John Fogerty, 'Deja Vu All Over Again'

DATE September 3, 2004 ACCOUNT NUMBER N/A
TIME 12:00 Noon-1:00 PM AUDIENCE N/A
NETWORK NPR
PROGRAM Fresh Air

Interview: Singer and songwriter John Fogerty discusses his
music and career
DAVID BIANCULLI, host:

This is Fresh Air. I'm David Bianculli, TV critic for The New York Daily
News, sitting in for Terry Gross.

John Fogerty was the lead singer and songwriter with the band Creedence
Clearwater Revival. His new CD, "Deja Vu All Over Again," is being released
this month, and he's also appearing on one leg of the Vote for Change concert
tour on the same bill as Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, R.E.M. and
Bright Eyes. With Vietnam a hot-button issue again in the current
presidential campaign, Fogerty's anti-war anthems and other Vietnam-era songs
have a new resonance. And his new collection of songs plays off that history.

Between 1968 and 1972, the year Creedence broke up, the group had several gold
records as well as eight top-10 singles, including "Proud Mary," "Bad Moon
Rising," "Green River," "Down on the Corner" and "Lookin' out my back door."
For many years, Fogerty refused to perform the songs that made him famous
because his old record company owned the rights to those songs. But in 1998,
he returned to those songs on a live CD called "Premonition." Terry spoke with
him in 1998 when "Premonition" was released. Before we hear from Fogerty,
let's listen to one of Creedence Clearwater's signature songs.

(Soundbite from "Born on the Bayou")

Mr. JOHN FOGERTY (Singer-Songwriter): (Singing) When I was just a little
boy, standing up to my daddy's knee, my poppa said, `Son, don't let the man
get you and do what he done to me.' 'Cause he'll get you, 'cause he'll get
you now, now. Well, I can remember the Fourth of July running through the
backwood, bare. And I can still hear my old hound dog barking, chasing down
a hoodoo there, chasing down a hoodoo there. Born on the Bayou, born on the
Bayou, born on the Bayou.

TERRY GROSS, host:

You've written a lot of songs inspired by the South like "Born on the Bayou."
You were actually born in El Cerrito, California, near Berkeley. And I'm
wondering why in some of your songs you wrote first-person in the persona of a
Southerner?

Mr. FOGERTY: Gee, that's a good question. I think I realized that talking
about the Main Street of El Cerrito probably wasn't going to be something that
was widely understood or even cared about. It didn't seem very interesting to
me anyway and the South has always fascinated me and that's really the reason
that I placed myself that way in my own songs. But if you want to ask me why
am I so fascinated about the South?, I really have to confess I don't know.

GROSS: Because of the music?

Mr. FOGERTY: Most of what I know about the South came through music,
particularly the early forms of rock and roll, meaning rhythm and blues,
country blues and country music. And, again, all those versions I believe
were pretty romanticized. You know, they were sort of rainbow-colored visions
of the South in most cases.

GROSS: Would your father have ever said what the father says in "Born on the
Bayou," Papa said, `Son, don't let the man get you and do what he done to
me'?

Mr. FOGERTY: Yeah, he did say that a few different ways. My dad was a
dreamer, unfortunately. He wasn't much of a--he didn't find great success in
this world, but he was quite a dreamer and pretty literate. He read all the
time and he was inspired by all kinds of people that he passed on to me in
kind of little snippets. I can remember when I was very, very young my father
reading the story of "Dangerous Dan McGrew" over and over. He loved that
particular poem. He really loved Ernest Hemingway. You know, he was a
product of the '30s and '40s I guess. My parents certainly were
Depression-era people, and I learned a lot of those lessons at their knee.
And I think just by the way my dad ended up living his life, just by example
really, he was telling me, `Don't let the man get you and do what he done to
me.'

GROSS: John Fogerty, do me a favor. Can you say two words for me: turning
and burning?

Mr. FOGERTY: Well, when I'm sitting here quietly in a library atmosphere, it
is turning and burning. But when I sing, it always comes out "terning" and
"berning."

GROSS: Yeah, that's very New Orleans, isn't it?

Mr. FOGERTY: Well, you know what? I didn't know where really, although I've
noticed--because I just did it naturally. When I wrote the words, I wrote
them to sound that way.

GROSS: And the song in question is "Proud Mary."

