What will matter is that this revisited Creedence consists of roadworthy veterans who'll be performing some of Americana's greatest hits — "Proud Mary," "Born on the Bayou," and "Suzie Q," to name but a few. Sure, some of these songs have been unsung by characters like Al Bundy and Earl's brother Randy, and unsounded in sillies such as Blade and The Waterboy, but they've also been cited by scribes such as Nick Hornby and Steven King (in, respectively, A Long Way Down and The Shining), and employed by such cinematic heavyweights as Oliver Stone (Born on the Fourth of July), Francis Ford Coppola (Apocalypse Now), and the brothers Coen (The Big Lebowski).
In the end, though, it's less about who still needs Creedence to color their make-believe world and more about the kind of world Creedence once believed in — and might believe in still. How a foursome of Southern California swamp blues enthusiasts were able to make believers out of the sour of disbelief. Yes, it was a wild time, full of riot and protests and rage against the light's dying. Yet, thanks in part to CCR, it was not without its bright, or its shining. If you close your eyes and dig the moment you just might awaken back to the ways a certain generation learned its legacy.
