of competition and a lot of protest. People like me were deep into it, we started testing drugs. We all demonstrated against Vietnam…we stopped that war.
Back in the fifties and sixties people were very much divided along race lines, so that began to be questioned. Also FM radio came along and made a big difference. That was a new place to hear music. In comparison AM was so straight. In Detroit there was a music invasion from Britain. Suddenly you start hearing different accents and voices, and it worked – it was beautiful.

Back in Detroit in the early 1970s your producer Mike Theodore said you would only play at ‘hooker bars, inner city dives and biker bars’. Why?
[Laughs] Back then in Detroit there were a lot of rooms to play at, but small rooms, of maybe 50 people. You start out where you can. I once played at a biker’s wake – I broke my guitar on a gravestone and gave it to the mourners after couple of songs.
I’ve played at gay bars back then [he talks about playing at 'faggot bars' in 'A Most Disgusting Song']. I played on Sunday at four in the afternoon and it was packed, with a priest at the end of the bar.

Your lyrics are similar to Cohen and Dylan in their complexity. Do you write poetry separately?
I like that word poetry – man I’ve only written 29 songs, but they have a longevity that surprises me. However I was true to the writing – I put a huge amount of work into those lines. Every day I write phrases down, things that move me. It’s something you work at every day – however with song writing you just limit those lines to three minutes.

What would you say to people who claim that lyrics have to be simple so they connect to their audience?
I’d like to throw this one out – I’m formally educated – I went to school. Some cats won’t get some of the themes that I’m singing about. It’s a challenge to try and write these songs so they connect. I’m mainly driven by issues – issues like the divide between rich and poor in society – that disturb me – I can get a little obsessed by politics like that.

Do you prefer the stripped down acoustic sound?
I describe myself as guitar against vocal. I don’t call what I do singing – I think Sinatra sang, Ella Fitzgerald sang. I call what I do vocals [laughs]. I’d say someone like Joe Cocker does vocals, that kind of gritty singing. That’s the difference between a crooner and me. I like to keep it simple.

People say you sound a lot like Bob Dylan. Was he a conscious inspiration?
[Laughs loudly] Man he’s the American Shakespeare of rock ‘n roll! He’s written hundreds of tracks – I’ve only written 29. It’s a comparison I’m very moved by but I don’t know where it comes from. He’s way up there. I’m happy you say that, but it doesn’t compare. It’s a nice compliment – I appreciate it.

What was your relationship with Dennis Coffey [legendary Motown session guitarist who has been sampled by everyone from Public Enemy, Beastie Boys, LL Cool J and Mos Def] like?
He was a sweetie. He’s faster on the guitar now than when I first met him. Let me tell you this: I play a $600 guitar, and Dennis Coffey plays a $3500 guitar – that’s the difference. He’s a lovely guy. Listen to Friendship Train by Gladys Knight and the Pips – that’s him playing guitar at the beginning.
He sets up then whole sound with the guitar part – incredible. He’s pure blue-eyed soul from Detroit. He gives a lot in the studio –oh yeah, he’s a true one. On my first album, Cold Fact he brings in that psychedelic looseness.

What incites the anger in your music?
If you grow up in Detroit, you’ll find it’s a deeply suburban area, with so much ugly construction. It’s owned by Ford Motors, the whole city, lock stock and barrel. They don’t mind a weak government here just so Ford can go ahead and do what they want [Rodriguez ran for local office in Detroit in the 70s]. That’s the kind of infrastructure we’ve always had in the city, which got me really angry when I was coming up.

After you released Cold Fact in the early 1970s you played a big industry gig for key A&Rs and booking agents, and during your performance you turned your back to the audience, not facing them once. Why?
[Nervous]Well I had my eyes closed, I was listening to the band, I was trying to keep my vocals even. I was more focused on the music than controlling my audience.

So it wasn’t a deliberate ‘Up Yours’ to the music industry at the time?
I may say controversial things but….It wasn’t a big defiance thing against the music industry. I’m not the Sex Pistols man, I’m not beating up the music execs. That’s not
me. I tried to come up with a good presentation. Nowadays my audience are good to me. When I make mistakes they clap, when I don’t, they clap [laughs].

What happened after that?
I fell totally into obscurity. I went back to work – I did building work – demolition, renovation, restoration. I was still playing, but nothing was happening, for sure.
Then in the 1990s a South African turned up at my door in Detroit and showed me my CD. Then I went over to South Africa, and, jeez, [emotional] the stadium was packed with young bloods – it was just crazy. I thought I’d be playing to some third world disgruntled lot, but no they were very fresh, clear faced.

What was it like finally getting recognition back in the US [he's been playing gigs there] after being neglected for so long?
Well, we’re playing 300 seaters, its not 5,000 like over there. I wish some Americans would go overseas – then they’d see the response I get over there.

How come you’re not writing any new material?
I do write new material! However right now I’m concentrating on the reissue of my previous albums. My show in the UK is gonna sound very different from the recordings. Rock ‘n roll is a living thing, always switching, mutating. Looking back, I’m glad I chose music – do something you love. It’s like being a writer – it’s something you wanna do, not because someone forces you. Well, thanks for calling. Love your accent.

http://www.ilikemusic.com/interviews/Rodriguez_Interview_2009-8480/8

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