Creedence Clearwater: Burnin’ Hard and Burnin’ Out

Bob Smeaton (director), Travelin’ Band: Creedence Clearwater Revival Live at the Royal Albert Hall

Promo photo taken during Creedence Clearwater’s only European tour

Fans of the rock band Creedence Clearwater Revival often discuss them in awe-filled, nearly reverential terms. I should know, I’m one of them. They burned fast and hard, producing five albums in 1969 and 1970, working under singer-songwriter John Fogerty’s iron-fisted rule. But they burned out equally quickly: by early 1971, John’s brother Tom Fogerty quit the band, and they barely limped across the finish line a year later.

This documentary depicts CCR’s April 1970 performance at London’s Royal Albert Hall. That concert, though, runs barely 45 minutes, too short to constitute a feature-length performance. So to flesh out the performance, the film is bookended with a documentary, more a hagiography, narrated by Jeff Bridges. This recounting presents CCR as “the biggest band in the world,” presented as literal heirs to the Beatles, who disbanded weeks before this concert.

Reviewing something like this, we’re split between two forces. The concert itself is solid, fast-moving, and entertaining, a breathless display of CCR’s aggressively American musical ethos in an iconic British venue. The documentary is… something else. It was clearly written in an attempt to recapture the experience of being a CCR fan in Spring of 1970, and blithely ignores much of what we now know was happening behind the scenes.

Bridges’ linking narration, written by John Harris, starts with the band’s origins in El Cerrito, California. Anchored by kids who’d known each other since middle school, the band, initially known as the Blue Velvets, consciously rejected British Invasion influences and played blues-rock based on Buddy Guy and Leadbelly. Snippets of seldom-heard 45s sound anachronistic for the middle 1960s, granting insight into John Fogerty’s early anti-rock influences.

As engaging as this chronicle is, though, fans can’t ignore that by 1970, fault lines were already developing. We know this, but the documentary apparently doesn’t. Tom Fogerty in particular appears disconnected from the band, stone-faced and out of sync even while singing classics like “Bad Moon Rising” and “Proud Mary.” Worse, the narration is uncritical of Fantasy Records, with whom CCR notoriously had one of rock’s most lopsided contracts.

Therefore we know, but the documentary apparently doesn’t, that the seeds of breakup already existed. Like the Beatles’ Get Back, which shows the band playing live on a London rooftop years after they’d already disbanded, the documentary depicts the illusions of the moment, not the historical scope. CCR appears only in archive footage, film shot and curated in 1970 by Fantasy Records’ PR department to sell albums, not depict reality.

A still from the performance video

After the throat-clearing, the film transitions to the concert itself. Here’s the part we actually wanted. CCR plays with a musical alacrity most acts only capture briefly: old enough to know their instruments and play with passion bordering on violence, but young enough to withstand the hot lights and screaming crowds. They play (most of) their classics for an audience to whom this music is still new and dangerous.

The 52-year-old footage shows signs of the times. Camera operators keep trying to capture band members, especially John Fogerty, in tight face holds, a common maneuver in 1970, substantially undercut by Fogerty’s refusal to stand still. John’s brother Tom plays rhythm on a big white arch-top guitar, but mostly stands still, frequently overshadowed by the amp stacks. Camera operators mostly ignore him, which is unfortunate.

I saw John Fogerty perform live in 1997, by which time “John Fogerty” had become a stage character as much as an individual. Like Mark Twain, Fogerty wore his persona consciously, with his affected semi-New Orleans accent and nostalgic ramblings. That Fogerty isn’t on display here. This Fogerty is soft-spoken but hard-rocking, aggressively belting hits with almost no stage banter. He appreciates the audience without courting them.

This is a period piece. The footage, though digitally restored, is aged, and the sound reflects 1970 amplifier technology. But I appreciate one aspect: unlike The Band’s The Last Waltz or the Rolling Stones’ Gimme Shelter, this film doesn’t interrupt the concert. CCR plays straight through, without self-conscious cinematic intrusion. One suspects this might be what it felt like to see them playing at their peak.

In the final moments, Bridges’ narration calls CCR “the biggest band in the world.” But ten months later, they were already disbanding. Fans will watch this performance with a fatalism that the documentary tries to avoid. Notably, no band members were involved with this documentary; it’s a product of the money machine, not art. But it’s also a tight, muscular performance of a band whose work really mattered.