The River Ran Black: How Jealousy, Lawsuits, and a Disastrous Contract Drowned the Legendary Creedence Clearwater Revival

Creedence Clearwater Revival. The name conjures images of swamp rock, gritty bayou mystique, and a relentless string of two-minute, chart-topping masterpieces that defined the late 1960s and early 70s. For a glorious, incandescent four-year period, John Fogerty, his brother Tom Fogerty, Stu Cook, and Doug Clifford were arguably the biggest band in the world. They were an unstoppable hit machine, pumping out classics like “Proud Mary,” “Bad Moon Rising,” “Fortunate Son,” and “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?” Their music was an unapologetic throwback, a welcome jolt of simple, pure rock and roll that deliberately broke ranks with the psychedelic excess of their San Francisco peers.

Yet, this fairy-tale run ended with a spectacular, acrimonious implosion in 1972, leaving behind a legacy as much defined by venomous feuds and landmark legal battles as by their timeless songs. The “Revival” that gave the band its name ultimately failed to save them from a brutal internal conflict and a devastating business deal. It is a classic rock tragedy where the source of their brilliance—John Fogerty’s singular songwriting genius—became the very wedge that drove them permanently apart.

The Rise of a Hit Machine

The CCR story began years before their famous moniker. The four members, all hailing from the Northern California town of El Cerrito, had been playing together since 1959, cycling through names like The Blue Velvets and The Golliwogs. By the time they signed with Fantasy Records in 1967, they were seasoned veterans ready for their big break. It was Fantasy’s new owner, Saul Zaentz, who encouraged the name change, leading to Creedence Clearwater Revival (a nod to a friend, a beer commercial, and their renewed commitment).

From their 1968 self-titled debut, which featured the hit “Suzie Q” (their only Top 40 not written by John Fogerty), the band’s output became a creative, commercial torrent. They released seven albums in just four years, each one cementing their status as roots-rock pioneers. Their songs, though written by a Californian who had never even been to the deep South, painted vivid, folkloric pictures of riverboats, the bayou, and American struggle, resonating deeply with a nation embroiled in the Vietnam War.

However, behind the scenes, the structure that enabled this relentless stream of hits was built on a dangerously unequal foundation. John Fogerty was the band’s sole songwriter, lead singer, lead guitarist, and producer. This creative control was the engine of their success, but it bred a debilitating resentment among the other members, particularly his older brother, Tom.

The Seeds of Resentment

Fogerty’s work ethic was legendary—drummer Doug “Cosmo” Clifford nicknamed their rehearsal space “Cosmo’s Factory” because of the sheer volume of material John produced. But as the band became bigger than The Beatles, the internal dynamics soured. John Fogerty later reflected on the band’s demise, realizing what he hadn’t understood at the time: his bandmates were intensely jealous.

The tension wasn’t subtle. Fogerty recounted hearing “grumble, grumble, grumble” from his bandmates after a child in an airport would rush over only for his autograph. This resentment eventually boiled over into demands for more creative input. For a brief, ill-fated moment, John relented. Tom Fogerty, Stu Cook, and Doug Clifford insisted on an equal voice, and John, perhaps worn down or trying to prove a point, delivered a stunning ultimatum: their final album would feature one-third of the songs written and sung by each remaining member, with John committing to only playing rhythm guitar on their tracks.

The resulting album, 1972’s Mardi Gras, was an unmitigated disaster. Critics eviscerated it, with one famous review calling it “the worst album I have ever heard from a major rock band.” John Fogerty felt vindicated; the other members felt betrayed. The experiment in “democracy” had failed spectacularly, proving to the world that Fogerty’s dominance was inseparable from CCR’s genius. The band officially announced their break up on October 16, 1972, not long after Tom had already departed in 1971. The golden era was over, but the war was just beginning.

The War for the Soul of the Music

The fallout from the band’s internal conflict was almost immediately eclipsed by a more sinister, decades-long legal battle. In the original contract CCR signed with Fantasy Records, John Fogerty had unknowingly signed away not only the masters of the band’s recordings but also the publishing rights to every song he wrote. The owner of Fantasy Records, Saul Zaentz, became the owner of John Fogerty’s musical soul.

Fogerty’s bitterness over this predatory deal was so profound that it drove him into a self-imposed musical exile for much of the late 1970s and early 1980s. He refused to perform any Creedence material for years, explaining that he felt singing them was essentially paying rent to the man who had stolen his life’s work. The situation was agonizingly personal, even leading to a bitter lyrical attack on Zaentz with the song “Zanz Kant Danz” on his 1985 comeback album, Centerfield, a song he was later forced to retitle “Vanz Kant Danz” to avoid a defamation lawsuit.

But the legal absurdity peaked with the infamous “plagiarism of self” lawsuit. In 1985, Zaentz and Fantasy Records sued John Fogerty, claiming that his solo hit, “The Old Man Down the Road,” was a direct rip-off of the CCR hit he had also written, “Run Through the Jungle.” The label was essentially arguing that John Fogerty had plagiarized himself.

In one of the most surreal moments in rock history, the songwriter had to defend his own musical identity in federal court. Fogerty famously brought his guitar to the witness stand and played both songs, breaking down the compositions to demonstrate that they were, in fact, separate and distinct. The jury ultimately sided with Fogerty, ruling that the songs were different, but the battle cost him over a million dollars in legal fees.

His fight continued, reaching the U.S. Supreme Court in 1993 in the landmark case Fogerty v. Fantasy, Inc. The court unanimously ruled in Fogerty’s favor, establishing a precedent that allowed successful defendants in copyright cases to recoup their legal fees without proving the opposing side’s bad faith. It was a massive victory for artists’ rights, born from the deepest personal torment.

The Ultimate Snub and the Long Road to Reclaiming a Legacy

The bitterness of the financial battle was only compounded by the fractured relationship with his former bandmates. The final, painful public act came in 1993, when Creedence Clearwater Revival was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. On the night meant to celebrate their shared triumph, John Fogerty refused to perform with Stu Cook and Doug Clifford, choosing instead to front an all-star band featuring Bruce Springsteen. It was the ultimate, unmistakable declaration that the wounds were too deep to ever heal.

The feud continued into the new millennium when Cook and Clifford began touring under the name Creedence Clearwater Revisited, a move Fogerty tried unsuccessfully to legally stop. For decades, the story of CCR was inseparable from the acrimony.

Yet, in a powerful testament to persistence, John Fogerty finally began to reclaim his legacy. In a stunning announcement in 2023, after a half-century struggle, Fogerty acquired a majority interest in the worldwide publishing rights to his classic CCR song catalog. This hard-won victory allowed him to finally own and celebrate the songs that had tormented him for so long. As a final act of creative triumph, he has since begun re-recording his classics, releasing them as “John’s Version,” a powerful reclaiming of the voice and music that was nearly silenced by jealousy and corporate greed.

The story of Creedence Clearwater Revival will forever be one of the shortest, most brilliant bursts of creative genius in rock history, followed by one of the longest, most tragic post-breakup sagas. They were a band that sang of bad moons rising and rain that never stopped, a prophecy that sadly came true in their own lives, where the torrent of money and fame washed away the bonds of brotherhood, leaving behind a legacy that only now, decades later, is finally being resurrected on John Fogerty’s own terms.