Joe Rogan Experience #2485 - John Fogerty
In a Nutshell
John Fogerty recounts his Creedence Clearwater Revival triumphs, including hits like **Fortunate Son** and **Proud Mary**, born from Vietnam-era anger and raw creativity, alongside brutal music industry exploitation by Fantasy Records' Saul Zaentz—offshore tax scams wiping out savings, lawsuits claiming his own sound, and band betrayals fueling decades of bitterness and alcohol abuse. He shares songwriting epiphanies (muse as radio signal, joyful "corniness" in **Centerfield**), early influences like Elvis and Stephen Foster, and personal redemption through wife Julie, faith in the Golden Rule, and now thriving on tour with his kids. Key takeaway: authentic creativity trumps business hyenas; persistence honors the muse, protecting artists' rights to their style while living kindly yields karma over greed.
These notes were generated by AI and may contain inaccuracies.
Joe Rogan welcomes John Fogerty, offers water and coffee.
Joe mentions reading that John got out of the army by smoking weed and not eating. John clarifies: in 1967-68, he lost weight to 129 pounds on a starvation protest diet. Before a pre-induction physical with an army doctor, friends gave him joints; he smoked them in a cigarette while crossing the Bay Bridge. Essentially some truth to the story.
Joe praises John's career as one of the main voices of rock and roll in America with gigantic hits. Fortunate Son and Bad Moon Rising are popular UFC walkout songs. John signed his first record contract around age 19, unenforceable as he was under 21.
John was one of the first rock artists writing popular songs about getting screwed by the record business, e.g., Zance Can't Dance (changed to Vance Can't Dance). Sold half a million as Zance; Warner Brothers made him change it to settle with the person named Zance.
John got sued for sounding like himself on The Old Man Down the Road from his comeback album Centerfield after leaving Fantasy Records owned by Saul Zaentz. Bass player Stu (from CCR) told Zaentz John was ripping off CCR, prompting the suit for $144 million. John taught Stu every note he played in CCR; John invented the arrangements. Trial lasted years, cost enormous money; John prevailed. It's a blessing he won, protecting artists' right to their style.
Owning an artist's style would force reinvention, insane for artists like Dylan or Springsteen. Many artists sound like others without issue if not copying notes/lyrics. Zaentz wanted to own John's new music and him. Major ruling for all artists.
Lawsuits publicized how evil the music business is: owning catalogs, publishing, name, likeness. Fans unaware, just loved the music.
Elvis's manager Colonel Tom Parker was evil. Prince changed name to a symbol because he didn't own his name.
Business collects majority money without creating music. Creative people are special and rare; owning/dousing that is onerous.
John abused alcohol due to bitterness from lawsuits/betrayals, felt no way out, would be dead without wife Julie. Felt pathetic, hurting inside, not enjoying life. Bitterness became self-fulfilling prophecy.
Triggered by band betrayals and multiple lawsuits. Brother Tom called Saul Zaentz his best friend during the time. Other band members cowardly, just took money.
CCR lost life savings via Fantasy Records' Castle Bank in Bahamas offshore tax plan (10-20% tax vs. 90%). Checked by band's accountant and bass player's father (entertainment lawyer for Oakland Raiders). Bank disappeared in 1970s; money gone. Bank used by CIA for covert ops including Andros Island anti-Castro activities.
In 1975-76, John wanted out due to delays accessing money; it smelled wrong. Demanded shoebox of all earnings (couldn't provide). Ordered exit forcefully. Bank closed soon after via Valentine's Day telegram; president died in sauna. John checked under cars for bombs for 3 months, feared being whistleblower.
John sued Fantasy, attorneys, experts, plan designer Bert Caner in Chicago. Only John sued initially; others joined after statute of limitations. Fantasy let out by judge. Settled pennies on dollar except accountants' insurance paid $8.1 million total for band (per San Francisco Chronicle headline). From 100+ million records at $4/album = $400 million+ gross.
Experts warned receiving money at once = 110%+ taxes, like Joe Louis needing act of Congress.
John loves making music for joy, not money or fame. Happiness from understanding and recreating music he loved as kid. Money distorts but real creativity requires genuine place.
John Fogerty describes getting certain feelings like being in a big swimming pool that surrounds you. He learned to let himself enjoy that feeling and figure out a way to express it in music.
