A Raw Plea for Recognition Wrapped in the Humble Swagger of Early Southern Soul
Before they became the architects of swamp rock and blue-collar anthems, Creedence Clearwater Revival—then known as The Golliwogs—offered a glimpse into their emotional underpinnings with “Call It Pretending,” the B-side to their 1968 breakthrough single “Suzie Q.” Released on their eponymous debut album, Creedence Clearwater Revival, the track never charted, nor did it command significant radio play. Yet within its modest frame lies a quietly searing expression of longing and unacknowledged love, marking an early demonstration of John Fogerty’s lyrical vulnerability and artistic direction.
Though overshadowed by the swagger and guitar-driven grit that would define CCR’s sound in subsequent years, “Call It Pretending” bears its own quiet weight. It is not a song built for stadiums or revolutions; rather, it is a solitary confession whispered through the crackle of a lo-fi speaker—part soul ballad, part country lament. The track’s construction is deceptively simple: a gently swinging rhythm section undergirds Fogerty’s aching vocal delivery, punctuated by tender guitar phrases and restrained instrumentation that lets the emotional core shine through unclouded.
Lyrically, the song circles around a painfully familiar emotional landscape: the struggle of giving one’s heart fully while facing indifference or misrecognition. “I know you don’t think too much of me / But someday you’re gonna see,” Fogerty sings—not as a boast but as a hope spoken with soft desperation. The phrase “call it pretending” itself becomes a bittersweet refrain, suggesting both self-deception and stoic endurance. Is the narrator fooling himself into believing this love might be returned? Or is he merely enduring her coldness with dignity? That ambiguity is the song’s emotional fulcrum.
There is something almost uncomfortably intimate about “Call It Pretending.” Long before Fogerty would thunder his discontent about war, class disparity, and political betrayal in tracks like “Fortunate Son” or “Born on the Bayou,” here he offers only raw honesty—no irony, no sarcasm. It’s a side of CCR rarely discussed: their capacity not just for protest or storytelling, but for emotional transparency.
Musically, too, the song hints at what was to come. Its soulful cadence recalls Stax Records’ influence more than the southern rock lineage they would soon help define. The vocal phrasing owes something to Otis Redding’s plea-for-recognition style, filtered through Fogerty’s uniquely American rasp. And while later tracks would pile on layers of guitar fog and rhythmic heft, here we find restraint—a quality that renders every note more poignant.
In its modesty, “Call It Pretending” captures an essential truth about early CCR: beneath their burgeoning identity as roots rock revivalists was a band—and a songwriter—wrestling deeply with human vulnerability. This song stands not just as a historical footnote in their discography but as an unpolished gem whose emotional resonance endures far beyond its B-side status.