276. Creedence Clearwater Revival – Bad Moon Rising (1969)

Early autumn 1969 in the UK was surprisingly mild, reaching 20C in London in early October. Following the sci-fi apocalyptic worldview of In the Year 2525 (Exordium and Terminus) at number 1, US rock act Creedence Clearwater Revival brought further warnings of the planet’s destruction with Bad Moon Rising.

And there was tension in the air on the warm streets of the capital, with police evicting squatters of the London Street Commune from 144 Piccadilly on 21 September, the day after it went to number 1. A week later on 28 September, the National Trust acquired ownership of the island of Lundy.

1 October saw the Post Office become a statutory corporation. Four days later, the first episode of classic surreal comedy series Monty Python’s Flying Circus was broadcast on BBC Two. Breaking new ground in comedy meant baffled audiences at first, but John Cleese, Graham Chapman, Michael Palin, Terry Jones, Eric Idle and Terry Gilliam would become comedy legends in time. And on Bad Moon Rising‘s 21st and last day at number 1, the Labour government accepted the recommendations of Lord Hunt’s report on policing in Northern Ireland, including the abolition of the Ulster Special Constabulary.

But back to Bad Moon Rising. Despite being one of the biggest American acts of the period, Creedence Clearwater Revival never scored a number 1 single in the US, and this was their sole chart-topper in the UK.

CCR’s main man, John Fogerty, was born in Berkeley, California in May 1945. His childhood was tough – in his memoir Fortunate Son he revealed that the Catholic School he attended would let him wet himself rather than take a trip to the toilet. His parents were alcoholics and divorced while he and his older brother Tom were still young.

In junior high school in 1959 he met Doug Clifford and Stu Cook. They formed a group called the Blue Velvets, who would play jukebox standards. They would also perform as Tom’s backing band, and before long he joined the Blue Velvets too. In 1964 they signed with the jazz label Fantasy Records. Before their first release under their ill-advised name change to the Golliwogs, the band switched roles. Clifford remained on drums, with Cook changing from piano to bass and most importantly, Tom was demoted from vocals to lead guitar, and John became the frontman and songwriter.

After two years, the Golliwogs’ existence was threatened (can’t believe I’ve just typed that) when John and Clifford chose to enlist in the army to avoid conscription, an experience which John hated. In 1967 Fantasy Records was bought by Saul Zaentz, who offered the Golliwogs the chance to record an album, providing they came up with a new name. Desperate for the group to avoid any accusations of racism, he accepted their first idea. ‘Creedence’ came from Tom, who had a friend, Credence Newball. ‘Clearwater’ was inspired by a commercial for Olympia Brewing Company, and ‘Revival’ represented their newfound commitment to the band.

Creedence Clearwater Revival were born in January 1968, with John and Clifford discharged from service, all four concentrated solely on their band. Debut single Porterville didn’t chart but their follow-up, a cover of 1956 rockabilly tune Susie Q did. Their eponymous debut LP was released that year too, featuring a mix of covers and original material from John.

It was while working on the follow-up, 1969’s Bayou Country, that they came up with one of their best-known songs. Proud Mary peaked at number two on the Billboard charts, and went to number eight here. It became their most-covered song, with the 1971 version by Ike and Tina Turner the best-known version.

CCR were working fast, and while Proud Mary was in the charts they were already at work on their third album Green River. Bad Moon Rising became the lead single. John Fogerty was inspired to write it after witnessing a scene with a hurricane while watching 1941 fantasy The Devil and Daniel Webster.

Following the hokum of Zager and Evans’ number 1, Bad Moon Rising is a song about the end of the world done right. Set to an uptempo, almost skiffle-style strum, the lyrics, telling of freakish weather that’s going to destroy us all, have only become more meaningful over the years. If what we read is true, and I’d put money on it being so, we’re not far off a bad moon rising at all.

