These days, rock artists out of the public eye for more than a few years are often written off. Consider the plight of John Fogerty, who after writing some of the greatest songs of the late ’60s and early ’70s with Creedence Clearwater Revival, all but disappeared for 20 years, except for a brief flurry of activity in the mid-’80s. Through that time, Fogerty never played his old Creedence hits in concert because of ongoing legal disputes with his former record label. By his own admission he had turned into a bitter man, his rage at past injustices all but squashing his ability and desire to write songs or to play rock ‘n’ roll.
But last year, Fogerty put out a new album of songs,”Blue Moon Swamp,” and followed it with a triumphant tour in which he finally rolled out the CCR hits. A new live release, “Premonition” (Reprise), affirms that Fogerty has not only reconciled with his troubled past but also reclaimed it with a vengeance.
Fogerty plays the New World Music Theatre on July 26 (rescheduled from Friday so as not to conflict with the Bulls playoff game), and he chatted with Play On just before hitting the road.
After 20 years of not performing a great song like “Proud Mary,” how do you reclaim it from wedding-band hell?
People tell me it’s like “Kumbaya” — it’s hard to believe it was actually written by a person. You . . . think it was always there, like the rivers flowing and the wind blowing. The only way to reclaim it is to do it as passionately as I can. Otherwise it becomes like that song (sings) “Feelings, ooohhh, feelings.” I’m afraid “Proud Mary” sung badly by some guy’s daughter at a wedding could consign it to the same burial ground. I guess the redeeming factor is that I never thought of it that way.
At Farm Aid last year, the great moment was you playing “Fortunate Son” to 30,000 people shouting back every word. It was originally a Vietnam-era protest song, but somehow it connected with the farmers fighting corporate takeovers.
The song was addressing the fact that countries make war because priviliged people at the top of society decide to declare it, but they don’t fight it — it’s always the people way down the ladder who do the fighting. At the height of the Vietnam War, I grew up one of the people at the bottom of the ladder and I was susceptible to being sent to fight the war that people like Richard Nixon were waging. But there is a more universal application. At any point in history you can cry out, “I ain’t no fortunate one” — which is how the song seemed to fit in that context last year.
Now that you’re writing songs again, do you find yourself thinking, “OK, this song is fine, but is it really as good as `Green River’?”
In the years when I was really not on, it was a terrible cross to bear trying to be John Fogerty, because I didn’t know how to do it. But I will say it is expected of me by everyone else and myself. When I finished “A Hundred And Ten in the Shade”(on “Blue Moon Swamp”), I felt the same way . . . I did about “Proud Mary.” As opposed to some of the songs on my first solo album (in the early ’70s) — there are some songs on there that clearly do not live up to my standard and I kind of knew it at the time, although I was in denial (laughs).
You were cranking out three quality albums in a year with Creedence. Is it tougher to write songs now?
It wasn’t easy back then. I was working from 8 in the evening till 4 in the morning simply on songwriting, nothing else. I had no other life. Obviously, to write a song like “Looking Out My Back Door” I had to write 10 songs that were trash. My ratio is at least 10 bad ones to one good one, and it still is. I’m capable of amazing garbage, which you can never let out. Maybe the hardest thing you can learn as a songwriter is realizing the song you just spent 10 hours trying to write is no good and throwing it out.
You wrote at least 50 great rock ‘n’ roll songs. Yet you’re rarely mentioned in the same breath with other ’60s icons like the Beatles or the Stones. Do you feel you’ve been unjustly overlooked?
I thought about that quite a bit while I was disappeared. In a way it was kind of a tragedy in my own life. I could never take advantage of the benefits of acknowledging what I had done, what I had created. . . . Since Creedence disbanded so quickly after achieving success, we weren’t very visible. We weren’t in movies or TV. You didn’t see our caricatures around much, because it didn’t last as long as some bands like the Beatles, the Stones, The Who. And since I went away so completely, there was no one to remind you there was a human being behind the music. So Creedence songs on the radio had this mysterious pathos. Like Eddie and the Cruisers in the movie — it was just a sound on the radio. I hope at this point in time that I get to resurrect at least my own cartoon.
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To hear audio excerpts online from Greg Kot’s interview with John Fogerty, go to chicago.tribune.com/go/fogerty
