August 2nd – If you want a reason not to leave
family and friends’ ‘issues’ unresolved until it’s too late, then I can offer
no more salutary lesson than that of Creedence Clearwater Revival (CCR).
On this day in 1971 they embarked on their last ever tour as the band known as CCR. A rock band of some relevance
in the 60’s and 70’s, they made a virtue of their down-home credentials and, it
has to be said, as far as their recorded output and stage persona goes,
remained largely true to their working class roots and background (although it
has to be said also that their song-writing nous and musical abilities were the
product of four well-educated, degree-holding young men, but that’s probably
nit-picking). John and Tom Fogarty were brothers and as is often the case with
any joint sibling involvement in any enterprise, their relationship was somewhat
fiery. It is fair to say, in his defence and not to discriminate, that John was
also at odds from early on with the other two band members, Doug Clifford and
Stu Cook; this doesn’t in any way seek to explain John’s modus operandi, it’s
just there as a reference point to what follows.
As fame and fortune rained onto them CCR, in common with
many, many, many other bands of the time, embarked on an endless round of
tours, recordings and public appearances that left them exhausted and drained. I’ve covered this before, this I’m exhausted doing just what it is I’ve
always wanted to do whilst having everything else in my life catered for by
others hogwash that pop-rock-music and film/theatre stars come out with
every time something goes wrong in their over-privileged, over-indulged over-paid
lives but let’s sort summat out right now; OK? It’s the incessant partying,
overindulgence and inability to manage your own lifestyle that’s the problem,
not the workload. Apart from the time spent in the recording studio and the
time writing the new material – which is supposed to be fun; remember fun? It’s
what you had when you and the guys first got together? If it isn’t fun then
stop doing it…don’t punish yourself, you poor, wee lamb – and apart from the
hour and a bit you spend on stage each night under the adoring gaze of your
fans where you get the chance to live out your fantasy and do what you dreamt
of doing all that time ago, apart from that, that’s your working day done. You
wanna stop feeling exhausted?
LEARN HOW TO SAY
‘NO’:
GO TO BED EARLY, ON
YOUR OWN:
CUT OUT THE BOOZE:
CUT OUT THE DRUGS:
TAKE RESPONSIBILITY
FOR YOURSELF:
Easy stuff, really, things that most folk in lesser careers
do automatically as part of what’s called living
a life; y’know? So cut the sob-story, realise just what it is that you have
an opportunity to do and enjoy the fucker… Sorry, got lost there a bit, but it
needed to be written, wouldn’t be denied…sorry. Right CCR.
With their fame and fortune seemingly made, it seemed the
cracks in the façade of these band-mates first began to appear but in fact
they’d always been there. In-fighting between brothers John and Tom surfaced to
such an extent that Tom left the band; he’d done so on many occasions before
but had always been talked back, this time it was for good. He would never perform
with John again; never. John, it seems, had always been something of a control
freak, believing that his autocratic approach to the band’s music and
management was the secret of its success and he would brook no democratic
opposition, conversation, compromise, suggestion or alteration to this;
especially not from his brother. The upshot of this is that their final album, Mardi Gras flopped, mainly because John
insisted that he and the two other remaining members should cut Tom out the
equation write and record their own songs…that’s as in complete songs written
without any other involvement from other band members…but more than that, and
here’s novel, not perform on each other’s material either. This meant the album
felt and indeed was, disjointed in its formation and compilation, so much so
that Jon Landau of Rolling Stone’
magazine wrote:
The worst album I’ve
ever heard from a major rock band.
So, fence-sitting aside, Mr. Landau, what did you really think?
Brother John’s understanding of just what a band should be
was no better illustrated when it was discovered he’d signed away all the
band’s publishing rights and monies accrued from recordings back to the
recording company and to a bank in Nassau respectively. That meant the
recording company made a mint on CCR’s work (licensing the music for ads,
films, anything they could make money on) and the band got nowt. Bad enough for
you? Read on. After the bank went bust, anything the band had managed to earn was
lost; common story in this business? Yup, but the thing was, you see, none of
the other band members knew anything about it until the poo hit the propeller. As
you can imagine, law suits and rows were an on-going running sore.
That’s what you get when a dictatorship with little business
nous and an ego complex takes control…you get fuck-all and fucked-over, that’s
what you get. So now we have a band that’s sold millions of singles and albums,
toured incessantly for eight years, was broke and was now all but in tatters as
far as family and friendships go; can it get any worse? You betcha.
After leaving the band, Tom did some solo work and then went
into hospital for a routine back operation; he contracted an AIDS related
illness through a faulty blood transfusion and died leaving him and his brother
un-reconciled; can it get any worse? You betcha.
CCR had not performed together in any form for several years,
Mr. Fogarty having such a dislike of the remaining members so even cursory
contact, never mind a gig together, was out of the question…until, with money
matters as they were, they got the call; can it get any worse? You betcha.
When you’re inducted into the Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame it
means and meant the nominees are expected to perform…together. Having had no
contact for years mainly because they hated each other, John Fogarty and the
two remaining members arrived for their induction; can it get any worse? You
betcha.
Tom’s widow, hearing of the honour being bestowed on her
late-husband’s band and expecting a CCR reunion gig, turned up at the
celebration; can it get any worse? You betcha.
Tom refused to perform with the two remaining members, barred
them from the stage and did the gig, poorly, with an all-star line-up
(including, I believe, The Boss; can
it get any worse? You betcha.
Tom’s widow had brought along the urn containing her
late-husband’s ashes for the reunion…; can it get any worse? Not really.
The crowning moment in all this is that during his solo
career, John claimed his poor performance was due to his having to consistently
testify in court about band concerns brought about by…well…
So if you take nothing else from this, make that call, send
that E-mail, write that letter: don’t leave it ‘cos as I mentioned the other
day, all this preciousness and unpleasantness we put ourselves through when we
think we’ve been offended or unintentionally brushed off; when we think we’re
not getting the due consideration we think we deserve from those around us, when
we take umbrage because of some perceived slight, instead of going off into a
hissy-fit or a major sulk, TALK AND
LISTEN AND BE PREPARED TO COMPROMISE.
In the end those misunderstandings and silliness won’t add up
to a hiccup in your progress from cot to grave, and life’s too short to stuff a
mushroom.
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