A compilation album that works just as thoroughly as a collection of random, previously released songs from any proper album previously released, Creedence Country finds John and Tom Fogerty, Stu Cook, and Doug Clifford in top-notch form as they kiss the southern sun of classic, southern-rock-n-roll. If you’re in the mood for a new Creedence album of songs you already know and love, consider Creedence Country. I have, and my recent commutes to work in LA traffic couldn’t be more enjoyable.
Tag Archives: John Fogerty
John Fogerty at 8,300 Feet
Listening to The Blue Ridge Rangers while driving up Blue Ridge Road in the back hills of the Angeles National Forest was something that actually happened, and it actually happened just the other day, actually. Partially because I eat, drink and sleep all things Fogerty, and partially because quirky little drives up boulder-littered, non-Saturn Ion friendly dirt paths call for quaint little parings of both “road” and “band.” For you see, Blue Ridge Road was little more than a protruding stone & fog-like dirt clearing on the side of a mountain, and The Blue Ridge Rangers were NOTHING more than just John Fogerty, as everything heard on this, his solo debut, was performed solely by this creative zealot.
If and when you find yourself wearing a mask of panic while driving at 10 mph up a jagged rock trail on the side of a mountain named Blue Ridge Road for what seems like an eternity, stick with the down-home groove-cookin’ backwoods ramblings of The Blue Ridge Rangers. Your incessant fears of blowing a tire, or cracking your oil pan will blow away like the howling wind found only at 8,300 feet.
Payin’ inna travelin’ bain
Creedence Clearwater Revival is known for their astonishing hooks, John Fogerty’s surmountable voice, and the focus of today’s post, their definitive, coherent lyrics. I present to you, in their entirety, the lyrics to CCR’s 1970 masterpiece, Travelin’ Band, or as I like to call it, Travelin’ Bain.
737 commin’ outta’ da sky
Oh’won’tcha take muh down’ta Memphis onna mid-night right-ah
I wown-moo
Hayin’ inna travelin’ bain, yeah
But I’m flyin’ ‘cause I lead, try to get a hair
Bayin’ inna travelin’ bain
Tag me to tha hotel
Baggage gone, oh well
Come own, come own, won’tcha get me to my roo
I wown-moo
Bayin’ inna travelin’ bain, yeah
Well I’m flyin’ ‘cause I lead, try to get a hair
Bayin’ inna travelin’ bain
Lizard to the radio
Tom and Bob the last show
Summon got excited had to call state Melissa
I wown-moo
Hayin’ inna travelin’ bain, yeah
But I’m flyin’ ‘cause I lead, try to get a hair
Bayin’ inna travelin’ bain, oh-wow
Hair we come a gain onna’ Saturday night
Oh well yo fussin’ and yo fightin’
Won’t you get meh to the rye
I wown-moo
Payin’ inna travelin’ bain, yeah
Well I’m flyin’ ‘cause I lead, try to get a hair
Bayin’ inna travelin’ bain, oh-wow
Oil payin’ inna travelin’ bain
Payin’ inna travelin’ bain
Wanda get me tell my hair
But I’m payin’ inna travelin’ bain
And I’m fine ‘cause I laugh, try to get a hair
Payin’ inna travelin’ bain, oh-wow
1970: Long As I Can See the Light/Lookin’ Out My Back Door
For the next 30 posts, or until I get bored, the post number will correspond with the year in which the post’s subject was released. It could be an album review, a song highlight, or an insert advert. The choices are by no means the best of any given year, nor are they my favorite. They are instead a representation of the digable grooves in my collection, broken down by year. With me? Ok, cool.
For 1970 (post #70), I’ve chosen CCR’s (Creedence Clearwater Revival) Long As I Can See the Light/Lookin’ Out My Back Door 45. CCR had some driving, Southern Rock-inspired jams in their heyday, and Long As I Can See the Light is NOT one of them. This is not to say it is inferior in any way. On the contrary. With its simple lyrics and low-key, slow-rollin’ drawl, Long As I Can See the Light reminds us that we can always go back to where we came from, so long as the offer is still extended. We all, at one point or another, feel the need to move on… to explore the vast unknown of uncertainty. But we’d like not to dismiss the comfort of returning home, when it becomes undeniably necessary.
I can’t hear Lookin’ Out My Back Door and not picture the Dude smokin’ a jay and banging the roof of his car to Doug Clifford’s beat. It was used perfectly in The Big Lebowski, but given the song’s brilliance, I’d imagine this song would fit perfectly in any film that featured it.
My favorite line is, without question, “A dinosaur Victrola listening to Buck Owens.” In a song bursting with visual abnormalities (“A statue wearing high heals” or “Tambourines and elephants are playing in the band” for example), the image of an old Victrola shouting Buck Owens ditties always makes me chuckle. It’s easy to picture John Fogerty mentally returning to a happy place during the drug-induced hallucination he sings about in this song, and it’s generous of him to take us along on that ride.
I could have easily focused on Zeppelin III, Lola Versus Powerman and the Moneygoround – Part One, Dylan’s Self Portrait, McCartney’s solo debut, Joni Mitchell’s Ladies of the Canyon, or even Bitches Brew, but for me, 1970 screams Creedence Clearwater Revival.
The Prudent Groove 