Fogerty’s soul belongs to the South
John Fogerty is famous for being born on the bayou.
Except, of course, he wasn’t born anywhere near a bayou. Fogerty was born in Berkeley, Calif., a long way from Bayou Teche, both geographically and culturally.
Yet sometimes an outsider can appreciate a region better than a native can. Fogerty has made a career out of being more Southern-swampy than most people born on the banks of the Atchafalaya.
Fogerty, who arrives at Riverfront Park tonight for an outdoor concert on the banks of the muddy Spokane, has given America a vivid portrait of life in the rural South through these kinds of lyrical images:
• “I can hear the bullfrog calling me / Wonder if my rope’s still hangin’ to the tree / Love to kick my feet way down the shallow water / Shoo-fly, dragonfly, get back to mother / Pick up a flat rock, skip it across Green River.” (“Green River,” a 1969 Creedence Clearwater Revival hit).
• “I can remember the Fourth of July / Running through the backwood bare / And I can still hear my old hound dog barking / Chasin’ down a hoodoo there.” (“Born on the Bayou,” a 1969 CCR hit).
• “Way out here in the cotton / Sun beatin’ down so hard / Sweat rollin’ off of this shovel / Diggin’ in the devil’s boneyard / Sure like a cool drink of water / Soft rag to soothe my face / Sure like a woman to talk to in this place.” (“A Hundred and Ten in the Shade,” from the 1997 John Fogerty CD “Blue Moon Swamp”).
Pretty good down-home country poetry, for a Berkeley boy.
The Bay Area is where Fogerty emerged as the lead singer and guitarist of Creedence Clearwater Revival, which Rolling Stone calls “the preeminent American singles band of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s.” It was there that CCR recorded “Bayou Country,” with its smash double-sided single, “Born on the Bayou” and “Proud Mary.”
The band became the most popular band in America (by sales of singles, at least), yet they didn’t do it by catering to fashion. In fact, they did it by going the opposite direction. While other late ‘60s bands were going “progressive” with long, rambling instrumental jams, Fogerty and CCR turned toward stripped-down roots music with what one reviewer called a “tight rhythmic pocket.”
Yet Fogerty wasn’t averse to filling songs with biting social commentary either. One of his hit songs, “Fortunate Son,” at the height of the Vietnam War, expressed the widespread feeling that lower-class kids were cannon fodder while privileged kids were exempt:
• “Some folks are born, made to wave the flag / Ooh, they’re red, white and blue / And when the band plays ‘Hail to the Chief’ / Ooh, they point the cannon at you, Lord / It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no senator’s son / It ain’t me, it ain’t me / I ain’t no fortunate one.”
The band slowly began to fall apart in the ‘70s, partly because of tensions between Fogerty and his brother Tom, who was also in the band.
Fogerty went on to have a successful, if sporadic solo career, with songs such as “The Old Man Down the Road,” “Rock and Roll Girls” and that ubiquitous baseball-park anthem, “Centerfield.”
However, because of an acrimonious royalties dispute, he refused for years to perform CCR songs live. He finally relented after somebody pointed out that an entire generation was under the impression that “Proud Mary” was a Tina Turner song (she performs a high-energy cover version).
He and the other members of CCR were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1993, and he seems to have made peace with his past. He now performs plenty of his old hits in concert, as well as some surprisingly raw and urgent newer music.
His 1997 CD, “Blue Moon Swamp,” hearkened back to his Creedence songs, with its preoccupation with Southern imagery. It’s full of references to “big ol’ gators,” “hucklebums on cane-pole time” and “workin’ all week in the big boss yard.”
Fogerty is putting finishing touches on a new album that is scheduled for release this fall. There’s no word on whether it’ll be about cane fields or Mississippi delta bottomland. But it probably won’t be about Berkeley.