There’s a whole other layer to the lyrics though, in which the danger isn’t from nature, but politics. It was once put to John that ‘I see a bad moon on the rise’ was misheard as ‘I see a bad moon on the right’, and he said he was glad, because that’s what he meant anyway. With Richard Nixon in the White House, Bad Moon Rising can also be interpreted as a protest song. And with Donald Trump and Boris Johnson now in a ‘special relationship’, things are worse than ever. On a lighter note, the line is also often misheard as ‘I see a bathroom on the right’, and John Fogerty often sings this instead in concert.

If it is too late for us, I suggest we adopt the CCR approach, which seems to be to have a bloody good time before we’re wiped off the face of the Earth. Southern-style country roots rock is a genre I’m not too knowledgeable of, and it’s hard for me to realise in 2019 just how influential and popular CCR were in the late-60s, early-70s, but if Proud Mary, Bad Moon Rising and Lookin’ Out My Back Door (courtesy of 1998 cult comedy The Big Lebowski) are anything to go by, I should perhaps do further investigating. Catchy as this single is, it’s still hard to picture it as a UK number 1 single, but it is a great tune.

Soon after the single’s release, but before hitting number 1, CCR performed at Woodstock Festival. The band blamed the Grateful Dead for leaving the audience half asleep before they came on, and they refused for their performance to be included in Michael Wadleigh’s documentary movie.

CCR released Willy and the Poor Boys that November, meaning an incredible three top ten albums in one year. It contained more hits, Fortunate Son and Down on the Corner, and in July 1970 they released yet another. Cosmo’s Factory became their bestselling LP and featured Lookin’ Out My Back Door and a lengthy jam session version of I Heard It Through the Grapevine.

However, their speedy work rate and arguments over the younger Fogerty’s creative control came to a head, and shortly after recording their next album Pendulum, released December 1970, Tom Fogerty left the group.

They soldiered on as a trio, but further ructions ensued when John Fogerty did an about-face and told Cook and Clifford that the only way they could continue would be for them to contribute to the songwriting, and if they did, he would only contribute rhythm guitar to their tracks. This resulted in their final album, Mardi Gras in 1972, being critically panned. If John was trying to make a point, it worked. He later claimed he was behind most of the recording of all their material before that point, not just the songwriting. The others were little more than a backing band. Rolling Stone said that Mardi Gras may one day be known as Fogerty’s Revenge. In October 1972, it was announced that Creedence Clearwater Revival no longer existed.

John Fogerty sporadically released solo material through the rest of the 70s. Tom did too, but to less success. Clifford and Cook remained close and worked together as session musicians. Apart from jamming together at Tom’s wedding in 1980, they never worked as a foursome again, becoming mired in legal battles over the years. John did briefly work with Cook and Clifford at their high-school reunion in 1983 though, but in their Blue Velvets incarnation.

Sadly, Tom died of AIDS in 1990 due to a tainted blood transfusion while undergoing back surgery. He and John were barely reconciled at the time of his death, and in his eulogy, John said ‘We wanted to grow up and be musicians. I guess we achieved half of that, becoming rock’n’roll stars. We didn’t necessarily grow up.’ He didn’t exactly cover himself in glory in 1993 when CCR were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Fogerty refused to perform with his former rhythm section and arranged an all-star band instead. Tom’s widow was devastated. She’d even brought his funeral urn to the ceremony.

That, and the fact Fogerty took them to court over forming a new group, Creedence Clearwater Revisited, meant that Clifford and Cook were done with Fogerty. In recent years he has publicly mulled over the possibility of a reunion, but they always respond by saying that ship has sailed.

Fogerty seems more at peace with the past now. For a long time he refused to perform any of his old band’s material but now he’s rightfully proud of CCR’s accomplishments. They and the Band helped turn roots rock mainstream, yet held on to their rebellious streaks. And Bad Moon Rising has proven to be one of their most enduring songs, used time and time again in films and TV, most memorably in 1981 horror comedy An American Werewolf in London.

I briefly saw him at the ultra-soggy Glastonbury Festival 2007. I was in a very bad mood, the rain and mud had finally beaten me. I heard Bad Moon Rising, knew how he felt, sighed and wandered off. I wish I’d stuck around now.

