John Fogerty has truly come full circle.

After years of bitter protracted legal battles waged against label honcho, Saul Zaentz, Fogerty is back with Fantasy Records, reuniting with the label that first put Creedence Clearwater Revival on the map. A remarkable career-spanning compilation crammed with 25 key CCR and solo tracks, John Fogerty: The Long Road Home was the first fruit of their surprising re-alliance.

Boasting an extraordinary four decade career of impeccable music making, John Fogerty is rightly celebrated as one of America’s most treasured and important songwriters. Forging the “swamp rock sound” with Creedence Clearwater Revival, Forgerty’s CCR output and his solo career draw rich helpings of musty blues, country and rockabilly-all flavored with a touch of the bayou.

For four short years, spanning 1968 to 1972, Creedence Clearwater Revival were unquestionably one of the most successful rock and roll outfits in the world. Scoring a succession of classic hit after hit, all penned by Fogerty, CCR was on the roll of a lifetime. During that time, they were such a mighty hit-making machine that on the record charts they duked it out with The Beatles and often emerged victorious.

It may come as a big surprise to many, but John Fogerty wasn’t born in Mississippi or Arkansas or Alabama or Tennessee or Louisiana. But somehow, the songs penned by this Berkeley, California-bred rocker were able to effortlessly tap into the mythology of the American South. You can hear it in the echoes of such signature classics like “Proud Mary” (written about a steamboat), “Green River” and “Born on the Bayou,” all songs tapping into his delta roots. And for over 40 years, John Fogerty has steadfastly maintained that essence of the South in his music.

 Plain and simple, John Fogerty is an extraordinarily talented singer, songwriter, producer and arranger. Through the years, he’s gone on to deliver a string of acclaimed solo records-The Blue Ridge Rangers, John Fogerty, Centerfield, Eye Of The Zombieand Blue Moon Swamp-all bearing witness to his magnificent skills as a first-rate songwriter. His songs are a model of economy and craft, inspiration and perspiration. Borrowing an analogy from his beloved pastime of baseball, he’s a utility player, equally adept constructing a powerful lyrical passage (”pumped a lot pain down in New Orleans”) or creating an insidiously catchy guitar hook (”Green River,” “Born on the Bayou,” “Down tn the Corner,” “Centerfield,”  et al.). Having penned a surplus of enduring songs, including such jewels as “Proud Mary,” “Fortunate Son,” “Who’ll Stop The Rain,” “Centerfield,” “Almost Saturday Night,” “Down on the Corner,” “Have You Ever Seen The Rain?” “Travelin’ Band,” “Hey Tonight” and “Déjà Vu (All Over Again),” John Fogerty is the personification of the word legend.

Haling from Berkeley, your music has always been rooted in the bayou. What is about the sound of the South that inspired and fascinated you?

 I can only surmise. There’s been many a time I thought to myself that reincarnation just explains it all [laughs]. I’m a kid from Berkeley. My politics come from Berkeley. I certainly feel like a liberal 95 percent of the time. Every once in a while there’s an overlapping of what some people would call a conservative value. I just think it’s common sense. I tend to be more left of center than any place else…but very early on I’ve been drawn to the music of the south, whether it’s blues, country or rock and roll. It wasn’t until 1986 at the very first Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame ceremony…I’ve been asked all my life, “Why is your music so Southern? Why are you so fascinated?” I looked up at these pictures of Elvis and Jerry Lee Lewis. I’m thinking, I don’t know about Sam Cooke [Cooke was born in Clarksdale, Miss.], but nine out of these 10 guys are from the South. A couple of days later I looked it up and found out that Sam Cooke was from [Mississippi] so it was a 10 out of 10 of the first rock and roll guys. As you raise your hands in the air, you go, “That’s it” [laughs]! I would see the Grand Ole Opry on TV. In the Bay area we had this little show in the very early ‘50s called

The Hoffman Hayride that I loved. You’d hear about people like Jimmy Wakely who had a wonderful big arch top guitar. He kind of dressed up. He was kind of uptown but still it was country. I can’t remember knowing exactly about Hank Williams but I remember the song “Big Rock Candy Mountain” and having my Dad explain that one to me. Elvis’ Sun Records had a big effect on me. I think I was 10 when I first heard them. I was totally wild for Elvis and the whole sound. I was totally fascinated and drawn to that sound. I thought everybody was. I thought that’s what everybody else was trying to do.