Mr. FOGERTY: Right. I've always noticed, though, that Howlin' Wolf has very
much that sort of dialect in his music. I only spoke to him a couple times,
but in his singing, you know, in the great songs that he did, he pronounces
those words that way. But, yes, down in New Orleans, a lot of people will say
"terning" and "berning."

GROSS: Well, why don't we pause here and listen to your new recording of
"Proud Mary" from your album "Premonition"? My guest is John Fogerty.

(Soundbite from "Proud Mary")

Mr. FOGERTY: (Singing) Left a good job in the city, working for The Man every
night and day, and I never lost one minute of sleeping worrying 'bout the way
things might have been. Big wheel keep on turning, Proud Mary keep on
burning. Rolling, rolling, rolling on the river. Cleaned a lot of plates in
Memphis, pumped a lot of pain down in New Orleans. But I never saw the good
side of the city until I hitched a ride on a river boat queen. Big wheel keep
on turning, Proud Mary keep on burning. Rolling, rolling, rolling on the
river.

GROSS: The members of Creedence started performing together I think in 1959
when you were all in high school? Do I have that right?

Mr. FOGERTY: That's correct. Actually we were still in the eighth grade,
three of us.

GROSS: Junior high school.

Mr. FOGERTY: Right.

GROSS: What were your early songs? What was the band like back in eighth
grade?

Mr. FOGERTY: Well, we were mostly an instrumental band. I patterned myself
and my band very much around Duane Eddy and we did several Duane Eddy
instrumentals. Taking the pattern basically from Duane, I would play the
melody on the guitar and Stu, who was not yet playing bass, was playing piano.
And I kind of showed him the rudiments of, you know, three-note chords and a
little base line so that--you know, at that level of our development, we were
certainly learning the rudiments of music but always with a rock and roll
flair, you might say. Rock and roll has some pretty strict perimeters that
you--when you step outside those perimeters, everyone kind of gives you that
crossed finger look like they're holding back a vampire. So, you know, I've
always kind of based everything from the center of rock and roll.

GROSS: The band's first name was Tommy Fogerty--that's your brother--Tommy
Fogerty and the Blue Velvets. And then the band was called--What was the
second name?

Mr. FOGERTY: Well, actually, originally the three of us were the same age in
the eighth grade, so we were just the Blue Velvets.

GROSS: Oh.

Mr. FOGERTY: And then we got the lucky happenstance to make a few records for
a little local Bay Area label, and under that guise, Tom would join us. Tom,
by that point, I think was out of high school and, of course, we were still in
high school. And, you know, under that recording name, we were Tommy Fogerty
and the Blue Velvets.

GROSS: And then what was the next name that you used?

Mr. FOGERTY: The next name on records was the Golliwogs.

GROSS: And what was the Golliwogs supposed to mean?

Mr. FOGERTY: Well, this is one of those deals, because you're young and
everybody else is supposedly older and wiser and it's their record
company--the real story is we worked on the first single, the first song for
about nine months. I mean, we had gone in there and recorded it. And we kept
pressuring the record company, `When's it coming out? When's it coming out?'
This was all of 1964. And then finally they tell us, `Well, the record's
here. The pressings are here.' So we rush over--actually I rushed over to San
Francisco and I pull--you know, it's your first real record on a supposedly
national label, Fantasy Records, and you want to look at this thing. And you
take it out of the box and I looked at it and oh, my God, it said the
Golliwogs.

So Max was one of the brothers that owned the company then. I said, `Well,
gees, Max, there's a mistake here, there's like a typo. They put the
Golliwogs.' `No, we decided to rename you guys.' `Oh, well, why?' `See, a
golliwog is--in England, a golliwog is like a voodoo doll. It's this doll
that comes from Africa. It's really a hip thing, it's really cool and it's
black, too. It's like from the black culture and it's really cool. It's like
a voodoo doll and in England, it's really a hip thing.'

Of course, in 1964, the British had arrived in America and all things English
and British--mod, etc.--were very cool. Unfortunately, no one in England had
ever heard of a golliwog either.

GROSS: How did you come up with the name Creedence Clearwater Revival?

Mr. FOGERTY: Well, of course, after struggling under that name for several
years, the ownership of Fantasy changed. And the very first thing we wanted
to do was change our name. And the guy that had bought the company, the new
owner of the company agreed with us that we could change the name. I think he
hated it, too.

