John Fogerty on the Most Misunderstood Music of His Career – ryan

“‘Proud Mary’ seems like it’s been around since Christopher Columbus came from Europe and discovered a different culture.”
Photo-Illustration: Vulture; Photo: David Fenton/Getty Images)

Two years ago, John Fogerty achieved something that he thought would be impossible in his lifetime. He purchased the majority ownership of his Creedence Clearwater Revival catalogue — and damn, what a catalogue — a victory that had eluded him for over five decades of his career. But we’re not here to give his old record label a Viking burial on the Green River for its sins. Instead, what better way to celebrate both Fogerty’s new professional freedom and entry into the octogenarian birthday club than by releasing Legacy: The Creedence Clearwater Revival Years, out on August 22, which finds our forefather of flannel rerecording versions of his stone-cold classics.

This reclamation of an album has every imaginable hit that Fogerty wrote for his band (“Bad Moon Rising,” “Up Around the Bend,” those two songs about the rain), many of which he believes have already become standards in the American songbook. Or perhaps there’s something more eternal at play. “‘Proud Mary’ seems like it’s been around since Christopher Columbus came from Europe and discovered a different culture,” Fogerty tells me. “I’m very surprised that I wrote it, because it sounds like it’s been here forever.”

“Proud Mary” has worn so well all these years. It was the first really good song I wrote, and it was a bit of a shock even for me. I had been fascinated with music as early as I can remember, probably before I could walk. Under my mother’s tutelage and mentoring, she gave me a little children’s record of two songs, “Oh! Susanna” and “Camptown Races.” At some point, she informed me that Stephen Foster was the songwriter. That was a bombshell event in my life, because I never concerned myself with the songwriter. I was aware from that moment on that Stephen Foster learned all kinds of tidbits about our country and wrote great songs like “Swanee River” and wasn’t from the South — he was from Pittsburgh. It was kind of like me in some ways. Also, he was America’s first professional songwriter, meaning he actually decided he was going to try and earn a living doing it. He was a beacon for me. As I went along, my references were full of Americana and the American South. It wasn’t by design; it was just something I was attracted to.

I received my honorable discharge from the Army. I discovered it sitting on the steps of my apartment in the summer of 1968. This was a fateful day in my life. I had a band and was trying to make a musical career, but the Army dictated how I could look, and I didn’t want to wear a wig to look like my friends. Getting an honorable discharge at the height of the Vietnam War was a blessing, as far as I was concerned. In this state of exhilaration and extreme happiness, I ran in the house and picked up my guitar, started strumming some chords, and the next thing you know, I had written “Proud Mary.” What this represents to me is simple: In the back burner of my brain was, You really got to do this now, John, or you’re going to be forced economically to get a job and do something else. You’re going to end up being an auto mechanic. I went to the place I felt the most comfortable and wrote about what I knew. Don’t try to write what you don’t know about, because you really get off track doing that. Even now that the edges are a little worn like a great flannel shirt, “Proud Mary” has been around a while, and everybody’s very familiar with it. It sounds just like some of the other songs that I really love, like “Old Rockin’ Chair” or “Over the Rainbow.”

I would say “Fortunate Son.” That’s misunderstood by a small percentage of people — people who seem to be conservative, right-wing, and probably Republican or some other “ism” in that category. And most notably by Mr. Trump. It’s happened before where people thought it was a patriotic ditty to wave the flag and all that, not really understanding the cynicism and absolute defiance I had in the song. I mean, even if you don’t hear the rest of it, you should at least hear, “It ain’t me, I ain’t no fortunate son.” But if you don’t, then I guess you’re able to see the song in a different way. How can I say this? I can’t imagine using that song as a political rallying theme, particularly when you seem to be the person who I’m screaming about in the song on all three counts. It’s hilarious to me. Maybe I’m the one that misunderstands it, who knows?

