The Spin likes mystery and suspense — the kind of atmosphere that gives you pleasant chills as you think about how some pop artists emerge from the shadows after years of obscurity. Outside the Ryman, it was a clear, cool spring evening, with just a hint of chill in the air. Inside, a packed house was getting ready to see one of those triumphant rock 'n' roll survivors hit the stage, and who knows how many of the fans sitting in the Ryman's pews felt a slight skin-pricking at the thought of finally seeing the Detroit folk-rocker Rodriguez, who made two fine but unsuccessful albums in the '70s. At least, he thought he had been unsuccessful. But as last year's documentary Searching for Sugar Man made clear, the singer had become an icon in Australia and South Africa, with the film itself paving the way for his North American fame.
The Spin settled in, and the crowd seemed ready to worship at Rodriguez's altar — it was a slightly raucous houseful of suspense-loving rock fans. Opening act Jenny O. caught the ears of The Spin with her old-fashioned jug-band sound, but it wasn't old-fashioned in any pejorative sense. Her tight, efficient quartet displayed a disarming mastery of '70s-style funk rhythms and slangy guitar licks. Doing tunes from her full-length Automechanic, Jenny O. and band reminded The Spin of some cross between The Lovin' Spoonful and Nick Lowe — their style combines hints of R&B with echoes of 1960s San Francisco hippie-blues bands.
Rodriguez came onstage led by members of his family — he has glaucoma, which means the 70-year-old singer and guitarist moves somewhat slowly and tentatively. But The Spin noted his charisma factor, which was augmented by his super-cool demeanor and his leather pants. Joined by a trio comprising electric guitar, drums and bass, Rodriguez began his set with "Climb up on My Music," the first track on his legendary 1971 Coming From Reality. The band grooved and gave Rodriguez' electric guitarist a chance to play a couple of fuzzed-out solos. (As does Chuck Berry, Rodriguez tours with a series of bands. At the Ryman, he didn't introduce them.)
The band tore into the garage-rock of the Cold Fact track "Only Good for Conversation" — the song's sinister riff sounded as potent as it must have in 1970. Another track from his first album, "Crucify Your Mind," sounded fine minus the horn and marimba of the original recording. Electric guitar filled the holes, but there were times when The Spin noted a certain shakiness on the part of Rodriguez' band. Maybe it had something to do with Rodriguez's compelling but perhaps slightly idiosyncratic sense of time. Some songs sped up, and others became examples of a minimalist approach to rock ensemble playing that was, when all was said and done, pretty bracing. And anyway, Rodriguez's songs are strong enough to survive any number of slight abuses. "Sugar Man" and "Can't Get Away" sounded great stripped down by the band, and "Sugar Man" ended up as a demented psychedelic soundscape, with Rodriguez doing serious damage to his electric guitar. On the other hand, "Street Boy" has always reminded The Spin of a great lost Lou Reed song, and it came across suitably blithe and light.
Rodriguez proved himself a great songwriter, but he did some interesting covers, including a version of "Dead End Street," a 1967 Lou Rawls song written by David Axelrod and Ben Raleigh. He also performed eccentric reworkings of "Lucille" — the Little Richard rock 'n' roll classic — and "Fever," written by Otis Blackwell and Eddie Cooley and made famous in versions by Little Willie John, Peggy Lee and Brian Eno. For variety, he sang "I Only Have Eyes for You," a tune written in the 1930s by Harry Warren and Al Dubin, and revived in 1959 by rock 'n' roll vocal group The Flamingos.
Rodriguez struck The Spin as magnificently casual, even though there were times when the music could have been more thoroughly worked out, or the tempos held in check by the rhythm section. He sounded much as he does on his recordings, and the only unsure moments The Spin heard came on some of the cover versions. Rodriguez sounded both world-weary and optimistic — suitable for a musician whose records express the utopian aspirations of '60s culture. He told jokes, including one about Mickey and Minnie Mouse that used a punch line that had something to do with "fucking Goofy." He charmingly requested that he be treated like any old everyday, run-of-the-mill legend, and he threw out some aphorisms. The Spin's favorite went something like, "Hate is too powerful an emotion to waste on someone you really don't like."
Rodriguez seemed energized by the audience's love, and cut the intensity of his songs with humor and humility. The Spin clapped along to his encore performance of "Like a Rolling Stone" — a fairly well-known '60s folk-rock tune — and Rodriguez closed the show with "I'm Gonna Live Till I Die," one of those Great American Songbook songs Frank Sinatra used to perform. It was a perfect ending, and proved once again that, in pop music, obscurity makes the heart grow fonder.
