Sixto Rodriguez – Cold Fact (1970)

Artist Credit
Bob Babbitt Bass Instrument, Featured Artist
Milan Bogden Audio Engineer
Dennis Coffey Arranger, Audio Production, Featured Artist, Guitar (Electric)
Detroit Symphony Orchestra Featured Artist, Strings
Ray Hall Remixing
Bob Pangborn Featured Artist, Percussion
Carl Raetz Featured Artist, Horn, Sax (Baritone), Trombone
Rodriguez Composer, Primary Artist
Jesús Rodríguez Composer
Sixto Rodriguez Guitar (Acoustic), Vocals
Andrew Smith Drums, Featured Artist
Gordon Staples Bandleader, Member of Featured Artist, Strings
Mike Theodore Arranger, Audio Engineer, Audio Production, Brass, Composer, Featured Artist, Keyboards, Strings

There was a mini-genre of singer/songwriters in the late ’60s and early ’70s that has never gotten a name. They were folky but not exactly folk-rock and certainly not laid-back; sometimes pissed off but not full of rage; alienated but not incoherent; psychedelic-tinged but not that weird; not averse to using orchestration in some cases but not that elaborately produced. And they sold very few records, eluding to a large degree even rediscovery by collectors. Jeff Monn, Paul Martin, John Braheny, and Billy Joe Becoat were some of them, and Sixto Rodriguez was another on his 1970 LP, Cold Fact. Imagine an above-average Dylanesque street busker managing to record an album with fairly full and imaginative arrangements, and you’re somewhat close to the atmosphere. Rodriguez projected the image of the aloof, alienated folk-rock songwriter, his songs jammed with gentle, stream-of-consciousness, indirect putdowns of straight society and its tensions. Likewise, he had his problems with romance, simultaneously putting down (again gently) women for their hang-ups and intimating that he could get along without them anyway (“I wonder how many times you had sex, and I wonder do you know who’ll be next” he chides in the lilting “I Wonder”). At the same time, the songs were catchy and concise, with dabs of inventive backup: a dancing string section here, odd electronic yelps there, tinkling steel drums elsewhere. It’s an album whose lyrics are evocative yet hard to get a handle on even after repeated listenings, with song titles like “Hate Street Dialogue,” “Inner City Blues” (not the Marvin Gaye tune), and “Crucify Your Mind” representative of his eccentric, slightly troubled mindset. As it goes with folk-rock-psych singer/songwriters possessing captivating non sequitur turns of the phrase, he’s just behind Arthur Lee and Skip Spence, but still worth your consideration.

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