JOHN COUGAR & THE FOOLING OF AMERICA

JOHN COUGAR & THE FOOLING OF AMERICA

by

J. Kordosh

I'd never listened to any of John Cougar's records before American Fool, although I saw him open for the Kinks a couple of years back. I remember thinking (a thing I'm not addicted to, by the way) at the end of his set: "Hey, this guy should get an encore." The audience was applauding my thinking, too. He didn't do one, though. Why not? Thank your lucky Kinks that everyone's in Business, if you know what I mean.

When I drew the Coog-assignment out of the CREEM grab-bag I had mixed feelings, which is not the same as being stirred. What it means is that I didn't hate the guy immensely, which is (on rare occasions) the only thing I've got to work with in this business. Hell, I didn't hate Cougar anymore than I hate plywood. Plus, I'd read Riegel's spiels on JC. Riegel was high on the guy; high enough that he couldn't be Purina. Now Rich and I aren't exactly intimate—it might be because we've never met, talked, or corresponded, but if he doesn't have a working aesthetic by now he might as well be doing the crossword puzzle.

So I got a copy of American Fool and went home to get impressed before I met Coog, which was gonna be the next day. I tell you, there's no point in rushing these things...I rate listening to records in between doing the crossword puzzle and «, looking at fish, with the possible exception I of Highway 61 Revisited, which can take * on a tankful of Cardinal Tetras. *

But, yea, verily, I was sorely amazed | and otherwise astonished to find that I ¶ liked the record. (My second-best friend— next to Riegel—Jim Farber, didn't get whelmed, over or under, by it...he told you why in the last issue. Get a copy and send it to a friend in the service.) It's not like me to go all analytical here, because I hate adjectives and want to kill them. Suffice it to say that I liked Cougar's honesty and sense of humor. (Possible adjectives: innate, emotional, multi-colored. Quick, the shotgun!) Also, he's really much better singer than Seger and a much more interesting writer than Springsteen. I know stuff like this through osmosis, even if that sounds a little fishy. The best song on the album is "Hand To Hold On To," which advances the extremely unusual notion that everybody needs a hand to hold onto. Freud said the same thing, you will recall, but he said it a little differently. Probably in German, which is a different language. Anyway, there's at least another five or six real good songs on the album, and for all I know it might not even be his best record. I'll get around to finding out one of these total solar eclipses.

My first contract—I like to call it The Cocaine Contract, 'cause I know now where the money went.

I met Mr. Mellencamp (Coog's actual surname) at a swank suburban hotel at— get this—9:30 in the morning. Jesus, I didn't even know we had two 9:30's up until then. You learn a lot of out-of-theway facts in this business.

He was finishing up his breakfast, shirtless, and invited me to have a chair. I noticed a couple thousand dozen unopened cassettes laying around, ranging from Bow Wow'Wow to J.Geils to the Doors. I noticed that Coog's hair looked exactly like it does on the LP and I don't figure he combed it especially for me—it must just lay that way. I noticed his accent (which everything else I'd read called a "Midwestern drawl") sounded about as Midwestern as Mississippi. Hey, I was born and raised in Detroit—I'm Midwestern, and so is my mouth. I noticed I wanted a cup of tea, which Coog ordered for both of us. He put on a crummy-looking shirt and I turned down the radio, which was playing some rock station...you know, records. Ugh.

"What's with all of these cassettes, anyway?"

"Well, I was at a record store last night and they just said to take whatever I wanted."

"You listen to all this stuff?"

"Yeah. 1 listen to everything. It's the business I'm in."

"Makes sense to me. Who do you like?" "1 like lots of stuff. I like the Stones."

I like the Stones, too. I was still noticing, so 1 noticed that Coog was wearing one of those skull-rings like Keith Richards's got. "It's not as good as his," Coog said. "Somebody told me that the mouth on his ring opens and closes." Probably made in Switzerland, right? We meandered around to American Fool and I mentioned that I thought his singing was "Jaggeresque" (somebody write in and tell me if that's the right adjective before I feed it to the fish) on "Close Enough."

"That's a good song, but it could've been a great song. Originally, I had this idea it would sound a lot like 'Honky Tonk Women,' with all the percussion, but it didn't turn out that way."

"What the hell is the noise on that song, anyway?"

"It's a bumper. We brought it into the studio and somebody banged on it." Just another high-tech biker/musician, gang.

"Well, do you like the album?"

"Actually, I'm kind of sick of it. It took so damned long to make. But that's why I'm a musician, I'm a lazy person."

That's about the most honest answer I've got to a question since I asked for another beer after last call. I could tell this Cougar was on the level: it's that osmosis I've got.