Joe Rogan praises Fogerty for doing it successfully. He mentions the long story of artists dealing with horrific managers, referencing an article about Jimi Hendrix's manager. A bodyguard wrote a book blaming Hendrix's manager for his death, claiming Hendrix was murdered because he was about to leave his manager. Hendrix's girlfriend fell or jumped off a roof shortly after Hendrix died, and they were trying to get rid of her because she knew the whole deal.
Fogerty recalls reading Jimmy Hendrix biographies. Many artists had mobbed-up managers. Hendrix owned his masters, which was remarkable, so his family and estate control them and decide on new album releases. Fogerty didn't know this back then and wondered who was driving the bus. Hendrix talked to people at Reprise Records and Warner Brothers around the time Fogerty was there. Fogerty was envious because he didn't own his masters; nobody did back then.
Rogan asks how Hendrix got that deal. Fogerty doesn't know how he had that much influence. From biographies, they didn't try hard to save him. Hendrix was messed up for weeks, and no one tried; it seemed like someone poured a bottle of wine and pills and alcohol down his mouth. The bodyguard inferred they force-fed him. Fogerty hopes never to be in such a state without protesting.
Rogan notes it's dark because Hendrix was ready to leave his manager, a gigantic star whose money the manager saw. Hendrix is still number one in every guitar survey, even though he died at 27. Other rankings change with fashion, but he's always first. He's from another planet; listen to Voodoo Child (Slight Return)—it's revolutionary guitar playing unlike anything before. One of Rogan's favorite musicians; he named his podcast the Joe Rogan Experience after Hendrix's Are You Experienced.
Fogerty says he wondered about that and suggests John Fogerty Experience or Creedence instead. He created the Creedence name.
Rogan asks about the crazy name the record company gave one of Fogerty's first bands. It was the same musicians. In junior high, Fogerty started The Blue Velvets, a trio (his older brother Tom was in another orbit). They played sock hops every few months. After high school, Tom sang occasionally. They made recordings with real companies but haphazardly.
At age 19, Fogerty knocked on Fantasy Records door after their special on Benny Gaudio in the Bay Area. They started recording; first record with three: Fogerty, Tom, drummer Doug (Fogerty overdubbed bass). In 1964, single pressed: Little Girl (four-chord doo-wop) and Don't Tell Me No Lies (British invasion mod music). They opened the package in San Francisco warehouse expecting The Visions, but it said The Golliwogs.
The record company wanted British invasion mod vibe. Explanation: golliwog was a doll British soldiers had in India. Years later, after renaming to Creedence, Fogerty learned golliwog was a racial slur British soldiers used for people there.
Rogan is shocked they changed the band name without knowledge. Fogerty notes they insisted, like owning publishing: sign over rights or no records. At 19, you want to make a record and taste being signed.
That's their modus operandi with everyone—shady contracts. To them, it's business like a lottery; they don't understand creativity. Young artists don't know what they have; less than rookies. They sign before self-realization, then you're messed. Happened to Prince, Skinner, most bands. Labels sign emerging acts, bankroll, profit big when hits happen.
Creedence was Fantasy's only hit; made them wealthy. Saul Zaentz went into movies: One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, bought Lord of the Rings movie rights. Creedence got nothing.
Rogan notes bad people get ahead. Fogerty hesitates on music coming from joyful place given entertainment/business evils. Creative good people make things; opportunists exploit naivety.
Fogerty chooses to believe you need a good heart and golden rule: do unto others. He believes in God watching, staying in God's grace by living honestly and transparently. Not thumping Bible, just common sense for existing in universe. When seeing others get away with evil, thinks they'll get comeuppance.
Rogan agrees: horrible existence screwing people over; adversarial relationships, bad frequency. Some choose it for money, but not good life. Living like God exists is better; golden rule provable via butterfly effect of kindness spreading good energy.
Fogerty believes it, asks God for clarity not money/hits (selfish). Gets good karma through relations resolving situations.
Did Fogerty always believe in God? Raised that way, simply, Catholic. Did first communion, confession, confirmation at 12 choosing St. Jerome after Bo Diddley's Bring It to Jerome (Jerome Green maracas player).
Parents tried parochial school: kicked out first grade and ninth at St. Mary's High School. First grade: lived in El Cerrito, school School of the Madeleine in Berkeley. Six years old, bus to transfer, train to school behind it. Mom left early for teaching job; Fogerty often late, climbed fence after march, no bathroom. Peed in seat repeatedly; Sister Damian ignored pleas. Traumatizing.
Rogan notes crazy kids did that independently back then; he left house at seven, home for dinner. Catholic school first grade soured him on religion: mean Sister Mary Josephine whacked with rulers, threatened nail bed in closet, called crybaby. Thought these aren't God's messengers.