Another song I wrote about a certain time in my life was “Have You Ever Seen the Rain.” A lot of people aren’t aware of the backstory. This was, quite literally, a song about Creedence Clearwater Revival breaking up. I could see it dissolving right in front of my eyes. In a very short amount of time we, as a band, had gone from complete unknowns to the No. 1 band in the world. We had all this adulation and implied financial benefits, even though a lot of those implications didn’t come true — we were massively cheated. Still, we all felt like we were millionaires and on top of the world. Yet there was so much unhappiness in the band. The fellas were miserable. I was happy about what was coming to pass as far as my career, and I was vindicated about my guidance and what I was doing. I’ll take credit for it: We had finally figured out the puzzle of trying to make it in the music business, and we were having success after success after success.

But the other fellas were decidedly not happy and complaining. Much later in my life, I was told by people who know me well — such as my wife, Julie — “Well, they were jealous.” That never occurred to me in such a succinct way. I just didn’t know why they were unhappy. If I can be an armchair psychiatrist, they saw what I was doing and decided that they could also do that. They figured now was the time to do that without observing the amount of work and thought that also went into it. They wanted to get the same accolades and notoriety. I certainly was unwilling to let that happen, because I’d been with these folks for more than ten years, and I had never seen anyone come close to doing what I was doing with songwriting. There’s a certain awareness about that, certainly once my voice developed into the weapon it was in my band.

But right there at the end, the band called a big meeting, and I acquiesced. It was said to me very clearly: If we don’t get to do these things, we’re going to break up. I didn’t want that result, so I caved. All right, everybody can do all these things now. That’s fine, we’ll continue in that way. We had a big coming-out press party after this meeting, and the other fellas were exuberantly telling the world how they were going to write all these songs, sing them, and make up their own musical parts. We were starting to record Pendulum during that time, and that’s when I wrote “Have You Ever Seen the Rain.” Because I could see, as we were in the studio supposedly writing songs together, nobody had any more musical ideas than they’d had when we did our first album. Nothing was happening. So I had to go back to my old job, which was coming up with songs for that album. This song was basically using the metaphor of a clear, blue, sunny, wonderful, and warm day, and yet rain is falling out of the sky from somewhere and wrecking the whole thing. That’s exactly what was going on in my band.

“Suzie Q” nails it pretty well for my abilities. I was sailing with the equipment I had at hand, meaning the special amplifier and guitar. My style isn’t “technically challenging,” especially later having lived through the era of Eddie Van Halen, who is one of my idols, and the big-hair music of classical prog rock. People got much more complicated and fast. “Suzie Q” isn’t that, but as far as using emotion and the tones my equipment was able to produce, that was a good template for what I was able to do at the time. Many guitar players aren’t singers — or at least don’t sing professionally — so they put all of their heart into how they play guitar. I understand that, because I consider myself a guitar player first before a vocalist or songwriter. You go to another place, that’s all I can say. Sometimes the song would be over, and I felt like I had traveled across the room and woke up. A good solo should be able to grab your attention and take you on a journey. You don’t get tired or bored of it. And then when it’s over, you feel exhilarated.

I want to clear something up about the Grateful Dead. The whole event was getting later and later, so due to the accumulation of lateness, Creedence went on at two in the morning. I used to talk about that in a more gripe-y way, I suppose, but the Dead are an iconic and wonderful group of guys. I tended to want more discipline in my band and be more on cue, kind of like the young James Brown I saw as a kid. The Dead had a completely different calling, and they have zillions of fans that appreciate their way of being. What I remember most positively is we played our hearts out at Woodstock. A lot of things went wrong, but I kept that intensity up. At one point, I could only see just a few feet in front of the stage, because the lighting technology wasn’t very good in those days. I could see all these people muddy and asleep, which bothered me. They had been through a lot, and then they’d been through the Grateful Dead. So I would joke, “They put half a million people to sleep.” That’s probably a little harsh. So I apologize to them.

But anyway, that’s what I saw: These people were asleep. I went to the mic frustrated because here I am putting all my energy into it. I said something like, “We’re playing our hearts out here, we hope you enjoy what we’re doing.” And way out in the darkness, some guy was flicking his lighter and I heard him say, “Don’t worry about it, John. We’re with you.” I literally could hear this guy from the stage. It was so quiet. Even though all those people were there, they were asleep. So other than snoring, there wasn’t a murmur going along. My direction was focused again because of him. I was basically playing for the one awake person who was out there listening to me.

