John Fogerty, Revival
"You can't go wrong if you play a little bit of that Creedence song."
In some ways, John Fogerty reminds me of John Lennon, just not nearly as complicated. His political and social ideals come out of the youth culture of the '60s. He's had a life-long love affair with American blues, country, rockabilly and early r&b. He seems to harbor an internal war between his powerfully irascible side and a yearning for a peaceful, idyllic existence. And like Lennon, Fogerty fervently believes that rock & roll can provide the cathartic solace for what ails him — and us. As simple as its music and words are, Revival manages to contain all of that.
Right away, Fogerty even offers his own folksy-rootsy "Imagine" — the swingy rockabilly sing-along "Don't You Wish It Was True," a utopian fantasy in which everybody is "happy to live as one/ no borders or battles to be won." But then it's straight into the flipside of that sentiment, the heartland rocker "Gunslinger," an extended metaphor about "this town" where violence, fear, injustice and hopelessness abound. (Sound familiar?)
The contradictions keep abounding. A lovely gospel-hued ballad, "River Is Waiting" is Fogerty's "People Get Ready"; it's one of the best things on the album, a moving statement of hope and transcendence. But then there's a high-velocity bile-blast like the 99-second "I Can't Take It No More" — a no-holds-barred Bush-bash. "Long Dark Night" is just as hostile — "Georgie's in the jungle/ Knocking on the door/ Come to get your children/ Wants to have a war," Fogerty howls over a swaggering shuffle, before singling out Katrina bungler Michael "Heckuva Job" Brown, Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld. Both songs are literal, unselfconscious tantrums, almost startling coming from a man who once so eloquently aired his outrage by showing, not telling (as in "Fortunate Son" and "Bad Moon Rising").
Some have deemed Revival a return to Creedence form for Fogerty, but lest we forget, this is the guy who was sued for sounding like himself 22 years ago and with the exception of the misbegotten comeback-killer Eye of the Zombie (1986), has rarely strayed from his trademark sound ever since. Actually, this tree trunk of American classic rock now looks to both his roots and his branches: The bimbo-bashing "It Ain't Right" has Sun Records shining all over it and "I Can't Take It No More" owes rent to Little Richard, but "Gunslinger" makes a case for Fogerty's immense role in not only John Cougar Mellencamp's sound but his social politics as well, while "Longshot" comes off like a rootsy AC/DC; there's a Tom Petty vibe throughout the album.
The real Creedence connection lies in Fogerty's breakthrough acknowledgement that the band even existed, beginning with the album title. Then there's "Creedence Song"; it could have detailed some long-view insights into Fogerty's legendary band, but given his longstanding antipathy toward his former bandmates, that's probably never going to happen. Instead, it's an act of self-congratulation: "You can't go wrong if you play a little bit of that Creedence song," a truck-stop waitress advises. (Hey, it ain't braggin 'if it's true.) Fogerty takes his own character's advice, sprinkling soundalikes and fleeting quotations of CCR tunes throughout the album — listen for a quick flash of "Green River" here, a glance at "Proud Mary" there, a reference to you-know-who as a "fortunate son" over there.
The other Creedencey aspect of the album is that it sounds like they recorded live in the studio, a nice change from albums like 1985's Centerfield, whose processed Americana came off more refined than a box of shredded wheat. But Fogerty's notorious perfectionism foils the approach — former John Mellencamp drummer Kenny Aronoff plays with his usual inhuman precision, giving this rustic music an incongruously bionic pulse, far from the forthright, organic groove that let Creedence choogle its way into so many hearts and souls.
But Fogerty has still got that voice, a limited but distinctive instrument seemingly born to sing rock & roll, and that sound, a sturdy twang that effortlessly taps into the wellsprings of 20th century rural American musical culture, still a powerful signifier and part of our collective musical consciousness. Revival might be rife with contradictions, faults and weaknesses, but that just makes it more human. And no matter what, it's got that Fogerty sound. The guy's face ought to be etched on some kind of rock & roll Mt. Rushmore.
