"I Just Want To Be Treated Like An Ordinary Legend"

We sat just behind the sound board in the Masonic Theater last night, courtesy WDET and Ann Delisi's Show and my partner's quick redial finger. The fellow next to us was likely Brian McCollum of the Free Press, as noted by the distinct lack of applause and the flurry of notebook paper...especially when he heard those words in the title.

Other than the rude couple who came IN a half-hour after he'd taken the stage...well into Rodriguez' rendering of his now-famous "Sugarman"...everyone had their focus on the soft-spoken man in black who kept reminding us he was a "solid seventy" and although he knew it was the drinking, he loved us, too. I cannot remember another show in all my years of concert-going with as plentiful the quantity and quality of crowd heckling, nor the gentle humorous retorts from the man of the hour.

Sixto Rodriguez' return to Detroit...after a successful tour of the country after the documentary of the story of his life won the Academy Award...was as magical as promoter Dan McGowan promised in McCollum's lead-up article in Friday's Freep.

Since the show was sold-out, my partner made sure...before the bulk of the crowd showed...to buy a copy of the vinyl remastering of "COLD FACT", the 1969 album ignored by most of the world until a few years ago. The addendum to the label made sure to note that "RODRIGUEZ RECEIVES ROYALTIES FROM THE SALE OF THIS RELEASE". Finally.

Spent the first half of the show marvelling at the fact that I'd missed this fellow thoroughly through the decades...who'd likely sat at the bar alongside my friends and me at the Old Miami more than a few times...especially considering the fact my cousin's husband is IN the documentary. And him another of Detroit's musical gems...who'd been noted by the Freep's Bob Talbert as the 'next big thing' in singer-songwriters in the mid-to-late-80s...but only now considers himself a construction worker, or at least that is how he's credited in the film. [[his son is a phenomenal guitarist and yoga-instructor, too)

But I'd given up on trying to listen to music in the Miami...over the years most of what came off that stage was harsher than my tastes enjoy, and the sound system has always needed love and attention. Someone was always turning it up past eleven. Last show I'd caught was in the backyard many summers ago, where a fellow in a superhero cape rocked it out in ways unmentionable in a family format forum. I distinctly remember him riding the back of one fan, showing what would later become known as Fifty Shades of Gray to a shocked crowd. It was great.

So, back to last night...and the guy most in the city ignored for nearly his entire lifetime. It was somewhat ironic to be in the midst of a crowd of people who would likely have not looked twice at him crossing Cass Avenue three years ago...earning rather a sharp honk of a horn instead of the standing ovation we started the show with. And to think they jumped at the chance to see him, now that they understand the background...and his gifted poetry, his honest talent of addressing life's turbulence...his WISDOM gleaned from the decades of being, well, relatively ignored by the entire city for most of his lifetime.


And he took it in stride...sprinkling the show with what could ONLY be called Grandpa's Dirty and Silly Jokes, which delighted the crowd, from the vulgar first. It was odd to see the band collaborating on which song to do next, although this was the last show of a tour which took them around the country after an amazing few months in South Africa, Australia, and New Zealand...where MULTIPLE BOOKINGS in the same city were the norm, not the exclusion. This wasn't their first show, but they seemed to move from their setlist for some reason.

Back home, he could fill the 4,400 seat Masonic Temple Theater but once. No longer an unsung hero, the crowd was adoring and attentive...and interactive verbally. Thankfully, the rude talking couple between McCollum and us left early. They probably didn't understand what the hoopla was all about.

Welcome home Mr. Rodriguez, you've got a week before Barcelona. You say you're not getting old, you're getting dead. Please don't rush things.

As an addendum, the Masonic Theater employees earned a HUGE kudos for their over-the-top enthusiasm, energy, and attitude. We heard the announcement before the opening of the doors, and my guess is the manager who calls that is likely the reason for this great team. When her appeal to open the doors came over the PA, every employee snapped to form and the show was ON!

Every single person on the Masonic Temple team, even down to the funny fellows attending the bathroom, went beyond to insure everyone knew where they were, where they were headed, and exactly how to get there. I cannot say enough about this experience, since it is so rare in public venues.

Even, and especially, the lovely woman directing us to our seats who took the time to ask us if we'd seen the documentary. So far, we have not...much to her shock and amusement.

Cheers!

In a town where people act like rock stars before they play a note, this was a refreshing and humble homecoming. No set list, some cool covers, great stage banter and a lovely venue. My only fault was that the music could have been a little louder in there. I could barely hear Matt's stellar guitar work. Also, what was with that opening band? LA session players for sure. Must share an agent with the man.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by JAYCR

In a town where people act like rock stars before they play a note, this was a refreshing and humble homecoming. No set list, some cool covers, great stage banter and a lovely venue. My only fault was that the music could have been a little louder in there. I could barely hear Matt's stellar guitar work. Also, what was with that opening band? LA session players for sure. Must share an agent with the man.

---

From where we sat, Rodriguez' guitar was much softer and the electric often dominated the mix. If anything, I wanted to hear what he was doing through his acoustic axe a bit more clearly. The system's bass was too loose, as well...but no way to determine the reason. I just like more kick in the kick drum.

But I thought the volume was just right. Made sure to tell the sound guy afterward, too. First large-scale concert in a l-o-n-g while I've attended where I didn't feel the need for earplugs.

I wanted to bitch-slap Mr. Clean on the lightboard, though, every time one of those LED light-cannons aimed our way. He must've liked it, since he was three rows in front of us. Goddamn, though, the energy those things put out is incredible. Not unlike lasers, they should NEVER be aimed directly at the crowd.