Monday, October 14, 2019

Sixto Rodriquez

Never heard of him? Don't feel bad, many have not but they should. You dig Bob Dylan? Give Sixto a spin. A long lost gem rediscovered. Here's a brief synopsis from Wikipedia....

Sixto Diaz Rodriguez, known professionally as Rodriguez (born July 10, 1942), is an American singer-songwriter from Detroit, Michigan. His career initially proved short lived in the United States, but unknown to Rodriguez his albums became extremely successful and influential in South Africa, where he is believed to have sold more records than Elvis Presley. Because of scarce information about Rodriguez, it was incorrectly rumored there that he had committed suicide shortly after releasing his first album.
Rodriguez live in concert
He was the sixth child of Mexican immigrant working-class parents. He was named Sixto (pronounced "Seex-toh") because he was their sixth son.

Sixto is still here and finally getting the recognition he deserves!

Like Dylan, Rodriguez delivers powerful lyrics with a clear message. He actually has something to say instead of just fluff!

Listen to "Rich Folks Hoax" from Cold Fact (lyrics below):

Coming From Reality
CD - new factory sealed
Rodriguez Coming From Reality compact disc cover image



Cold Fact
CD - new factory sealed
Rodriguez Cold Fact compact disc cover image


The moon is hanging in the purple sky
The baby's sleeping while its mother sighs
Talking 'bout the rich folks
Rich folks have the same jokes
And they park in basic places
The priest is preaching from a shallow grave
He counts his money, then he paints you saved
Talking to the young folks
Young folks share the same jokes
But they meet in older places
So don't tell me about your success
Nor your recipes for my happiness
Smoke in bed
I never could digest
Those illusions you claim to have going
The sun is shining, as it's always done
Coffin dust is the fate of everyone
Talking 'bout the rich folks
The poor create the rich hoax
And only late breast-fed fools believe it
So don't tell me about your success
Nor your recipes for my happiness
Smoke in bed
I never could digest
Those illusions you claim to have going

No comments:

Post a Comment