For those of us who grew up loving the music of Creedence Clearwater Revival, each note of each song, each drawled lyric, bent note, or chugging guitar is imprinted in our databanks, a cherished memory in three-minute chunks. Now, Creedence lead singer and songwriter John Fogerty has recreated 20 of the band’s songs on Legacy: The Creedence Clearwater Revival Years. Inspired in part by winning a 50-year legal battle for the rights to his songs (although he still did not own the master recordings), Fogerty decided to recreate the songs note for note. Revenge rock? Maybe, but even die-hard fans will be pleased and perhaps even a bit amazed at the “new” songs.
The first bit of amazement is Fogerty’s distinctive voice. Powerfully soulful and emotionally expressive, Fogerty’s voice on Legacy is very much the equal of his own younger self. On these remakes, Fogerty tapped his sons and other musicians to reproduce that early magic. Fans could play a parlor game, carefully listening to each beloved cut and looking for the occasional deviation from the original – and they are few and far between. A drawled word rendered newly understandable, a riff subtly redone, but generally they sound like the originals, from beginning to end.
Part of John Fogerty’s and Creedence’s magic was that they created a unique sound: a “swamp rock” that dripped of some steamy, mythical American backwater. However, the flannel-shirt-clad Fogerty was not “Born on the Bayou”, as the song suggests, but a working-class kid in California’s Bay Area suburbs. Some of the atmosphere was gleaned from his time in the Army based in the American South. Regardless, Fogerty’s songs created a palpable locale like William Faulkner’s Yoknapatawpha County.
The album opens with the piercing siren guitar notes of “Up Around the Bend”, a rock ‘n’ roll back-to-nature song, with Fogerty urging listeners to “leave the sinking ship behind” and go to some metaphorical better place where the “neon turns to wood”. Although a hard-riding, straight-ahead rocker, the song embodies the essence of the 1960s counterculture, which sought to reject modern, industrialized life in favor of the natural world.
The only Creedence song that is more well-known as a cover than the original is “Proud Mary”. While Tina Turner‘s version transformed it into an ecstatic showcase for her and her dancers, the original version has a more laid-back swing that allows the story to take center stage. The narrator recounts his experiences in low-paying jobs and his travels through the South. Like all Creedence songs, Fogerty’s world-weary voice and picaresque lyrics create a poignant tale of the lives of everyday people, made heroic in their relatable struggles and dreaming.
The back-porch vibe of “Lookin’ Out My Back Door”, gets a country twang with the addition of a dobro, but the verses are as fanciful as “Alice in Wonderland”. Fogerty sings “tamborines and elephants are playing in the band” and “there’s a giant doing cartwheels”, making it seem as if the silly song is a recreation of a happy LSD trip, his countryfied version of the “Yellow Submarine”.
In “Born on the Bayou”, John Fogerty’s growling drawl and grungy guitar chords splash the canvas of the song with dark expressionistic strokes that are both spooky and inviting: “I could still hear my old hound dog barking, chasing down a hoodoo there.” The song’s miasmic funk is laced with references to the strange and supernatural, making it an almost cinematic exotica for listeners.
The next cut, “Run through the Jungle”, doubles down on the swampy, Southern Gothic mysticism with a few psychedelic accents thrown in for good measure. “The Devil’s on the loose,” Fogerty warns. “I thought I heard a rumbling calling my name.” Fogerty’s harmonica duets with his own gravelly vocals, conjuring a palpable sense of menace. In “Someday Never Comes”, Fogerty breaks through the spooky mist with a clear and poignant tale of fathers and sons. Interspersed between the touching verses comes a rocked-up warning: “someday never comes,” a doleful nod to the inevitable disappointments in the lives of men.
“Porterville” is one of the lesser-known songs in this collection. The song was recorded when the band were still called the Golliwogs and written while Fogerty was serving in the Army. He has said it was a turning point in his songwriting: it was the first where he began to tell stories, instead of penning simple love songs.
“Lodi” is one of the best examples of Fogerty’s storytelling, featuring a narrator who arrives in the town of Lodi (Fogerty has said he simply thought the name was cool) by Greyhound bus. The narrator sings, “looks like my plan fell through”; he’s a performer who never makes it despite showing early promise. Fogerty has stated in recent interviews that he believes his new vocals more effectively convey the narrator’s tragic trajectory.
One of Creedence’s quintessential songs, “Down on the Corner”, tells the story of four kids, Willie and the Poorboys, down by the courthouse, “trying to bring you up”. The track’s instrumentation, as simple as it is, evokes the even simpler instrumentation of the band’s “happy noise,” which includes washboard bass, kazoo, and harmonica. In Fogerty’s idyllic American small town, he welcomes visitors and invites them to “bring a nickel, tap your feet”.
“Bad Moon Rising” conjures supernatural catastrophe but reads as a cautionary tale during the tumultuous 1960s and the US involvement in the Vietnam War. Fogerty was drafted, but a local Army recruiter pre-dated an application for service on his behalf and was able to divert him to Stateside – and relatively safe – service.
“Traveling Band” is another signature tune of this seminal rock ‘n’ roll band. Celebrating the joys of a kickass group, the song features brass—unusual for Creedence—but also showcases Fogarty’s brassy rock ‘n’ roll voice, channeling Little Richard. The band’s most frenetic song tells the story of a concert that got so wild that “someone had to call the state militia”. Running through this mythical landscape is “Green River”, a simple, joyous paean to the natural world with “barefoot girls dancing in the moonlight” and “bullfrogs calling me”. Another chapter of the era’s back-to-nature movement, this easy-going song ends with the reminder: “If you get lost, come on home to Green River.”
The last of the 20 songs is the garage band vibe of “Fortunate Son”, Fogerty’s defiant anthem to the everyman. Verse after verse sketches unflattering portraits of the sons of millionaires, senators, and generals. With its barbed, accusatory chorus of “It ain’t me, I ain’t no fortunate one,” the protest song is a fitting coda to the collection, a rocking reminder that the music was born in an era of counterculture revolution, rejecting the destructive forces that led to a senseless and tragic war in Vietnam.
Taking a cue from Taylor Swift of all people, Fogerty has finally asserted his ownership of his remarkable and popular songwriting from corporate predators. Legacy is a welcome look back at a band that held a significant place in the 1960s—producing omnipresent, radio-friendly hits that were redolent of the counterculture movement, yet also stood apart in their craft and singular vision. Good for John Fogerty that he gets to reclaim his work. Here’s hoping that these are the versions that get played from here on out. Give the genius his due.