It blew my little white bread mind. It was raw, it was rough, it was visceral and it was completely alien to what I knew music to be. It talked about drug use, poor southern kids, bayous, and for the first time in my life music took me some place wild and foreign. Sure it was old news at the time, but compared to "Walk Like An Egyptian" and "There'll Be Sad Songs" it just seemed so dirty and real and the polar opposite of the music I heard on the radio. I had never seen a music video but I knew these guys had beards, overgrown sideburns and bad teeth. I could picture them kickin back on someones porch and just jammin out. They weren't cool, they didn't have nice clothes and they were still freakin awesome. And that meant there was hope for me. I went to sleep that night with visions of elephants on flying spoons being serenaded by hicks in overalls and little kids with messed up teeth dancing a jig for thrown quarters and I was happy. Because I could see myself with them.
I got up early the next morning and could not wait to get to school. I wanted to tell Mr Mitchell how much I loved Creedence Clearwater Revival and talk to about all the things I was feeling and thinking about and wanted to do and what I though of their music and how it had changed the way I though about musicians and how we would be best freinds and on and on. Unfortunately he was still just my teacher. And I was still the dorky skinny kid that sucked at kickball. And I still got beat up that afternoon. But I was ok with that. Every now and then Mr Mitchell would slip in an obscure CCR reference in his lesson and give me knowing smile. And I knew that I was different. And that somewhere there were other kids that were different too. And no amount of wedgies could take that away from me.