Live Review: Rodriguez, Archie Roach

Legend is a word often thrown around, though considering the bizarre story of 72-year-old American folk artist Rodriguez the word is not hyperbolic.

He released two albums in the early ‘70s that never took off in the States but were a smash hit in Australia, New Zealand and Zimbabwe, and gained a cult following, particularly in South Africa. Mystery followed there too, with a pervasive rumour among fans that he’d committed suicide. The story of two South Africans trying to track Rodriguez down was the subject of the 2012 film, Searching For Sugar Man, which has since helped settle him further in the mainstream. For a man with only two studio albums to his name, tonight’s packed crowd was adoring, plain and simple.

It is fitting that one musical legend should open the night for another, and esteemed Aboriginal singer-songwriter Archie Roach takes to the stage with grace and gravitas. His voice is rich, his performance heartfelt, and the power of his words are undeniable. After his stirring set, the crowd eagerly await the sight of the mysterious and well-loved Rodriguez.

Bearing his guitar and wearing a visor to protect his glaucoma-affected eyes, he is a man of few words, jumping straight from song to song, letting opening numbers like I Wonder highlight the band more than himself. The guitarist holds the attention with his vibrant solos until four songs in, Rodriguez sheds the visor for a black top hat. It is here he truly begins. The focus shifts to his laid-back guitar style and his wry humour.

He commands the stage, his voice slowly warming up. His style is like a hybrid of Cat Stevens and Bob Dylan; rhythmic and seductive one moment, biting and political the next. There’s the sharpness of Establishment Blues and Rich Folks Hoax, and the gentle pull of Street Boy and the undeniable magic of Sugar Man. A few classics are pulled out too, like Blue Suede Shoes and I Only Have Eyes For You, which he makes all his own.

Between every single song is a chorus of love declarations from the crowd, to which he finally responds near to the end of his set, “It’s probably the drinks, but I love you right back.” His charisma is palpable and his humility is obvious. Before the final number, Forget It, he quietly states he must use his ‘senior advantage’ and say that men must end violence against women, and without a word more, begins the song. The raucous cheering that follows is rewarded with a rendition of Fever and the wildly appropriate Frank Sinatra track, I’m Gonna Live Till I Die. A legend, indeed.