By Steve Newton
Back in August of 1997 I went to see John Fogerty at the Orpheum Theatre in Vancouver. One of my favourite all-time rockers–wicked vocalist, brilliant songwriter, and killer guitarist–Fogerty was touring behind his Grammy-winning Blue Moon Swamp album, and I’d scored free front-row seats because I’d interviewed the man in advance of the gig. So I took my buddy Ferg, who was the best man at my wedding. I figured I owed him one.
It was an amazing show, but the best part might have been going backstage afterwards to meet the legend himself. Fogerty was extremely friendly and gracious, but when the time came for the photo op, Ferg weaseled his way in from Fogerty’s left, got close, and made it look like he was the guy who hangs out with famous rockers all the time. I’m left way the funk over on Fogerty’s right, barely in the picture, desperately trying to get noticed.
I should have heeded that old saying: “Keep your friends close, but don’t let their smiling asses steal all the backstage glory.”