And so we set about for many months trying to come up with a name, but none of
it was very suitable or remarkable. The whole process started to bog down I
think. It was Christmas Eve and I was watching television, and two
commercials came on television, one of which was a beer commercial that really
promoted its use of the water. And they were showing this lush, green woods
and this flowing river and, you know, the place looked enchanted and there was
this beautiful music in the background.

And right after that was a black-and-white commercial. It was an
anti-pollution commercial and it showed all kinds of pollution and garbage in
the water and that sort of thing. And at the end, it said, `If you want to
change things, write to Clean Water Washington.' And I was really taken by the
two things back to back, the beautiful, clear water and the, you know,
terrible polluted water. And clean water stuck in my mind. I started playing
with that. Clean water didn't seem like a very good name for a band, but I
evolved to Clearwater. And I remembered back to when we had toyed, at some
point, with the name Creedence. It's not true that I ever knew this person,
but we did know of a man whose first name was Creedence. Pretty unusual name.
And, of course, I shuffled that around, Clearwater Creedence, Creedence
Clearwater. Oh, I kind of like that but it still didn't sound complete.
Remember, this is during the era of Jeffership Airplane and Strawberry Alarm
Clock and Buffalo Springfield.

So I kept playing around with different words and I thought that what we were
really doing was having a revival, the group. We had been together a long
time but we were now experiencing a revival, or at least I hoped so. So
finally, after about probably 10 minutes of thought or even less, I had come
up with the name. And I must say that the name was much better than we were
at the time.

BIANCULLI: John Fogerty, formerly the lead singer of Creedence Clearwater
Revival. More after a break. This is FRESH AIR.

(Soundbite of music)

BIANCULLI: Let's get back to Terry's 1998 interview with John Fogerty, the
former lead singer of Creedence Clearwater Revival. His new CD, "Deja Vu All
Over Again," is being released this month.

GROSS: You wrote some politicized song that pertain to the draft and to the
war in Vietnam, like "Fortunate Son" which is a song about how privileged
people make wars, but the sons of the privileged are exempt from fighting
them. And "Who'll Stop the Rain" I think was perceived as an anti-Vietnam
song. I know you were in the Reserves for a while. How did you end up in the
Reserves?

Mr. FOGERTY: I was a very lucky guy really. A local sergeant in a Reserve
unit took pity on me and basically let me join his unit when, you know, the
unit was full and there was really no place for me to go. He basically took
pity on me and let me get into his Reserve unit at the time.

GROSS: So what year was that that you were drafted?

Mr. FOGERTY: 1966.

GROSS: So you were already recording then?

Mr. FOGERTY: Oh, yeah.

GROSS: And you didn't want to go to Vietnam, so you ended up in the Reserves.
I'm wondering if being in the Reserves affected your attitude toward the war
or toward the kinds of songs you wanted to write?

Mr. FOGERTY: Oh, I would say very much because, you know, you quickly learn
when you become a grunt in the military that you're just a number, you're just
a piece of meat. You're nothing. You have no rights, you have no privileges,
you have no power over what happens to you. And that's a very debilitating
feeling.

And I can remember--you know what? I can remember the night I finally arrived
at my boot camp after being shuffled around for a couple of days really. It's
your first day and they keep you awake forever it seems like you've been
awake. And somewhere around midnight or one in the morning, I know all my
guys got marched off to get our hair cut. And you kind of come back, you feel
like you've been sexually abused. You know, they say, `OK, go back in there.'
And you go back in your barracks and there's like 30 other people in the same
boat and you're all a bunch of ugly eggheads. And I laid down on my bunk and
I must confess, a few--my eyes certainly watered is I guess what I'm trying to
say. Of course, you get over that 'cause you're supposed to be a man. It was
probably the most forlorn feeling I've ever had.

GROSS: Did you see your song "Who'll Stop The Rain" as an anti-war song?

Mr. FOGERTY: Yes.

GROSS: Do you want to say anything about writing this song before we hear it?

