Chewing Pine

Rodriguez – Cold Fact (Light in the Attic, 2008)

(This originally appeared in Skyscraper)

There isn’t one simple way to divide those artists that provide some similarity to Robert Zimmerman into a good and bad category while explaining why each effort has been relegated to either column. Everyone has an opinion on the Minnesotan turned counter-culture icon: he’s a good writer, bad at singing, has an interesting guitar style. But what litany can be used in order to gauge his talents and then aptly apply these criteria to other artists? Slightly psychedelic and occasionally forcing their poetic leanings, an ever abundant crop of musicians arrived hocking similar styles while claiming originality during the ‘60s and ‘70s. Detroit’s Rodriquez was one of these men. His first of two studio albums, Cold Fact, sports various members of Motown’s Funk Brothers putting in time and collecting a check that perhaps Barry Gordy was remiss in issuing. Needless to say, the instrumentation here is beyond a great deal of foggy hippy-folk rundowns of the era. Additionally, the serpentine production bringing forth hallucinatory sounds is amply supported by orchestration and buoyed by a well punctuated horn section. “Sugar Man”, the lead off track and most oft associated phrase with Rodriguez, sports all of these over-indulgent manipulations, and perhaps even despite them, would be sampled by Nas almost 30 years later. In complete opposition, the following track, “Only Good for Conversation”, pushed forward by distorted guitar, recalls a Blue Cheer riff or prefigures various stoner bands from the ‘90s. And while the next few tracks are easily on par with the opening expressions, the album seems to fall short beginning with the faux ‘50s of “I Wonder”. Perpetually lopping and almost embarrassing, lyrically this track examines the previous loves of a woman. Included is the surprisingly blatant lyric, “I wonder how many times you had sex.” This stark examination is somewhat shocking given the time from which this recording emanates. Beyond that though, there seems to be a misogynistic leaning in some of Rodriquez’s lyrics, finding that a number of tracks basically critique women that he has in some way known – carnally or not. “Crucify Your Mind” does this, but is softened by the percussion of a marimba, as does the closer “Jane S. Piddy”. Despite these limited lyrical aspects of his work, Rodriquez occasionally overstates his verbal talents, leaving arrangements too sparse, amplifying the pratfalls of mediocre verse. And surely, that is the division line. Dylan knew he was literary, whereas others were only under the impression that their words could be as powerful as song.