I wrote a song a few years ago called “Weeping in the Promised Land.” I wrote down the title in my little notebook I’ve kept since 1967. I must have written it more than 30 years ago. Early in the pandemic, I tried to record a version of “Weeping in the Promised Land” — it had a few biblical references, but the song was incomplete. Then the lockdown occurred for several more months. I was watching a lot of television, as we all did when we were stuck in our houses and unable to go anywhere. I was pretty scared. It was very unsettling to have this unknown thing. This was all new to me, and I didn’t know where it was going to end up. You fear for your loved ones. It was also a political situation where our government was askew, at least in my opinion, and had even less of a handle on it than I did. It didn’t look like it was going to turn out well.

As the days passed, those words came across the front of my eyes watching the politicians on my television. It hit me with a chill, because that’s the way I wrote it down in the book all those years ago. It sounded very sorrowful and forlorn. I was definitely in that mood, and it seemed like the whole country was, if not the whole world. So I set about trying to write that song. I agonized over it for months getting the words right. Finally, I recorded it at the end of 2020 and released it on … January 6, 2021. Yes, that famous January 6. I remember thinking, Wow, who’s going to notice my song with all this going on? I’ve seen other writers like Irving Berlin say, I’ve got this little song I wrote, and it just never hit the charts. I know what that means now, because I still feel it’s one of my best songs. I’m so proud of it. When I get to the pearly gates or whatever, and somebody asks me to describe myself in five song titles, this will be one of them.

She made a production out of it. She took the words literally and did an arrangement that was very dramatic — starting with the slower part, somewhat reminiscent of old Black spiritual music or field hollers. Then she goes uptown and gets really sassy, unstoppable, and undeniable. I first heard the cover when I was in my car. It was dark outside sometime in the winter. I was thrilled. It lit me up. I’d been a fan of Tina for a long time. I actually had performed some of the earlier Ike and Tina Turner songs, particularly “It’s Gonna Work Out Fine.” I had seen her on Dick Clark’s American Bandstand and was really pulling for her to break through. So it all came together listening to her singing “Proud Mary.” I was so happy about it. It just seemed like a brand-new song. Through the years, it’s kind of perceived that way. Other people have tried to cover the song, but Tina’s version has a different perspective, and people think of it separately from my version.

This is a tough one to answer because of my history and nonexistent communication with Fantasy Records. For example, I once went to see Twilight Zone: The Movie with my family and little kids. We were sitting there ready to watch this film, and suddenly the opening chords to Creedence’s “Midnight Special” came on. I had two emotions at once. Number one, that was my patented sound. It was the sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up when I first plugged in a tuned-down Les Paul guitar in a store to see if I should buy one. I looked at the salesman and said, “I’ll take it.” Number two was, of course, I didn’t know anything about this. Fantasy Records was using my music, not telling me, and not paying me anywhere near what would’ve been fair.

So it was a jumble of emotions sitting there in the dark and watching the scene go on. Right after that, I hear Dan Aykroyd say something like, “You want to see something really scary?” Then he turns all the lights off. I was scared. I’ll always remember that needle drop. That was one of the very harsh realities that has now come to pass. I own the songs, or at least the majority stake in my own songs globally.

I do love a good flannel. It’s my favorite color. Sentimental wise, there’s a picture of me back when I was a kid with my G200 guitar. I’m in a studio and wearing a blue flannel shirt that was one of many back in the day. My wife, Julie, at some point decided to reproduce these shirts and actually offer them for sale. The first shirt she produced was a reproduction of the one I’m wearing in that photograph. That one still sticks out to me with a lot of warm and fuzzy emotions. Funny enough, about ten years ago, I remember having this brief thought of, I should come up with a look. Maybe I’ll wear Timberland cowboy boots and faded blue jeans. I was being really stupid, because after a couple of days the mirror turned around and went, John, you’ve been wearing a flannel shirt for over 50 years, that’s your look, you dummy. Isn’t that a weird conversation to have with yourself? I guess I was trying to figure out how to be unique, or remarkable, or noticed in some weird way. And I had already done that a long time ago. It was just my own farmer-boy habit. It’s who I am and I’m proud of it.