I think of Rodriguez

About a year and a half ago my mom, pictured below, got all hot and bothered over this "new" artist that she and my aunt had discovered: Sixto Rodriguez. Born in 1972 in Detroit, Rodriguez is an old-time folk singer who, at first listen, can be described as somewhat Dylanesque. 

But, if given the chance, you'll quickly realize he's so much more.  

My aunt was not the only person on the path to discovery, it seems, when it comes to Rodriguez. He went "missing" shortly after the release of his second album in the early seventies and, unbeknownst to him, a search party had been looking for him ever since. And then there were rumours... that he had shot or burned himself on stage, for example. 

The reason people were looking for Rodriguez, or Searching for Sugar Man, is because he was famous (more famous than the Rolling Stones) on the other side of the world; in South Africa.

A group of music lovers/journalists had gotten together there to try and track him down. They had nothing to go on other than the two records he had released. They studied the pictures. They studied the lyrics. They put his face on a milk carton. They created a website: SugarMan.org.

In the end, they found Rodriguez. He was still living in Detroit, had spent most of his life working as a heavy labourer and had three daughters.

And he had no idea that anybody was still listening to his music. Never mind the fact that he was literally the most popular artist in South Africa with millions of albums sold there.

I discovered Rodriguez through my mom as well as the Academy Award winning documentary I watched with the beau about him last week; Searching for Sugar Man. Though I enjoyed his music previously, it wasn't until I saw the documentary and realized what kind of man Rodriguez was that I came to adore both him and his music.

An angel if there ever was one. 

And what a lyricist! 

I Think of You

Cause

I'll Slip Away

Cause

Cause I lost my job two weeks before Christmas

And I talked to Jesus at the Sewer

And the pope said it was none of his god-damned business

While the rain drank champagne 

My Estonian archangel came and got me wasted

Cause the sweetest kiss I ever got is the one I've never tasted

Oh but they'll take their bonus pay to Molly McDonald

Neon ladies, beauty is that which obeys, is bought or borrowed

The sound of the future

Sometimes I'm a trend setter (hello mid-finger ring). 

Other times, not so much. 

When Daft Punk's Random Access Memories was all the rage last year, winning Grammy Awards for Album of the year, Best dance/electronica album and Best engineered album (non-classical), I was somewhat out of the musical loop (focused, as I was, on my main bae Miley).

After listening to Bangerz on replay for well over a year I was finally ready to spread my musical wings, as it were, a few weeks ago. At first, I latched on to a few randoms like Lorde and Selena Gomez. Since then, I've moved on (kind of) to my new obsession: Daft Punk. 

Specifically, Giorgio by Moroder.

Apart from the sheer amazingness of the song, I was especially drawn to the story. Who, exactly, was Giovanni Giorgio and why, precisely, did everybody call him Giorgio?

 Giorgio then

 Giorgio now

Giovanni Giorgio was (and still is) Giovanni Giorgio Moroder (born Hansjörg Moroder). Widely credited as the father of both disco and electronic dance music (!), Moroder first started releasing music in 1966 and hasn't stopped since. He worked on a variety of film scores, including Midnight Express, Scarface, Flashdance and Top Gun, and has collaborated with everyone from Donna Summer, Blondie and David Bowie to Britney Spears and Daft Punk.      

He even created the main riff sampled by DJ Shadow in Organ Donor.

 tears, by giorgio

The more I read about this guy the more interested, and impressed, I am with him. I'm actually starting to get the feeling that he's behind every great song every written.

At 74 years old, Giorgio is one hepcat. 

Or, as he puts it, 74 is the new 24.

And now... back to Miley.

Last night, on my way home in a taxi, a very strange thing happened: the romantical Adore You started playing and the driver and I both started humming it at the same time. Before long, we were both full-on singing it. 

Adore You. At 4:30 in the morning. In a taxi.

Weird.

Nobody calls me Giorgio, by the way.