John Fogerty, My Kind of Guy

They were handing out earplugs at the studio door.

"No thanks," I said. "I like it loud."

I got a look. And a pair of plugs. Two more steps, and I was in a 40' by 40' recording studio. There were only two rows of seats. The band would be in our faces.

And still I had the plugs in my pocket --- I didn't get it.

What I got: 50 people had been invited to hear John Fogerty give a mini-concert to promote the launch of Revival. And I was one of them. In the front row, no less.

Lucky, lucky me -- that's what I got.

The band came out. Fogerty. Three guitars. A drummer.

The drummer should have the tipoff. Shaved head. Sleeveless t-shirt. Black leather vest. Such a man does not wish you well.

As for John Fogerty, he's not exactly anyone's idea of a 62-year-old grandfather. He has a bantam's trimness, and the way he carries himself says he has a pretty good idea of his contribution to rock and roll. And there are still remnants of a chip on his shoulder. In short, my kind of guy.

From the first chord, the band sounded like Creedence Clearwater Revival. Slow thinker that I am, it took me a while that this band is Creedence -- as if the band had gone to sleep 35 years ago and only recently woke up to find itself blessed with a bunch of new Fogerty tunes and a heightened sense of musicianship.

As for the songs, Fogerty is a one-trick pony. But what a trick! So what if every new song reminds you of another Fogerty song -- in his Creedence incarnation, Fogerty only wrote classics! The ingredients: a few basic chords, bandsaw guitar, super-starched drums, a wall of guitars, the most easily identifiable voice in popular music, and those unforgettable hooks. Mostly, those hooks. "If the lick is cool, the song will follow," Fogerty says. And, really, isn't that all you need to know?

Fogerty built this concert as he constructed the CD; he started with slow songs. There were some political lyrics -- "Rummy's in the kitchen/ Messin' with the pans/ Dickie's in the back/ Stealing' everything he can" -- but the music is so strong and upbeat even Rumsfeld and Cheney might not notice.

And then the onslaught began.

Close your eyes, and you can picture Fogerty's guitar literally screaming. And his voice -- that's not singing. Howling, maybe. Shouting, for sure. They may file this music under swamp rock, but in the history books, they'll connect the dots and link John Fogerty to great soul masters like Otis Redding and the king of rhythm and blues, Little Richard.

Louder. Faster. It was like some maniac was pressing a heavy foot on the accelerator, just to see how fast this baby could go. Violent, angry lyrics appeared -- "I bet you never saw the ol' school yard/ I bet you never saw the National Guard/ Your daddy wrote a check and there you are/ Another fortunate son" -- and disappeared in a trim 110 seconds. To one side, a sadistic bass player, screwing with your heartbeat. On the other, soaring guitars. And, in back, that killer drummer, forcing you to tap your foot, or else.

This wasn't music. This was arson.

How could it end? Two ways. With Little Richard's "Good Golly, Miss Molly," delivered so crisply a punk band would marvel. And the national anthem -- I mean: "Proud Mary."

I left in a blissed-out state of temporary deafness. And, in that silence, I realized why I hadn't quite appreciated "Revival" when I listened to it the week before the concert -- I hadn't cranked it loud enough.

Consider yourself warned: If you get "Revival," invite your friends. Haul in a keg. Roll up the rug. Push the volume. And hope you get through all of "Revival" before the cops show up.

Here's John Fogerty on Letterman.

[Cross-posted from HeadButler.com]