Mr. FOGERTY: Well, of course, the rain is a metaphor for the gobbly gook
that comes down from the places on high. And I was feeling pretty much
powerless at the time I wrote this song, and I was trying to reflect that
really it seems to be--it has gone on since the beginning of time. And even
at the time of the Vietnam War when there was so much protest in the air, I
had a very fatalistic point of view. It seemed like all the protesting in the
world wasn't going to change anything.

(Soundbite from "Who'll Stop the Rain")

Mr. FOGERTY: (Singing) Long as I remember, the rain been coming down.
Clouds of myst'ry pouring, confusion on the ground. Good men through the
ages, trying to find the sun. And I wonder, still I wonder who'll stop the
rain. I went down Virginia, seeking shelter from the storm. Caught up in the
fable, I watched the tower grow. Five year plans and new deals, wrapped in
golden chains. And I wonder, still I wonder who'll stop the rain.

GROSS: Did you hear from people who were fighting in Vietnam that they played
your records there a lot and that your records mattered to them while they
were in the jungle?

Mr. FOGERTY: I would hear that off and on right around the time of 1970, '71
but I heard about it a lot more later as I began to become an adult and guys
who were now back and settled into the community would tell me all kinds of
stories about Vietnam and the music that they experienced there.

GROSS: And what did that mean to you?

Mr. FOGERTY: Well, in some cases, it was very uplifting. I am proud that the
songs meant so much. You know, I realize, of course, that all the music at
the time meant so much and especially to Americans off in a foreign land in a
jungle fighting for their life. I mean, anything--these are kids. These are
guys 20 and 21 years old. Anything that is a touch of home is a very welcome
memory at that time.

BIANCULLI: John Fogerty was the lead singer of Creedence Clearwater Revival.
He spoke to Terry in 1998. His new CD, "Deja Vu All Over Again," is being
released this month. We'll close with the title tune from that album. I'm
David Bianculli and this is FRESH AIR.

(Soundbite from "Deja Vu All Over Again")

Mr. FOGERTY: (Singing) Did you hear 'em talkin' 'bout it on the radio, did
you try to read the writing on the wall? Did that voice inside you say I've
heard it all before? It's just like deja vu all over again. Day by day I
hear the voices rising. Started with a whisper like it did before. Day by
day we count the dead and dying, ship the bodies home while the networks all
keep score. Did you hear 'em talkin' 'bout it on the radio?

(Credits)

BIANCULLI: Coming up, Kris Kristofferson talks about his singing and acting
career. He's just been elected to the Country Music Hall of Fame.

Rock critic Ken Tucker reviews the new album from Indy rocker Chris Stamey.

Also, film critic David Edelstein reviews "Vanity Fair" starring Reese
Witherspoon and Gabriel Byrne.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Review: Chris Stamey's new album, "Travels in the South"
DAVID BIANCULLI, host:

I'm David Bianculli, and this is FRESH AIR.

At age 49, Chris Stamey has been making punk- and pop-influenced alternative
rock for more than 20 years, most notably as co-leader of the band the dBs.
In recent years Stamey has worked extensively as a producer for acts ranging
from Yo La Tango to Ben Folds to the Squirrel Nut Zippers. But rock critic
Ken Tucker says "Travels in the South," Stamey's first solo album in more than
a decade, both returns him to his musical roots and sends him in a new
direction.

(Soundbite of "14 Shades of Green")

Mr. CHRIS STAMEY: (Singing) Here's where we get off. You live right down the
street. In my wildest dreams, nothing could compete. Gets me when...

KEN TUCKER reporting:

The tune that leads off "Travels in the South," the soaring "14 Shades of
Green," seems at first like a tacit autobiography, a song about homecoming
that a superficial listen may lead you to think Stamey is talking about his
native Chapel Hill, North Carolina. But if you can get past the happily
jangling guitars and Stamey's wonderful vocal, part bluster, part
exhilaration, you realize he's speaking in the voice of a cheerful loser, a
guy who's giving you a tour of all the places he's screwed up in when he was
younger. `Here's where we went to church,' he sings. `Here's where we robbed
that store,' he says with equal affection.

Steeped in a fictional nostalgia, the lyrics keep dissolving with acid wit.
It's a great way to start off an album, setting a tone of genial skepticism.

(Soundbite of "Kierkegaard")

Mr. STAMEY: (Singing) If there's no God in the sky and all you know when you
die, is it truly a dream and lullaby if there's no God, if there's no God?
And when you look into the past, find nothing there that will last but
circumstance and arrogance, if there's no God, if there's no God...