Fogerty took lifetime to realize man-made religions; God separate. Man fallible. In 40s, accepted prayer isn't God's fault for school trauma.
Rogan: religious scriptures document real thing, especially Christianity, but man's hand all over. Humans decided Bible canon (rabbis kept Book of Enoch out). Why humans decide God's word? Oral traditions before writing. Truth in origins, but layers of confusion.
Fogerty compares to record companies owning good intentions/faith; pay tithe, they profit. Mega-churches same: exploiting good thing.
Agree living like God's real is better life. Be kind, fair, not greedy, not take more than share.
Rogan asks how old Fogerty was starting music. Given snare drum at four (cheap paper). Family not musicians but musical.
Favorite memory: East Bay, trips to Putah Creek near Winters, CA (later Lake Berryessa). Camped at spot owned by Cody, descendant of Buffalo Bill Cody (met at four; Cody ~75 in 1949, born ~1874). Inspired Green River song.
Parents' old green Ford, driving at night singing By the Light of the Silvery Moon, Baby Face, harmonizing. Fogerty (3-5) between them asked about two notes; they explained harmonizing. Bonded him to music.
Noticed musical; fourth birthday toy harmonica, dad played Oh Susanna cowboy style (C harmonica straight, no blues bends). Mom played stride piano: bass octave/chord rhythm like drummer, melody above. Favorite: Shine on Harvest Moon, which is a
John Fogerty describes hearing a great song on piano that felt magical, opening the door to creating music at home. They had a piano and an old Stella acoustic guitar from the 1920s or 1930s, built like a tank with high strings, hard to play. Brother Bob revealed they used to play baseball with it due to its sturdiness. In seventh grade, Fogerty started seriously learning chords.
At age 10, at Winters campsite near a general store, Fogerty heard Elvis Presley's My Baby Left Me (B-side of I Want You, I Need You, I Love You, second million-seller) on a jukebox. It had a bluesy, fast rock and roll sound with classic Sun Records vibe—country wail with guitar more country than blues. Guitarist Scotty Moore played otherworldly riffs. Fogerty decided right there in three minutes: "I don't know what they're doing but that's what I want to do."
Wow. That's amazing. It was transformative. It's a unique slice of American music.
Similar to That's All Right, Mama by same writer Arthur 'Big Boy' Crudup.
Family was musical but Fogerty didn't know professional musicians. Early dream during Doo-Wop era: form group Johnny Corvette and the Corvettes, four guys in sparkle jackets, all singing, all Black. Inspired by what he saw, no plan for logistics, like kids dreaming of NBA despite physical realities—eat spinach to become Black and tall.
Loved baseball, threw ball against house target, damaging clapboard; mom gave tennis ball. Dream never materialized, inspiring Centerfield:
Put me in, coach.
Centerfield played at countless baseball games, in Baseball Hall of Fame. Fogerty feels like the luckiest guy: didn't play but song is there always.
First remembered song at age 8, walking to Harding School on Ashberry from Ramona (2.5 blocks). Heard R&B radio commercial from Oakland DJ: "Do you have the wash day blues?" Walking, riffed Muddy Waters-style (Hoochie Coochie Man), singing Wash Day Blues about blues life.
Initially embarrassed by mundane story, now sees it as natural songwriting process combining elements.
In garage studio (daily from 1974 for 11 years until Centerfield), one morning noodled guitar riff before turning on equipment. Knew it was original, needed perfect answering phrase—like tightrope over Niagara Falls, only one right answer or it's lost.
Played over and over for five minutes. Flipped through small song book, thought saw Somewhere Down the Road, started there. Recorded riff with real drums, improvised lyrics: "He got the thunder from the mountain, he bring the lightning from the sky." Later changed title to Old Man Down the Road—better for evil character. Somewhere Down the Road not actually in book.
Similar with Change in the Weather: saw in book in Warner Brothers parking lot under cloudy sky, wrote song; later not in book. Ideas like shape-shifters or tuning radio.
Creative ideas feel received, not owned—like tuning radio, always existed, need to receive them. Must be worthy: no anger or meanness, be receptive with humility. Reference Steven Pressfield's The War of Art on honoring the Muse—show up daily, it provides.
Must work consistently; blank sheets common, but persistence allows inspiration. Honor talent: receive, then refine and polish.
