When I heard that Rodriguez, celebrated in the documentary Searching for Sugar Man, was dead at 81, the news was less stunning to me than when I first heard he was a rock star in South Africa. It was a surprise that this was the same Sixto Rodriguez who used to spend time with me at Wayne State University, the same guitarist, dressed in black, dark sunglasses, and hair hung to his shoulders.
He often strolled by my office window, which looked out on the center of the campus, and on several occasions, after learning I had a guitar and flute in my office, he would come in and we would play a few licks before he wandered off to points unknown. One of our most memorable performances was outside my office where we entertained a gaggle of students, playing a mixture of folk, jazz, and pop tunes. At times his mellow voice would accompany him, and those moments returned in reverie when I saw the documentary — and in sorrow now that he’s no longer with us.
By 1985, I was no longer living in Detroit, but from friends, I got the news that Sixto was trying to get elected into local government. I discussed these political ventures with Dan Aldridge, who at one time ran a drug treatment center in the city where Sixto’s brother worked.
After the success of Searching for Sugar Man, Sixto went on a world tour, including engagements in New York City. His performance at the Highline in Manhattan was sold out by the time the notice popped up in my email box. But I was able to attend his concert in Brooklyn at the Barclay Center. With my good friend John Sinclair cited to introduce Sixto, getting there was all the more imperative. Even so, it was not possible to get backstage to speak to him. Another missed opportunity came in 2014 when I went by his house in the Woodbridge section of Detroit only to discover he wasn’t home. I had no number to call and no email address.
I was once more surprised to learn that he had received an honorary doctorate from Wayne State University in philosophy. There was never any indication in our sessions in my office at WSU’s Monteith College that he was a student there. That he was mentioned as a graduate of Wayne State is how they cite me without noting Monteith. But the degree in philosophy is what the college offered its graduates.
There was always an air of mystery about Sixto; whenever he came by my office he often left as suddenly as he arrived, and when he wasn’t playing the guitar he sat like a silent thunder. While I am disappointed that I didn’t get a chance to talk to him again during his moment of popularity and success, I am glad that audiences beyond South Africa and Australia didn’t have to search for the shy, nomadic, and talented musician.
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