TUCKER: That song, "Kierkegaard," unlike "14 Shades of Green," really does
have what you expect from its title, gliding superficially across
Kierkegaardian theories of God and his death. But he sets this Philosophy 101
to a faux Beach Boys melody that gives greater force to Stamey's proclamation
that, quote, "There's not God in the sky. All you know is a lie." Atheism
never sounded so fun, fun, fun till the biggest daddy in the universe takes
the keys to your existential T-bird away.

(Soundbite of "In Spanish Harlem")

Mr. STAMEY: (Singing) Whoo. Whoo. Kenny Burrell doesn't know how to play
out of tune. The orchestra swells across Fifth Avenue. Hal Blaine hits the
drums so hard, you forget just where you are. In Spanish Harlem...

TUCKER: Throughout "Travels in the South," Chris Stamey is playing with pop
history, mixing and matching riffs and facts with a debonair disregard for the
truth that only someone who really knows his subject can pull off. In that
song, "In Spanish Harlem," Stamey harmonizes with lovely earnestness with Tift
Merritt, a female voice that adds intense longing to Stamey's cleverness.
He seizes upon the Leiber and Stoller hit "Spanish Harlem," throws in the
names of real musicians who may or may not have had anything to do with making
"Spanish Harlem" and ends up with his own take on the original's poignant
yearning.

Although nearly every journey Chris Stamey takes in "Travels in the South"
involves bringing along a pop music influence, by the end of every song he's
walking down that road alone, taking his own path down music history.

BIANCULLI: Ken Tucker is critic at large for Entertainment Weekly. He
reviewed "Travels in the South" by Chris Stamey.

Coming up, Kris Kristofferson. This is FRESH AIR.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Interview: Kris Kristofferson discusses his singing and acting
careers
DAVID BIANCULLI, host:

Songwriter, singer and actor Kris Kristofferson was just elected to the
Country Music Hall of Fame. His induction is in November. His songs include
"Me and Bobby McGee," "For The Good Times," "From the Bottle to the Bottom"
and "Help Me Make it Through the Night." Kristofferson arrived in Nashville
in the 1960s after living in England as a Rhodes scholar and serving in the
military. His first job in the music industry was working as a janitor at
Columbia Records. It was there that he met Johnny Cash, who became his good
friend, recorded Kristofferson's songs and convinced Kristofferson to start
recording himself.

Kristofferson is as well-known for his acting as for his singing. His films
include "Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid," "A Star is Born," "Lone Star,"
"Payback" and "Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore," which was just released on
DVD as part of a Martin Scorsese box set. Terry spoke with Kris Kristofferson
in 1999. Let's get started with his best-known song, "Me and Bobby McGee."

(Soundbite of "Me and Bobby McGee")

Mr. KRIS KRISTOFFERSON: (Singing) Busted flat in Baton Rouge and heading for
the train, feeling nearly faded as my jeans. Bobby thumbed a diesel down just
before it rained, took us all the way to New Orleans. I took my harp on out
of my dirty red bandana and was blowin' sad while Bobby sang the blues. With
them windshield wipers slappin' time and Bobby clappin' hands, we finally sang
we finally sang every song that driver knew. Freedom's just another word for
nothin' left to lose. Nothing ain't worth nothing but it's free. Feeling
good was easy, Lord, when Bobby sang the blues. Feeling good was good enough
for me, good enough for me and Bobby McGee.

TERRY GROSS, host:

The most famous line from the song is `Freedom's just another word for nothin'
left to lose.' What inspired that line?

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: Well, that's what the song was really about to me--was the
double-edged sword, you know, that freedom is. And when I wrote that, some of
my songwriter friends in Nashville told me to take it out of the song, said
that it didn't fit; that the rest of the imagery was so real and concrete that
it was out of place to put a little philosophical line in there.

GROSS: Tell me if I remember correctly. Did you have a house that burned
down at about the time you wrote this song?

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: No. No, I had had a--I'll tell you what I had. I was
living in a condemned building at the time, and, you know, the thing cost me,
I think, $50 a month. And somebody had broken into it during the week that I
was down in the Gulf of Mexico and trashed the place and stole what little I
had to steal. I remember it was a very liberating feeling to me (laughs)
because everything was gone, and there was nowhere to go but up. I had also
alienated my family at the time; my wife had left me, and I was separated, you
know, from my kids, and I think I'd been disowned by my parents by the time.
And it was pretty liberating not having any expectations or anything to live
up to.

