If rock and roll is dead, no one told Doug “Cosmo” Clifford. Or maybe they did, and he just didn’t care. Clifford, the drummer behind Creedence Clearwater Revival’s swampy stomp, has spent the better part of the last 30 years sitting on a vault of unreleased music like some denim-clad dragon. And now, at 78, he’s prying it open. First out of the crypt is For All the Money in the World, a record that’s as much about what could have been as it is about what still is.
“This isn’t nostalgia,” Clifford says, with a voice that hasn’t lost its California gravel. “These songs were recorded in the ‘80s, but they weren’t for the ‘80s. They were just... songs. Good songs don’t have a shelf life.”
Recorded with the late Steve Wright of the Greg Kihn Band, For All the Money in the World sounds like something pulled from an alternate timeline where rock never had to make room for synths, hairspray, or power ballads. “We didn’t go in thinking, ‘Let’s make a record that sounds like this or that,’” Clifford says. “We just had songs and wanted to play.” What they got was a record that’s got Joe Satriani bending strings before anyone knew his name, Greg Douglas throwing down licks, and Keith England belting vocals with the kind of urgency you can’t fake. “It’s not a demo,” Clifford says flatly. “It’s a record. We just didn’t release it.”
Why? Life. Kids. Other bands. The usual excuses. “Things didn’t go the way we wanted,” he says. “So I put it in Cosmo’s Vault. That’s what I call it. I’ve got about ten albums in there, all waiting.”
This might be the part where you’d expect him to sound wistful, to pine for the career moves not made, the roads not traveled. But Clifford doesn’t do regret. He does rock and roll, even if the industry forgot what that means. “Everyone’s so careful now. Back then, we didn’t have time to be careful.”
What makes For All the Money in the World even more interesting is that it doesn’t sound stuck in amber. Sure, there’s a whiff of the era—those chunky guitar tones, the driving, no-nonsense rhythms—but there’s no artifice. It doesn’t sound like a throwback because it never had to throw anything back in the first place. “That’s how I produce,” Clifford explains. “I treat every session like it’s gonna come out tomorrow. I want it to sound right, right now.”
Which is exactly why it’s coming out now. With Creedence Clearwater Revisited—Clifford’s long-running post-Revival project with bassist Stu Cook—finally put to bed after 25 years of cashing in on hits and dodging nostalgia’s creep, he’s finally got time to give these songs the daylight they deserve. “We thought we’d get four years out of Revisited. We got 25,” he says, not quite believing it himself. “It served its purpose. We honored the music. We kept it alive. But it’s time.”
Part of that timing is personal. Clifford’s been diagnosed with Parkinson’s, a cruel joke for a drummer if there ever was one, but he handles it the way you’d expect a rock and roller to: with a shrug and a smirk. “I was trying to learn to shake, rattle, and roll,” he jokes. “Might as well use it.” He’s not on the road anymore, but he’s not done. “I stay home. I mix. I release music. I do it on my time now.”
And what about the rest of Cosmo’s Vault? There’s more coming—a lot more. A full record with Bobby Whitlock of Derek and the Dominos fame. An album with Tex-Mex legend Doug Sahm. More solo stuff. Maybe even some country. “It’s all there,” Clifford says. “And it’s good.”
Listening to Clifford talk about rock and roll today, you get the sense he’s not impressed. Not because he’s bitter, but because he remembers when rock had teeth. “Boy, do we need some rock and roll now,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like a plea—it sounds like a warning. “It’s all too polite now. Rock doesn’t need to be polite.”
He’s not wrong. For All the Money in the World is a reminder that rock used to mean something. It wasn’t curated playlists or algorithms or think pieces about the death of the guitar. It was sweat. Groove. Noise. Clifford gets it because he lived it, and he’s still living it, Parkinson’s or not.
And while radio might’ve left bands like Creedence behind for the next big pop spectacle, Clifford hasn’t forgotten what radio did for him. “Radio made Creedence,” he says. “They didn’t know what to do with us at the label, but radio did. And they’re still playing our records 53 years later.” He pauses, then adds, “Throw it on a playlist. Help it out. That’s all I ask.”
There’s no victory lap here, no final bow. Just a drummer who still believes in the power of rock and roll, who still thinks a good song can change your day, if not the world. Doug “Cosmo” Clifford isn’t reminiscing. He’s just getting started.
And if you think rock’s got nothing left to say, maybe it’s because you haven’t heard what’s in the vault.
Listen to the interview above and then check out the track below!