Written & produced by: John Fogerty

Weeks at number 1: 3 (20 September-10 October)

Births:

High jumper Jo Jennings – 20 September
Welsh actress Catherine Zeta-Jones – 25 September
Footballer Paul Warhurst – 26 September
Singer/songwriter PJ Harvey – 9 October
Director Steve McQueen – 9 October

118. The Temperance Seven with vocal refrain by Mr Paul McDowell – You’re Driving Me Crazy (1961)

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The 1961 number 1s really were all over the place, and this is as sure a sign as any. The Temperance Seven were a group of young men performing jazz covers from the 1920s and 30s, and their cover of You’re Driving Me Crazy was an affectionate look back to an earlier period in recorded music – indeed, the era in which vinyl recordings first became popular. They were retro before the term existed (I think).

The Temperance Seven were founded at Christmas in 1955 by students at the Chelsea School of Art. Its three founder members were Paul McDowell on trombone, Phillip Harrison on banjo and drummer Brian Innes. Eventually they expanded to a nine-piece, and their name was suggested to them by Douggie Gray from the Alberts, an influential comedy group of the era. Why the number seven, when there were nine of them? It’s an ironic use of the word ‘temperance’ which my tired brain doesn’t really get right now. In 1960 they recorded with Goons comedian Peter Sellers, and their producer was George Martin. Martin had joined EMI in 1950, and took over the Parlophone imprint five years later. It was regarded as relatively unimportant back then, and was mostly used for classical, novelty and comedy recordings. Martin’s work with Sellers became well-known, and more and more comedians began working with him, so the Temperance Seven seemed a natural act for Martin to produce.

You’re Driving Me Crazy had been written by Walter Donaldson in 1930. The song became a hit for several acts, including Lee Morse. It also featured in the racy Betty Boop cartoon, Silly Scandals, the following year. While singing the song, Boop’s dress kept falling down, to reveal a lacy bra and make her squeal. Shocking stuff at the time. Like many of Donaldson’s songs, this track became a standard, and was later recorded by Frank Sinatra, Mel Tormé and Peggy Lee, to name but a few. Donaldson also wrote Makin’ Whoopee, My Baby Just Cares For Me, and Yes Sir, That’s My Baby.

I’ve been a huge fan of the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band for decades, and have seen the Temperance Seven name-checked many times in relation to them, so I had high hopes for You’re Driving Me Crazy, but was left rather disappointed. There’s none of the anarchic spirit of the Bonzos here, it just seems a very straight and stiff run-through of a Donaldson song that isn’t as good as any of the ones I’ve listed above. McDowell’s vocal doesn’t have the character that dear old Vivian Stanshall had. I now understand why some Bonzo band members would be annoyed by the Temperance Seven comparison – it’s quite lazy really. The intro and the end go on far too long too, though that is entirely in keeping with most recordings of the 20s and 30s. Having said that, I like Martin’s production just before the final vocal kicks in, in which the instruments create this kind-of circular sound (my apologies, I’m not great with proper musical terms).

Nonetheless, for a time the Temperance Seven were big, with Paul McDowell having to quit his role in the Experimental Theatre Club revue. He was replaced by future Monty Python’s Flying Circus member Terry Jones. Later in the summer of 61 they appeared at the London Palladium for a fortnight run as top of the bill. It was never going to last, though, and the original incarnation disbanded in the mid-60s, just as the Bonzos were starting to make a name for themselves with riotous performances at the Bull’s Head in Barnes. Chris Hook took charge of the band when they reformed in the 80s, and this incarnation still tours today. McDowell went on to star in Porridge as Mr Collinson, and died aged 84 in 2016. And producer George Martin? Well, his name is going to crop up a fair few more times, obviously.

Written by: Walter Donaldson

Producer: George Martin

Weeks at number 1: 1 (25-31 May)

Births:

Comedian Harry Enfield – 30 May