GROSS: What year did you first get to Nashville, and what was it like when
you got there?

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: I first went there in June of 1965 and was on my way back
from a three-year tour in the Army in Germany and was on my way to the career
course down at Ft. Benning and from there supposedly to teach English
literature at West Point. And since my military obligation was already
fulfilled, I decided I was going to get out of the Army and be a songwriter.
I had spent a couple weeks there just on tour--I mean, just, you know, I was
on leave and got shown around to some of the songwriter sessions and got a
glimpse of the life--I've always felt like I was really lucky to have been
exposed to Nashville at that time because I'm sure it's different now.

GROSS: If you're just joining us, my guest is Kris Kristofferson, songwriter,
singer and actor.

How did you start making movies? Did you think one day, `I'm going to act?'

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: When I started performing my own songs, the first place I
ever played was at Troubador Club in Los Angeles. It was kind of a hangout
like The Bitter End in New York. And I think at the time there was more
people looking for new blood because I got a lot of offers just off of
performing there. And eventually Harry Dean Stanton gave me a script. I
didn't even know he was an actor at the time (laughs). I thought he just sang
in the bar there at The Troubador. But he helped me do a screen test for a
film that was called "Sisco Pike," and I got to putting my music in it, and
I was the lead in it, you know, a film with Gene Hackman and Karen Black and
Harry Dean and just went on from there.

GROSS: Compare the roles that you get now with what you got early on. You're
often playing the heavy now.

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: Yeah, I think that's thanks to John Sayles.

GROSS: And "Lone Star."

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: And "Lone Star," yeah.

GROSS: Yeah, where you played a sadistic sheriff.

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: Yeah. It was so different from most of the roles that
I'd played before that that I think people finally thought I was acting.

(Soundbite of laughter)

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: I'm not sure anybody thought I ever acted before that.

GROSS: Well, I thought I'd play a short scene from "Payback." And in this
movie, Mel Gibson is a con man who's getting revenge on the people who conned
him out of $70,000 and also shot him and left him for dead. You play somebody
who heads a crime syndicate. And Mel Gibson has kidnapped your song and is
holding him stage until you deliver the $70,000. But now you've got Mel
Gibson tied up, and you're trying to get him to tell you where he's holding
your son. And here you are threatening him.

(Soundbite of "Payback")

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: Here it is, 130,000.

(Soundbite of zipper)

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: That's as close as you're ever going to get to it. But
I'll make you a deal. Tell me where Jon is, and I'll finish you quick. I
promise you won't have to find out what your left ball tastes like. But if
there's even a bruise on him, I'll make this last three weeks. I'll give you
a blood transfusion to keep you alive if I have to. Where is he?

GROSS: That's Kris Kristofferson in a scene from "Payback."

How'd you get this part?

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: Well, they had actually finished the film and apparently
weren't satisfied with the way it worked, and they created this character for
me to play. And I went in and shot a week, and I told Mel--I said, `Yeah,
there's not any pressure on me. The whole film doesn't work, and you're
expecting me to repair it in a week.'

(Soundbite of laughter)

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: But I think I got it because of playing Charley Wade, in
you know, in "Lone Star."

GROSS: Mm-hmm. Well, I'd like to close with another song from your new CD,
"The Austin Sessions." This is a song called "The Pilgrim, Chapter 33."
Now this song is quoted in "Taxi Driver." The Cybill Shepherd character Betsy
buys the record for Travis, the taxi driver played by Robert De Niro, and she
says that he reminds her of the character in the song. And she quotes the
line, `He's a walking contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction.' How
did the song end up in "Taxi Driver"?

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: I don't know. I always felt like that was the nicest
thing that Marty Scorsese ever did to me.

GROSS: I guess you had already worked with him in "Alice Doesn't Live Here
Anymore."

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: I worked--yeah, yeah. But I didn't know who was going to
be in that one. And, God, he had--there's De Niro holding up my album and
there quoting me like Bob Dylan or something. It was--I still think that's
one of the sweetest things (laughs) I've ever seen anybody do for anybody in
this business.

