Arthur & Yu play amiable, shaggy country rock that could’ve been made at any point in the past 40-some years. It’s utterly familiar-sounding and comforting; you could say it’s optimal dinner music, really, so it made sense for them to open at Triple Door for Sixto Rodriguez (no cutlery was jostled nor were glasses shattered during Arthur & Yu’s set).

Many of the six-piece’s songs have a dewy, wonderstruck quality; their rockingest moments are lighter than most rock bands’ gentlest passages. A&Y tread that fine line between sublime and soporific; your predilection for trad. arr. folk tunes and No Depression(RIP)-endorsed music will dictate whether you shriek or shrug to their supremely pleasant material.

Rodriguez looked cool as hell, even nearing 67, even with Light in the Attic label boss Matt Sullivan gingerly helping him to walk onstage; Rodriguez is El Hombre En Negro, Johnny Cash’s Mexican-American analogue. Backed by a keyboardist with a broken right thumb, bassist, guitarist, drummer, flautist, trombonist, and clarinetist (the lineup included SF band the Fresh & Onlys and Throw Me the Statue brassman Galen Green), Rodriguez strummed an acoustic and sang with a frail yet vibrant dignity. The large group lent Rodriguez’s songs a subtle grandiosity, which drowned out the singer on the Donovan-tastic orchestral opener, “Inner City Blues.” He eventually came up in the mix and sounded stronger, but initially I feared that this was going to be a repeat of Arthur Lee’s last go-round with Love, during which Lee's voice failed miserably to reach the high registers.

Between songs, Rodriguez dispensed advice and aphorisms. “There’s only one thing worse than a lying b-i-t-c-h—a lying p-r-i-c-k.” “Wanna know the secret of life? Breathe in, breathe out. Wanna know the two most important words regarding relationships? Yes, dear.” After a rousing, robustly psychedelic version of “Only Good For Conversation,” Rodriguez averred that neither men nor women could be trusted. When one woman shouted, “I like your smile,” Rodriguez smiled and said, “It’s bullshit, but keep talking, baby.” He did this in such a charming manner that you knew the admirer will treasure that denouncement for the rest of her life.

Right before the man’s signature classic, “Sugar Man” (refreshing that he didn’t save this till the end), Rodriguez removed his black suit jacket to reveal a black sleeveless shirt; his black pants were tucked into black boots and his sunglasses were black. The song, as always, revealed a remarkable balance between euphoria (the wind instruments) and bummer (the bass and drums). The band built it to a chaotic clamor at one point, and then returned to order and calm, before finishing with a dramatic flourish not heard on the LP version. Rodriguez & co. also embellished “Climb Up on My Music” with tasteful dosages of SF acid-rock quicksilver.

The three-track encore contained some of the night’s best music, with “I’m Gonna Live Till I Die” serving as a potent manifestation of Rodriguez’s seize-the-day ethos. “Can’t Get Away” exuded a gripping, soaring joy that was tempered by an undercurrent of disenchantment, something that living in Detroit instills in its natives for life. Rodriguez closed the set with a solo acoustic rendition of the mid-’60s-Dylan-esque “Jane S. Piddy,” with its refrain, “I know you’re lonely” poignantly quivering in the hushed air. The crowd responded with a standing O.

Rodriguez is one of those rare music-biz stories: a cult figure revered by diggers/obsessive collectors who gets his due recognition and broader exposure decades after his classics dropped, and is still alive to reap the belated rewards. (On that note, Light in the Attic should be nominated for some kind of award for catalyzing this Rodriguez revival.) It’s safe to say everyone in the full Triple Door last night felt privileged to have witnessed Rodriguez and his yeoman pickup band.

Set list:
Inner City Blues
I Wonder
To Whom It May Concern
Crucify Your Mind
Only Good For Conversation
Sugar Man
Rich Folks Hoax
Like Janis
I Think Of You
Establishment Blues
You'd Like To Admit It
Climb Up On My Music
Forget It
—-
I'm Gonna Live Till I Die
Can't Get Away
Jane S. Piddy

All photos by Hilary Harris, more after the jump...

all photos © Hilary Harris