My natural inclination is to hate Creedence. Maybe its their straightforward sound and John Fogerty's plain wail coupled with their misleading mythology, bringing you swampy, down home, southern-fried rock straight outta... San Francisco? A band's personality matters, the story matters, it all matters, and if you're banking on authenticity, faking it geographically seems like a weird way to start.
The album's solid enough if you get past that, chugging along dead simple, the longer the song, the simpler the sound, everything just stretched out to absurd lengths, lending the full-album even more rootsy sludge than it has on a song-by-song basis. The guitars're dirty and clean, the singing is rough and clear, everything as sharp and slick and dull as a stick 3/5
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