The recording and production, however, was anything but festive. Now a trio after a creatively frustrated Tom Fogerty left the band a year before (described by his brother in two of the group’s most recognizable songs, “Have You Ever Seen the Rain” and “Wish I Could Hideaway”), tomorrows seemed less and less likely with each passing square on the ‘72 calendar. John Fogerty – according to Cook and Clifford’s side of the story – demanded the pair contribute songs, as well as vocals, rather than submitting to their desires to be more involved in the songwriting. The pair’s version of events seems to some a low-key excuse for any substandard quality in their efforts, implying Cook and Clifford had insufficient time and means to prepare better material.
The other side of the Mardi Gras tale, however, suggests an ungrateful pair pressuring their creative force during a fragile time for the band, trapping him – and themselves – into making an album far below the standards CCR had set in the years prior. Whichever side of the story one chooses to believe, the fact that Fogerty refused to sing on or produce his bandmates’ songs lends credence to either version, and shows how frustrated and fed up he was with the band’s situation. The album’s opener is Fogerty’s, the very country “Looking For a Reason.” The somewhat pedestrian song finds the singer an open book:
I’m lookin’ for a reason to stay / I’m all wound up and tied in knots today... Yesterday I tried once more to find / a way to share the trouble on my mind / It seems like you turn away every time / I used to like it here – I can’t remember why.
Stu Cook’s first song on the album, “Take It Like a Friend,” meanwhile, is anything but longing or sad, and takes an obvious shot at Fogerty, even if the song itself gives contradictory claims about how the bassist wound up finally singing (shouting) lead vocals on a Creedence song: Maybe you’d move over, give someone else a chance, try they luck / Instead you run up closer / Tryin’ to grab a page before they close the book. Later, however, Cook seems to describe a catch-22 situation, knowing he and Doug Clifford’s efforts would be quashed –
We moved out toward the light, showin’ empty hands.
Cook’s second solo tune is the crude but lyrically relatable “Sail Away.” Even if the words coming out of Cook’s mouth are butchered on their way out, they could certainly resonate with anyone who’s ever felt trapped in a one-way relationship. Cook laments bitterly, Spent a long time listenin’ to the captain of the sea / Shoutin’ orders to his crew – no one hears but me.
The bassist suddenly changes gears on his next song, the undeniably infectious “Door To Door,” a fun, harmless tune about Cook’s time as a door-to-door salesman. Someone decided the song was at least good enough for the B-side of Fogerty’s “Sweet Hitch-Hiker,” undoubtedly Mardi Gras’ best, most memorable, and most Creedence-like track. Or, back to conspiracy theories, “Door To Door” was purposely paired with “Sweet Hitch-Hiker” to further bring out the perceived contrast in quality as it inevitably paled in comparison in the ears of the majority. Not withstanding, “Door To Door” was played with regularity on the subsequent tour to support the album, a performance of which was included on Live In Europe the next year (an album whose release John Fogerty strongly protested, but lost the fight with Fantasy Records – an institution that would be a thorn in the rock genius’s side for well over the next decade, well after CCR was no more).
Behind the drumkit, Doug Clifford didn’t seem to have much of a grudge to bear, at least not on record; his songs are laid-back, country-colored standards, a wise move, as the style fits his softsung voice. “Need Someone To Hold” and “Tearin’ Up the Country” are both enjoyable, even if they’re nothing spectacular. These songs are generally more well received than his bass playing counterpart’s offerings, probably because, again, Clifford’s voice is less abrasive and forced. The drummer sings with an inoffensive twang, making Cook’s I-Just-Stubbed-My-Toe shouts all the more jarring when played side by side with Clifford’s songs in the tracklisting. The two briefly team up – possibly against Fogerty specifically – on “What Are You Gonna Do,” the best non-Fogerty song on the album, a knee-bouncing, well-constructed song whose chorus borders on earworm (that’s not a bad thing, despite that “worm” thing; an “earworm” is a piece of music that’s extremely catchy). Though the lyrics’ lecture to an unwise character could describe any half of any failed relationship, of any kind, the temptation to assign them to John Fogerty is overwhelming in the context of the rest of Mardi Gras. If he is indeed the target, it’s Clifford’s only gripe on the record, and again he wisely handles the vocals, toning down any bitterness the song may or may not contain.
Not surprisingly, none of Cook or Clifford’s songs would see a place on either of CCR’s bestselling Chronicle compilations, the first being universally hailed as a definitive representation of the band’s work. Chronicle Volume 1, released in 1976, saw Mardi Gras represented only by “Sweet Hitch-Hiker” and Fogerty’s deeply personal but relatable “Someday Never Comes.” Volume 2, released a decade later saw a stranger song selection, with a preference for the band’s several great covers of doo-wop, folk, and blues standards like “The Midnight Special,” “The Night Time is the Right Time,” and “Cotton Fields.” Mardi Gras, however, is represented the second time around by the mediocre “Looking For a Reason” and the album’s least interesting recording, a meh cover of “Hello Mary Lou.” The fact that this song was chosen for inclusion rather than “Tearin’ Up the Country” (the B-side to “Someday Never Comes”) or even the admittedly novelty “Door To Door,” more than hints at how Cook and Clifford’s work was received.
Released in April 1972, Mardi Gras must have been either enormously satisfying to John Fogerty to see his bandmates’ work turned to cannon fodder by Rolling Stone’s minions, or devastatingly reaffirming that the death of Creedence was near. “Fogerty’s Revenge” was probably a much preferred nickname to the distinction given it by Rolling Stone – “the worst album ever recorded by a major band” up to that point in rock history.
In October, however, the inevitable could no longer be postponed, and the announcement was made – Creedence was done. The band, in the four-piece lineup in which they’d played since 1957 under various names, played together again in 1980 at Tom Fogerty’s wedding, and even posed for a picture together. It would be the very last time the Fogerty brothers shared a stage. Tom died in 1990, estranged from his brother by record industry politics. When CCR was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 1993, his widow was in attendance, carrying with her Tom’s ashes in an urn. Her gesture was for naught – after their acceptance speeches, John refused to play even one Creedence classic with his former bandmates, opting instead to share the moment with Bruce Springsteen on “Who’ll Stop the Rain?” Cook and Clifford got up and left.
Again, breakup albums should not be pretty. Albums recorded by bands in danger of falling apart should be scattered, uneven, and should sound as if the band could crumble at any moment. Mardi Gras is the quintessential breakup album. Like an awkward week after the charges are dropped in a domestic dispute, the tension is there, the anger only thinly veiled, the hole kicked in the bathroom door gaping and providing insight into what really goes on in the life of a major rock band. It’s not always fun, and more often than not, egos and power struggles prevail over the band of brothers each garage act sets out to be.
-From my book Rocktology Exam: Classic Rock's Hidden Gems (but you don't have to buy it if you don't want to)
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