Fortunate Son born from Vietnam era angst. Fogerty drafted into Army Reserves, active duty, honorable discharge. Understood military mindset but almost no one his age wanted to go to Vietnam.
Civil unrest, protests against war and draft. Unfairness: politicians kept sons out via clout or cushy jobs. Identified with protesters; war unexplained, ego-driven, ended miserably unlike WWII.
Wrote Creedence songs as instrumentals: taught parts separately (bass, drums, rhythm guitar), band learned without full song or vocals until studio (added conga, shakers, piano).
For Fortunate Son (1969), taught form as instrumental, initially titled Favorite Son from childhood memory of political conventions (e.g., Eisenhower inauguration 1952, nominations like "favorite son" from states). Pushed band hard for new single.
After weeks rehearsing backing track, sat on bed with yellow tablet, 20 minutes: started red-white-blue super patriots, shifted to "It ain't me" refrain about unfairness of wealthy dodging draft. Boiling anger fueled it; identified with draftees.
John Fogerty reflects on his youthful confidence in songwriting, referencing the t-shirt slogan "the older I get, the better I was." He describes entering a room with a blank page and emerging with a song, now approaching it with trepidation, sometimes only doodling a smiley face. He credits this to precocious self-reliance and divine intervention of the muse after putting in the work, where inspiration strikes and pieces come together. Joe Rogan compares it to his own process as a songwriter, distinct from prize fighters or pitchers with evolving skills, noting it recurs over time. Fogerty describes getting a hook into an idea, then the muse allowing continuation into something better than dreamed, exciting and happy. He mentions this was by far the quickest song he ever wrote, so fast it felt like instant replay, shifting from hoping something would happen to realizing "this is really good."
Joe Rogan shares John Mellencamp's story of writing "I Need a Lover That Won't Drive Me Crazy" in the shower in one day, becoming an all-time classic. Fogerty notes a songwriter on his game knows it's special, relating to his personality and tastes, making him smile: "Yeah, this sounds like me. This is the stuff I like."
Fogerty admits he's "notoriously corny," like dad bod jokes, loving Center Field as the corniest thing ever invented, unashamedly happy: "I'm happy to be happy. I want to be happy." He contrasts this with rock and roll's dark colors, leather jackets, piercings, tats, scowls, and Elvis image, appreciating it but preferring unashamed happiness. Rogan agrees rock isn't all dark—it's everything, with layers and personalities; "happy to be happy" is an awesome part of rock. Fogerty notes humans have all those parts, explaining identification. Rogan sees the brooding dark rockstar as a fantasy people want to believe in.
Fogerty references Marlon Brando on the motorcycle in The Wild One, defining rock stars with one picture as uniform: big chain, leather jacket, later more violent/dark like hoodoo voodoo. He jokes with his wife that he doesn't dress like a rock star because he's not; leather jackets were a pose or uniform to him. He wears store clothes for daily life, like taking kids to school, not stage attire. He was a normal dad, glad his kids saw him that way.
Rogan calls the idea everyone must be one way ridiculous; Fogerty produced rock star work by being himself. Fogerty agrees: when making something resonating in your wheelhouse, it's comfortable and great. Trying to do what someone else likes takes you off rails, out of element—not you.
Fogerty admits getting off rails with preachy songs: "John, shut up." He attributes it to needing material for a record when uninspired, forcing a square peg in a round hole. Advice: just work, start moving, grind until natural. He wrote a whole album, Eye of the Zombie, followup to Center Field, dark and not ringing true, missing the mark—off period in his life.
Fogerty recounts: enormous band Creedence Clearwater Revival #1 worldwide, screwed by record company, lost life savings, band breaks up, nasty newspaper comments, held in dungeon—give them music or no one else. 15 years after breakup, releases Centerfield, happy joyful music, #1, acclaimed hit.
Analogy: unjustly imprisoned long time, freed as innocent, walk out happy into green meadow, bluebirds—Disney cartoon (Center Field). Turn around, see San Quentin, get angry. After success vindicating him, should have gone to therapy but wasn't raised that way. Repressed trauma erupted: miserable, bitter for two years—instant, imploding at Saul's name like werewolf or Hulk. Made Eye of the Zombie channeling that—not happy, poor followup.
Bounced back meeting Julie mid-1986 tour for Eye of the Zombie. Thought in perpetual binge, touring as rock star doing what he missed for 20 years—like little kid musician, from anger. Planned making way through Hollywood Hills. Suddenly met Julie, love of life, destined partner who helped find himself, enjoy life again—everything changed.