GROSS: And who did you write the song about?

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: Well, I wrote it about myself and about a lot of friends
of mine that I thought were, you know--Ramblin' Jack Elliott and Chris
Gentry and Johnny Cash and everybody I knew at the time. And a lot of us
were 33 at the time; that's why it's called "Chapter 33." And Dennis
Hopper--I remember when we were down in Peru, every time that you would tell
somebody you were 33 years old, they'd say, `Ah, the age of Christ.' So that
sort of fit the pattern of it.

GROSS: So were you referring at all to how you and a lot of people you knew
were kind of self-invented?

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: Oh, yes. Yes. Partly truth and partly fiction, you know.
I've always felt that I and many of the people I admire are figments of our
own imagination. I always felt that Willie Nelson, Muhammad Ali were
particularly successful at that, at imaging themselves and living up to what
they imagined themselves to be. When I first saw Muhammad Ali, he was Cassius
Clay. He was a little, skinny light heavyweight over in Rome, and he was
telling everybody he was going to be the biggest, the best. You know, he was
the next Joe Louis. And he imagined himself right up into that.

GROSS: You feel you did that, too?

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: I think I did. When I think back to when I first was
writing my first songs, you know, like when I was 11 years old down in
Brownsville, Texas, I think that I imagined myself into a pretty full life
after that. I was certainly not equipped by God to be a football player, but
I got to be one. And I got to be a Ranger and a paratrooper and a helicopter
pilot, you know, and a boxer and a lot of things that I don't think I was
built to do. I just imagined them.

BIANCULLI: Kris Kristofferson speaking with Terry Gross in 1999.

Kristofferson has just been elected to the Country Music Hall of Fame. His
induction will be in November.

Here's that clip from "Taxi Driver" featuring Robert De Niro and Cybill
Shepherd.

(Soundbite of "Taxi Driver")

Mr. ROBERT DE NIRO: (As Travis) You want to go to a movie with me?

Ms. CYBILL SHEPHERD: (As Betsy) I have to go back to work now.

Mr. DE NIRO: (As Travis) Well, I don't mean now. I mean, like, another time,
though?

Ms. SHEPHERD: (As Betsy) Sure. You know what you remind me of?

Mr. DE NIRO: (As Travis) What?

Ms. SHEPHERD: (As Betsy) That song by Kris Kristofferson.

Mr. DE NIRO: (As Travis) Who's that?

Ms. SHEPHERD: (As Betsy) A songwriter. `He's a prophet. He's a prophet and
a pusher, partly truth, partly fiction, walking contradiction.'

Mr. DE NIRO: (As Travis) You saying that about me?

Ms. SHEPHERD: (As Betsy) Who else would I be talking about?

Mr. DE NIRO: (As Travis) I'm no pusher. I never have pushed.

Ms. SHEPHERD: (As Betsy) No, no. Just the part about the contradictions.
You are that.

(Soundbite of song)

Mr. KRISTOFFERSON: (Singing) He's a poet, he's a liar, he's a prophet, he's a
drinker. He's a pilgrim man to preach and a problem when he's stoned. He's a
walking contradiction, partly truth, mostly fiction, taking every wrong
direction on his lonely way back home.

BIANCULLI: Coming up, a review of the new film "Vanity Fair." This is FRESH
AIR.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Review: New film "Vanity Fair"
DAVID BIANCULLI, host:

William Thackeray's novel "Vanity Fair" was first published in serial form in
1847. It tells the story of two women, the poor but ruthlessly ambitious
social-climber Becky Sharp and her friend, Amelia Sedley. The new movie from
the Indian director Mira Nair stars Reese Witherspoon and a cast of veteran
British actors, including Bob Hoskins, Eileen Atkins and Jim Broadbent. Film
critic David Edelstein has a review.

DAVID EDELSTEIN reporting:

There's something admirable about interpreters, directors and actors both, who
attempt to correct for the prejudices of the cultural past. Consider a
shylock turned into a monster against his better nature by the bigotry of
his day, or Regan and Goneril as good daughters doing their best with
that capricious patriarch Lear. Or consider Becky Sharp, not as the near
demonic schemer of William Thackeray's "Vanity Fair," attractive for her
boldness, yet repugnant for the way in which she uses people without
conscience, but a gifted young woman understandably driven to overcome the
arbitrary restrictions of a sexist and fiercely class-driven society. As I've
said, admirable.

