Customer Reviews

Chooglin

5 star:		(2)
4 star:		(0)
3 star:		(0)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

Side 1.
I HEARD IT THROUGH THE GRAPEVINE - 11:05
KEEP ON CHOOGLIN'- 7:40
Side 2.
SUZIE Q - 8:34
PAGAN BABY - 6:25
BORN ON THE BAYOU - 5:10

Cheroots too if you're into the whole alliterative triplicate thing. You gotta dig that movie too though, huh? Walter sez to the Dude in the diner: "I can get you a toe by 3 o'clock." Cracks me up, every time. To the felly below who kindly provided the track listing for Chooglin': I'm almost sure this here's the exact same bargain I snapped up myself on account of the almost exact same track listing that you listed in your own five-star rave review. Plus you supply the vital but frequently overlooked data of song length in minutes and seconds so double your kudos, dude. There I was one day on me holliers wondering if I'd buy me this obscure German repressing of an original Scotch tape or some such tiny technical writing and sure enough it's as trippy a little retro-retread as one could wish for. I am personally quite as happy as Barney and Beaney Batchelor, of the famed bean empire, to add my own five stars to this classic little compilation. The liner notes were written by some dude on the 4th of July 1982 and are a bit dopey--they even include for each band member date and place of birth, height and weight, hair and eye-colour and so on--but in general I agree with the feller when he says the following: "What I learned from those (mostly) genial maniacs was that Creedence's music was not simply two minutes and twenty seconds of clear channel energy. It was also a fertile long-term environment for all sorts of problems and solutions. Which is only fitting. Creedence Clearwater Revival was, after all, the product of a specific place--the Bay area--and a specific time--the late Sixties. Whatever precise economy John Fogerty aimed for when he wrote, for most of their time together the firm of Fogerty, Fogerty, Clifford and Cook played for dancing, the longer the better. The economy remained in the conception and in the overall cohesiveness, as if Creedence singles were extruded, emphasising their close-to-the-ground hypnotic crunch, a special form of rowdy American trance music, perhaps." Amen to that, brother. I bought this record second-hand in the George's Street Arcade in Dublin. I was away for a bit of a break so I was, the return of the native and all that thatch and thistle, but this Creedence record here revivalised me utterly and in a manner very similar to the thrill I always feel on having delivered to the doorstep of my very own girlfriend's house a brand new consignment of thick red socks. I only wear red socks now after seeing Jeff Goldblum playing Seth Brundle in David Cronenberg's powerfully funny and forceful remake of The Fly. In the new version, Brundle takes all the anxiety out of dressing each morning by pulling on identical duds to the ones he wore the day before. He has a whole wardrobeful of this wonderful cloned clothing! This particular sartorial manoeuver impressed me so much I've been imitating it sockwise ever since. Red socks, thick and woolly, the entire length of the livelong year. Perhaps as I get odder I mean older I'll add pants to the mix. Sansabelt slacks say. Cronenberg's stunningly assured re-make of The Big Lebugski is really a brutal kind of lark though and so is his warped and wacky eXistenZ from 1999, a film which hardly anyone I know has ever seen, let alone liked. Sigh. But back to this spliffy platter of choogles here: Straight-up the sweetest jam on the buttered toast of the American West Coast or my name is Peter Pinguid. John Fogerty sings with a voice that magically embiggens the digging of the sounds made by these lovable hairballs plus the songs don't really end either but pulse slowly and sonically towards the faraway termini of that old-timey electric jive. How is it possible to have hoid I Hoid It Through the Grapevine (11:05!) and not end up singing the dang ditty for weeks after, emphasising that woid hoid too now which suddenly sounds funny and maybe even how Bugs Bunny himself might sing the song if one of his carrots came from Camberwell. I drove to Wexford from Dublin at about 100 miles per hour just grooving to this crispy and extended chunk of country cool and never even realised until I got to Enniscorthy that the 100 was for kilometres per hour, not miles, so even though I left Dublin late I arrived in New Ross with actual time to spare which I used to park the car under a tree, sit back in the seat and listen yet again to this hypnotic quintet of hit singles. It does my ticker a world of good when crunchy and timeless music gets tied up with a location that I happen myself to be visiting on my holidays in an automobile fully loaded with a heavy-duty stereo and a secret stash of homemade cheroots in the glove compartment. Well lookee here! The price of admission right there. Keep on chooglin', dudes.