Rogan praises bouncing out; many spiral. Fogerty joyful first, then resentful thinking about it, understandable. Spiral worsened with alcohol (depressant, makes more depressed, weakens resolve, body, vitality, mindset—tired, angry, miserable). Ties to rock stereotype.
Rogan references Bad Company's "Shooting Star"—kids romanticized Johnny (schoolboy hears Beatles, becomes rockstar, dies young with whiskey, sleeping tablets). Based on reality but romanticizes dying young, burn bright—cool until it's you. When older, same words are real but not positive.
Fogerty shares embarrassing, ashamed parts, let shame go: it happened, doesn't encourage it, advises stay away. Used to beat himself up; shame part of healing as resolve solidifies, less tenuous, less scared of falling back. Rogan agrees shame motivates not repeating mistakes, if you don't think you're still that person—crazy to carry high school mistakes forever. Grow up.
Fogerty married first time at 20—should be a law, too young, don't know what it means. Experience made him shy from marriage commitment for years, scared. Realized: most joyful thing is marry her, have children, white picket fence, kindergarten, bake cookies at PTA—wants all that. Crazy as not rock and roll vision, but authentic, healthy.
Fogerty's mom raised five boys after parents split around his age 8—a warrior inspiring them to be good people despite faults. As teen, said wonder not all in San Quentin. Ideal: normal family like Leave It to Beaver—big goal, inspiration.
At events with musical characters, he looks like Ward Cleaver or Mr. Boy Scout; Julie suggests more rock and roll. He's unbothered, worn cool clothes via Julie. Jokes about rock guys reunion pulling blotter/police blotter, wrap sheets as badge of honor—glad it wasn't him. Authentic, not captured by image like Pee-wee Herman stuck dressing that way forever—people love fake character, not you.
Likes cowboy, motorcycle as fantasy. Favorite modern shows: Yellowstone et al.—literary license for imagery, loves river, rocks, pines, cows, stoic cowboys rough life. Romantic from outside; many moved to Montana because of it, but left due to hard winters.
Music powerful in American culture: Fortunate Son inspires life changes, decisions, gives fuel—like energy pill working out. Created out of love/enjoyment, resonates. For Fortunate Son, early band career (1.5 years old), wrote all songs—wanted all-out screaming rocker with guitars, commissioned himself (vs. Have You Ever Seen the Rain or Down on the Corner). Likes Beatles' I Want to Hold Your Hand, She Was Just 17, I Saw Her Standing There vibe; Link Wray's instrumental Rumble (1958, black leather jacket, skinny, motorcycle—entire image in 2.5 minutes).
Fascinating artists with one incredible song, never made it: Johnny Thunder's "I'm Alive" (1969), phenomenal—sounds like huge star. Friend Brian Simpson played it; if unaware, assume massive success.
Joe Rogan and John Fogerty discuss Johnny Thunder, who performed under his real name, not a pseudonym. They praise "I'm Alive," noting its incredible attitude, drums, voice, and sound. The song gained traction after being played on Rogan's podcast a couple years ago, appearing in commercials. Johnny Thunder died in 2024, shortly after their discovery. They marvel at how he wasn't a massive artist despite the song's quality, which wasn't even a big hit. He had another hit, "Loop De Loop," featuring the Bobettes in 1963, reaching number 4 on US pop charts, number 6 on US R&B charts, and number 14 in Canada for two weeks. "I'm Alive" is seen as a perfect song with soul, yet success in art is slippery—sometimes artists catch lightning once.
Fogerty fears Johnny Thunder got trapped in music business politics, like poor promotion or conflicts with the label. A great voice and soul, as in "I'm a man," are hard to capture, and even one perfect song doesn't guarantee a long career. They reflect on the first realization of true artistry, a transformative threshold from dreaming to doing.
Fogerty grew up writing songs from age 4-5, inspired by Elvis, Motown, Beatles, but knew they weren't great. He compares music dreams to aspiring baseball players aiming for majors like Willie Mays, where most realize they're average. In 1967, after active duty, the four future Creedence members formed a democracy, rehearsing daily from 11 AM, voting on everything, all writing songs. No one else brought songs, so Fogerty pushed, eventually psychedelicizing Dale Hawkins' "Suzie Q" with cool arrangements to avoid blank-page pressure. They aimed for a local underground station playing amateur tapes, like Janis Joplin's "Hesitation Blues" with Yorma on guitar and typewriter in the background from her kitchen—it became a hit there. "Suzie Q" (8:20 long) aired 8 times daily, marking Creedence's true beginning.