But in the case of "Vanity Fair," directed by Mira Nair and starring Reese
Witherspoon as a Becky far more sinned against than sinning, it's also nuts.
You don't need to have waded through Thackeray's witty dissection of the
English upper class at the dawn of the 19th century to know that what you're
seeing on screen makes absolutely no sense.

You'd have no idea, for a start, that Becky is one of the great comic female
characters in literature, a woman whose take on the society that has shunned
her is too deeply ironic to allow for trust or love. As a gifted improviser,
she's able to keep her emotions in check and form tears on command. And when
decency peeks through, as in her affection for her guileless friend, Amelia
Sedley, it's a momentous event.

But in Nair's take, that decency is the rule, not the exception, and so the
story has no driving force, no engine. Reese Witherspoon has a great camera
face, gorgeous but funny-looking, with acres of cheek bone and a strong jaw
that ends in a goofy little chin. She has crack timing and a laser stare that
incinerates opponents where they stand, and she was a howl as a sort of Becky
Sharp crossed with a Sammy Glick in "Election." Even her Elle in "Legally
Blonde" had a will of iron.

But her Becky is a complete dud. In the late stage of pregnancy, she's been
costumed to conceal her body. She moves tentatively, and her twittery little
voice sounds flat and inexpressive beside these great English stage actors.
She's a passive little thing, preyed upon by assorted rich men and unjustly
accused of being a conniver. A conniver? The average contemporary soap
heroine has more commanding wiles.

So while the film is extremely faithful to the novel's incidents and dialogue,
its meaning has been altered by 180 degrees. When Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, as
her best friend's husband, attempts to put the moves on Becky at a dance, it's
a real head scratcher. He's callow and effeminate, she's sexless, and the
exchange comes out of nowhere because the adapters have cut all the stuff in
which Becky has flirted outrageously with him. The Marquess of Steyne, her
deliciously monstrous co-conspirator, played by Gabriel Byrne, is now a
Svengali figure.

(Soundbite of "Vanity Fair")

Mr. GABRIEL BYRNE: (As The Marquess of Steyne) We meet at last.

Ms. REESE WITHERSPOON: (As Becky Sharp) I know you, Lord Steyne, though you
do not know me. You will have forgotten, but you were kind to my father once
many years ago.

Mr. BYRNE: (As The Marquess of Steyne) I'm seldom praised for being kind.
What was his name?

Ms. WITHERSPOON: (As Becky Sharp) Francis Sharp.

Mr. BYRNE: (As The marquess of Steyne) You are Francis Sharp's daughter? He
had a great talent for painting, as I recall, and none at all for life.

Ms. WITHERSPOON: (As Becky Sharp) I'm attempting to redress that balance. It
is my challenge.

EDELSTEIN: Gabriel Byrne is magnetic, a dark lord who's more dangerous as a
friend than an enemy. In a scene in which he cruelly taunts his wife,
daughter and daughter-in-law is the film's most chilling. And what a
supporting cast. That magnificent old bird Eileen Atkins, Jim Broadbent as a
father deformed by avarice, Bob Hoskins as a slovenly aristocrat--such nuanced
disillusion. Romola Garai is almost too pretty and interesting as Amelia, but
the character has gained in stature as Becky has plummeted.

As Nair demonstrated in "Monsoon Wedding," she has an eye for color and
spectacle, and she composes frames in "Vanity Fair" where you're distinctly
aware of the menials serving at the pleasure of their betters without ramming
that caste system down your throat. But her grasp of character is
simple-minded. I wonder if anything could have made this misfire work.
Perhaps making Thackeray himself a presence, the biographer of Becky who will
do her the final injustice of misinterpreting her motives? No. Thackeray
gave us an antihero who has endured in the collective imagination for 150
years. This dull, feminist victim won't linger past Labor Day.

BIANCULLI: David Edelstein is film critic for the online magazine Slate.

(Credits)

BIANCULLI: For Terry Gross, I'm David Bianculli.
Transcripts are created on a rush deadline, and accuracy and availability may vary. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Please be aware that the authoritative record of Fresh Air interviews and reviews are the audio recordings of each segment.