"People don't want to hear the truth, you know," he told me.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I was talking to this (radio) program director and I told him a certain singer was bisexual. He thinks this singer's great, so he wouldn't believe me. But it's true."

"People are funny."

"Yeah. I was with some radio and record people and so on, and I used the word 'nigger' in the conversation. Now, to me, a nigger's a lazy person...it's got nothing to do with race. But everybody was horrified, and some people from my company said, 'John, you've got to go back and say you didn't mean that-.' So I went back and every other word out of my mouth was 'nigger.' Ha ha ha."

I'd noticed (gotta break that habit) that there were several references to religion sprinkled throughout American Fool ("Bible Belt's gonna save my soul, " on "Jack & Diane," "You can be a preacher's son, it does not matter, " on "Hand To Hold On To.") "Have you got some kind of problem with religion, John?"

"I'm from Nazarene, Indiana...it's like Deliverance down there, man."

"Deliverance?" I was thinking about the big-league JC.

"You know, the movie. Everybody knows everybody, inter-marriage, the whole thing."

Being a—well, the word we Midwesterners here in Tigertown would use is "hick," gave Coug an interesting intro to the biz.

"I was really green. My first contract—I like to call it The Cocaine Contract, 'cause I know now where the money went—was with this guy in New York. He told me that he'd put up two thousand if 1 put up two thousand and we'd make a tape. And I actually thought that things worked that way! So I went back to Indiana to try to get the money.. .my dad wouldn't give it to me .. .and I finally got it from a bank. I sent the guy the money and kept waiting to hear from him. And he'd write and so on, but after a couple months I never heard from him. All I got out of it was a tape we made in one day." Plus what I like to call an ejimication.

His further adventures included hooking up with MainMan and Bowie's ex-handler, Tony DeFries, who gave him the Cougar handle and his first LP, Chestnut Street Incident (MCA) during a couple-month relationship. "Everybody at MainMan was standing around looking like David Bowie," JC recalled of that highlight.

I asked him the whys and wherefores of the "Johnny Cougar" EP on Guleher Records, which turned up while he was doing a whole bunch of mothing.

"You know that guy (from Guleher)?"

"I met him once. Weird cat."

"Yeah. Well, I was trying to peddle this

tape I had to a record company and I thought it would be nice if I had some stationery, you know, with my name and address across the top so they'd know where to write back. So this guy was working at one of those fast-print places and I said to him: 'Hey, how about laying some free stationery on me?' He said he couldn't do it, but he said he'd trade me for any tapes I had. For his private collection." (Try not to choke, OK?) "So I gave him a copy of that tape.. .1 mean, it wasn't mixed, sounded shitty...wasn't in any kind of shape to be released as a record. And he gave me the stationery .

"Awhile later, I was in Europe, and when I got back there was this Johnny Cougar EPout."

"Wait a minute. Stationery like that only costs, maybe, 25 bucks."

"Didn't have it."

"So what, you didn't figure it was worth your time to sue the guy?"

"Yeah. Hell, how many copies can he sell, anyway?"

Not a hulluva lot, I sincerely hope. As you can see from all of this...uh, "experience"...Cougar, who's 30 now, has ample credentials to be not only an American fool, but possibly the entire Western Hemisphere's fool. He's plenty wise now, though.

"You ever see those band t-shirts they sell at concerts?"

"Sure." One of my real thrills, I might add.

"Have you seen Springsteen's?"

"Nope."

"Look at it sometime. On the front, it says, like 'Bruce Springsteen, American Tour,' or whatever. And on the back it lists all the guys in the band. You know... uh..."

"Clarence Clemons? Those people?"

"Yeah. You know why that is, though?"

"Dunno."

"It's because the guys in the band said, 'Hey, he's making all sorts of money on these t-shirts and we're not getting shit out of it.' So Springsteen had to cut a deal with 'em and put their names on it, too. I'm sure it was something like that."

Well, why in the world is this record called American Fool, you might ask. Wait a minute, you don't have to; I already did.

"Why in the world'is this record called American Fool, John?"

"I had about 30 songs to use; one of them was called 'American Fool.' It's a pretty good song...how's it go? 'You think I'm lazy and call me a fool/That I hang around with the young girls and of course I do. ' Ha ha! I love that... 'Of course I do!' "

"Like Jack and Diane. 'They walk on. ' "

"Yeah, I like that one, too. It's gonna be the next single. Maybe it'll be a novelty hit or something."

Well, it's a good enough tune to be a real hit, but who knows in this biz? As I was getting ready to go, I put on my jacket, which is a motorcycle leather.

"That's a nice jacket, man," said JC.

"Thanks. I used to ride."

"What'd you ride?"

"A Honda, man." ,

"A Honda?! Aw, fuck!"

I tell you, there's Harley no fooling this guy at all.