Fogerty realized it was up to him to row the boat. First album released on his 23rd birthday in 1968. Still in Army until honorable discharge around June/July—he opened the package, turned a cartwheel on the lawn, grabbed his guitar, and strummed Beethoven-like chords. First line: "Left a good job in the city, working for the man every night and day." Evolved to "Rolling on the river." Checked his song title book; first entry was "Proud Mary," a riverboat song with Mark Twain, Jimmy Stewart, Gary Cooper, gospel, old South flavor. Finished in an hour post-discharge, holding the yellow tablet, realizing he'd written a classic—evolved beyond prior work, with Americana, soul. Gained confidence from persistent rehearsals where others contributed nothing. Hoped to repeat it; a bolt of lightning from the discharge.
Fogerty wrote all Creedence songs until the seventh album, Mardi Gras. Band demanded to write, sing, arrange their own—Fogerty resisted, fearing career suicide after figuring out what worked. Two had never written songs, jumping in when Creedence was huge. Early songs were competent album tracks. Fogerty mulled months; brother Tom left shortly after acquiescing. Feared disintegrating like Elvis separated by Colonel Parker, but recalled Elvis' comeback special circle with old band (Scotty, Bill, DJ Fontana)—fans loved it. Gave them a shot blindly.
Studio results poor; album Mardi Gras panned, Rolling Stone called it "worst album ever by a major group"—Fogerty agreed. Band blamed him instead of admitting mistake. On tour, their songs dropped from setlists, reverting to "Proud Mary," "Fortunate Son." Fans upset by equal-time struggling. Band couldn't reunite.
Declined Woodstock movie inclusion; sent tape of "Bad Moon Rising" was okay, but Grateful Dead (on LSD) before them ran 1.5 hours past 8 PM to 2:30 AM, crashing muddy, rainy half-million crowd. Audience slept first 20 minutes of Creedence set; warmed for Janis. At peak as #1 US band, felt tape didn't help, passed—Grateful Dead also omitted. Older manager might've pushed for full 15-minute live "Suzie Q." Moot as band broke up pre-release.
Solo felt better now, playing with sons Shane, Tyler, daughter Kelsey, bassist Jesse Wilson—all their age, no egos proving records. Post-Creedence, didn't play long; first tour '86 with studio hires, no Creedence songs—new material only, mad at situation. Beginnings magical for a year, then unpleasant unknowns. Current band moments cool, like riffing together.
John Fogerty played again in '86 and much more in '97 after Blue Moon Swamp came out. He had a series of bands trying to put people together from parts here and there. It never really was one solidified thing. Many people had personal agendas, working on their own careers. Even at that level, there were different jealousies. People were jealous.
Problem with so many bands is conflicting personalities. Miracle that any band stays together, like the Stones still touring after all these years. The Stones are a lesson: despite problems here and there, they rose above it. They decided to do it anyway, treating each other like brothers on stage. In war or similar situations, subjugate personal stuff for the greater good. The Stones do that.
Everybody wants to be the man. With so many egos and one guy like Fogerty writing all the songs, others feel less and get resentful. Normal human nature that has to be dealt with. Sometimes people can't be reasoned with; they're not rational, see things through a distorted lens, especially if they didn't create everything but rode along and feel they deserve more.
Mom noticed music coming out of Fogerty. One day from nursery school where she was a helper teacher, she brought him home, sat him on a little chair in a ceremony. Played both sides of a little yellow kids record: one side Oh Susanna, other Camptown Races (doo da da). Asked if he liked the music; he said yeah, cool songs. Played them again, told him Stephen Foster wrote both. Explained Stephen Foster was a real person who wrote this music, and people do write songs. Gave him the record as his possession.
Reflected on that moment lifelong. Why did she do that? Living at home, saw Irving Berlin on TV and noted he's a songwriter. Mom's favorite Hoagy Carmichael became his favorite. Into rock and roll era, Beatles with Lennon and McCartney writing songs. Became part of him, started with mom and Stephen Foster.
Stephen Foster was a great songwriter, corny style lent to Fogerty through recordings (Foster didn't make records). Songs infiltrated his personality. Feels Stephen Foster could have written Proud Mary; it's that territory. Mom gave him a gift. Powerful little moments with kids.
Honor having John Fogerty on; gigantic fan, pleasure to talk, story fantastic. On Legacy Tour. Re-recorded a lot of old songs from Creedence time, having a ball, touring all over.
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