So that early period in rock was big for you.

Before then I’d been drawn to black artists because I knew about r&b and blues. I can remember a record called “Down In Mexico,” which later was released by The Coasters, but at that point it was The Robins. There was also a song called “Smokey Joe’s Café.” Even Bill Haley predated Elvis by a few months-”Rock Around the Clock,” “See You Later Alligator,” “Shake, Rattle & Roll.” It was on the radio before it was in the movies. So “Rock Around the Clock” was a big hit from two different years, if you check your Joel Whitburn book.

As a lyricist, your songs are very evocative. Who were lyrical touchstones that could deliver that powerful imagery?

I started writing songs at a very early age, eight years old and even younger. I’d write one or two lines and try to put something together. I was very impressed with the imagery of Chuck Berry. Remember, when these things are happening at the time you just take them for granted almost. It isn’t until later that you get this sense of appreciation and a grown up view of how rare and special something is. Another guy who very much influenced me was Bo Diddley, because his imagery was so voodoo and mysterious and dark and strange. I’ve always said that there’s a room I go into sometimes and it’s filled with voodoo and mystical things. I got into that room through Bo Diddley’s doorway ‘cause he was really the guy who I went, “Wow! Listen to this!” I mean, “Who Do You Love?” [recites lyrics] “I wear a rattlesnake hide for a necktie, got a chimney made out of a human skull.” Oh my God! [Laughs]

Would you share the inspiration behind one of your most enduring songs, “Proud Mary?”

I’ve long been a fan of songwriters. As a very young boy I’d see these movies on late night TV, things about Cole Porter or Glenn Miller, who didn’t write words but it was musical. Through my mother I was a fan of Hoagy Carmichael. Of all the guys from those days he was one of the coolest and he was more rock and roll in his approach. So I loved songwriting as a craft. Years later, through the eyes and ears of my mom, Pete Seeger was a particular favorite of mine. When the folk boom happened I had no idea that Pete was writing all of these songs. I thought he’d just collected them. I mean, wow! Early on I had developed a fascination with songwriters. The first rock and roll writers I remember noticing were Leiber and Stoller. I just became an absolute addict of their work, things like “Youngblood” and “Searchin’.” They were great songwriters and it was rock and roll. How cool? And of course Chuck Berry…we started out an association with Fantasy Records when I was about 18 years old and started to write some songs with lyrics. It’s funny that you ask about “Proud Mary” because that really is the one-and I knew it. This was in ‘68 and the album with “Suzie Q” and “I Put a Spell On You.” I’d written a couple of songs on that album, most notably “Porterville,” which I had begun when I was in the Army in ‘67 marching around endlessly looking at this mysterious smudge mark on my spit-shined toe that I could never erase. I’d be marching and this smudge would be there and I’d rub it. I was hallucinating, basically. So you kind of flash forward…and I went out and bought a little booklet thinking I had to start writing some things down. I was collecting titles that seemed cool. For years I walked around with the phrase “Green River” because I had seen that on a soda fountain drink when I was probably 8 or 9 years old and I went, “Gee, I like that.” Another one was “Lodi,” which I thought sounded really cool. I got this cheap little empty plastic notebook at my local drugstore, bought a little slab of filler paper and the very first title I wrote in it was “Proud Mary.” I had no idea what that title meant. At the time I thought maybe it was a domestic maid who worked for some rich people and she’s wearing a little white uniform.

So how did it come to be, from that initial title jotting?

I was trying to write songs for what would be Creedence’s second album (Bayou Country). I remember fooling around with Beethoven’s 5^th, which I didn’t know exactly how to play. That’s in the song somewhere. At this time I was trying desperately to get myself removed from the Army. I did my active duty, and I was still in the Army Reserves. One day this little envelope was sitting on the stairs of my apartment. It had been there for two or three days and it said “Official Government Business.” I thought there wouldn’t be anything like that for me so I walked by it a few times. After a couple of days I looked down at it and it said “John Fogerty.” And I went, “Huh?”  I opened it up and it was my honorable discharge from the United States Army. I went, Wow [laughs]. I was the happiest cat in the world. I literally went onto a little patch of grass in front of the apartment house and I did a couple of cartwheels. You can imagine, this was at the height of the Vietnam War and it was an honorable discharge and I was done, baby! I went right in the house and came up with the first line; [sings] “Left a good job in the city.” I wrote the rest of “Proud Mary” right there with that feeling in my mind. When I got to the part, “Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ on the river,” I realized when it was done that I’d written a standard. I knew it with every bone in my body. “Dang John, you’ve written a standard. Look at this!” I felt like I’d wandered down the beach and found a jewel. I was almost shaking with knowledge that I’d written a song like that.  It was like the best thing I could ever imagine happening in my life at that moment. I don’t mean to sound full of myself, but I absolutely knew it that it was a great song.

You were amazingly prolific with CCR. From 1968-1972, you wrote 17 Top 40 singles, nine which were Top 10 hits.

For everything people heard, I’d write 10 songs that were crap. I don’t bother finishing those. Early on as you begin to do it you go, “This is crap.” So instead of continuing on and forcing a square peg in a round hole, you go, “Man, this going nowhere. Just forget it.” And I’d move on. When writing songs, it’s almost like I can see auras. It’s almost like I’m a psychic. I can see people’s auras-the way those people talk. I can see what’s good. I can just sense it-feel it. I felt that I was in camaraderie with Lennon and McCartney, Dylan, Brian Wilson and The Rolling Stones-others of the same period, even though we’d never met. It was almost like a wonderful brotherhood that was a competition. Like, “Look what I can do.” They egged you on to be your best and to try and really do something cool. That sense of competition is a very healthy thing, and it brought out the best in you. It wasn’t at the expense of someone else. You’re creating songs from zero. You’re sitting there with a blank sheet of paper and that’s either the very scariest thing or the most wonderful thing.

You wrote “Fortunate Son” over 30 years ago and it still rings true, even more so today.

I am personally a very political person and of course, the fact that I came of age in the ‘60s…that’s probably not so remarkable. Especially for my generation, the group of people who are now called “boomers,” the late ‘60s was a very remarkable, creative, volatile, tumultuous and wonderful time. I think we literally believed we could change the world and, in some ways, we really did. I was very, very political. The Vietnam War was at its height, and I was very much aware that rich kids were not serving and certainly, lower, middle class and poor people were serving. I certainly took note that Richard Nixon’s offspring…I always had his daughter’s names wrong. I think Tricia was going with David Eisenhower. I thought, they’re never going to Vietnam. So literally in my mind, “A senator’s son” could have been any one of those people. As I said in the late ‘60s, Nixon was a source of unending inspiration [laughs] because he was just so evil to me. It was very noticeable that rich people waged the wars and poor people fought ‘em. The whole business about rich people complaining about taxes but they never pay ‘em…Ronald Regan became the patron saint of that years later. Weren’t there a few years where he paid zero taxes? You thought to yourself, “How in the world can this work” [laughs]? They were fortunate sons. They were the sons of well-heeled and connected people.

Do you write songs to please yourself or audience in mind?

That’s a very interesting question. There’s stuff that I do at the nanosecond of creation, especially a guitar part, that’s probably for me. But then when I begin to weigh it against how it holds up, I seem to be writing for this other person out there-an audience. Lately I think I’ve discovered that person might be me out there. Where I get in trouble is if I think, “This is way hip. So and so critic is gonna think this is really intellectual and cool.” Well, that is the road to ruin right there.

Through the years you’ve selected Green River as one of your favorite albums. What makes that one special? 

The song was the centerpiece of the Green River album-and the album too. I always considered it to be the very center of my music. It was all about what I was trying to be. I just felt that Green River kind of nailed what I was all about musically. The fact that it’s so much like Sun records is not an accident. I guess I would have liked nothing better than to have been an artist in the Sun Records stable of acts. Carl Perkins once said something very flattering to me: “Man, the way that boy can write, if he’d walked in the door and seen Sam [Phillips], who knows what would have happened?”