01.03.2008
Remakes to make you sigh or shudder
Go ahead, punk. Remake “My Way.”
Ah, the inescapable “cover” song, in which a popular band, for better or generally worse, takes on a song by another band or songwriter.
Call it “interpretive creativity” if you wish. Or call it lazy and misguided. It’s semantics — with the exception of Celine Dion and Anastasia singing/disfiguring AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long,” complete with the pencil-necked Dion, who obviously has no idea what she is singing about, trying to emulate guitarist/sweat machine Angus Young’s duckwalk. That’s just … wrong.
Of course, it’s ready and waiting on YouTube. Just type in Celine Dion and AC/DC. You will, and you know it. This clip offers proof that Satan walks among us. (AC/DC performing the song must be viewed after watching Dion’s version. It’s the only antidote).
Anyway, covers happen — over and over again. We’ve taken a look at and listened to the good, the bad, and the pug-ugly of way too many of these sonic re-creations in an effort to separate the weak from the champs. The list is hardly complete or definitive. In fact, right this minute, some group, somewhere, is wrecking — or bringing strong new voice — to a song you love.
And there’s nothing you can do about it, except to set your computers to download — or delete.
CRUEL AND UNUSAL PUNISHMENT
Too many cover songs leave listeners aghast and wondering, “What were they thinking?” The problem — they weren’t. Many weren’t even capable of thought. Here are 10 songs that are as ridiculous as they are atrocious:
“Behind Blue Eyes,” Limp Bizkit, originally by The Who. Absurd on every level. One line from this classic sums it: “No one knows what it’s like to be hated.” Limp Bizkit does.
“911 Is A Joke,” Duran Duran, originally by Public Enemy. A British band equal to a mayonnaise-and-white-bread sandwich revised this cry of urban outrage by a band that embodies black pride and revolt. It’s such a serious misstep that it’s funny — and there’s the problem.
“(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction,” Britney Spears, originally by The Rolling Stones. And to think her career got more ridiculous after this.
“American Pie,” Madonna, originally by Don McLean. The sound of ego and desperation going drastically, unspeakably — and certainly unmistakably — wrong. Maybe this scrape-off-your-shoe misfire is really why she changed her name to Esther.
“Another Brick In The Wall,” Korn, originally by Pink Floyd. What the….? To quote bluesman Albert Collins, “Brick baby, that’s what I’m gonna throw upside your head.” Please do.
“Smoking In The Boys Room,” Motley Crue, originally by Brownsville Station. The original wasn’t great, but it was junior-high-school fun. This brain-damaged, sewage-stained manhole cover of a song — well, it’s obvious what the perpetually drug-addled Crue were smoking.
“My Generation,” Hilary Duff, originally by The Who. God is dead.
“Get Up, Stand Up,” Joan Baez, originally by Bob Marley and The Wailers. Singer Joan Baez, known for protest music, undoubtedly had great intentions for reggae-evangelist Bob Marley’s soul-searching call for equal rights. Then it went wrong — she sang. Baez’s sweat-free performance is the bleached, life-sucking antithesis of Marley’s powerful hymn for unification. Baez’s reading is a humanitarian risk. Don’t play it. Please. Big problem, mon. No woman, no cry.
“Knocking On Heaven’s Door,” Guns ’N Roses, originally by Bob Dylan. A tsunami of nausea rises as Rose screeches Dylan’s touching song — written for the gut-shot Slim Pickens in the 1973 film Pat Garrett & Billy The Kid — as if he and his nether regions had been nailed to a burning barn door. It’s wince-inducing from the start to when the beating is finished.
“Roll Over Beethoven,” Electric Light Orchestra, originally by Chuck Berry. This syrupy, overwrought low point for ELO took a simple, rockin’ call to arms and turned it into kitsch. More like bend over, Beethoven, which begs the question: What did Chuck Berry ever do to ELO?
(Bonus: Anything by Michael Bolton. If that is soul, then a wounded hound is Marvin Gaye.).
AND THEN THERE’S…
“You’re So Vain,” Jack Klugman and Tony Randall as The Odd Couple, originally by Carly Simon. This is wrong in so many ways that it is right. It is so bad on so many levels that it is great. Just how bad? Put it this way — Klugman’s bout with throat cancer could only improve his voice, and Randall, well, his too-convincing monologue on being able to wear “apricot” sounds lifted from a blooper reel for Queer Eye For The Straight Guy. Must be heard to be believed.
ASSIMILATION
Sometimes smart singers or intuitive bands hear a song by a contemporary or a peer, re-record it, and put an indelible stamp on it that purges the original recording from the public’s mind — for better or worse. Here are 10 such covers:
“Hound Dog,” Elvis Presley, originally by Big Mama Thornton. Thornton’s original blues recording was wilder and rawer (she literally howls) than Presley’s paler version. Thornton was black. Presley was white. It’s Presley’s recording the world knows. What a shame.
“Respect,” Aretha Franklin, originally by Otis Redding. Redding’s 1965 single was a strong demand for respect, not just from a woman, but a human plea in racially charged times. Franklin then recorded the song, incinerating the original and turning her version, a No. 1 single, into a defining soulful feminist and racial anthem. It’s her song — and nobody argues with Aretha.
“Hallelujah,” Jeff Buckley, originally by Leonard Cohen. One of the prodigiously talented Cohen’s best songs, a hymn to the spirituality of desire. But Cohen’s voice is an acquired taste. The young Buckley, armed only with the head-spinning voice of an angel on steroids and ghostly electric guitar, took the song to dramatic and heavenly heights that Cohen could never imagine.
“Hurt,” Johnny Cash, originally by Nine Inch Nails. The original recording — a spooky, dynamic song about the struggles of addiction — was extraordinary. But Cash, ailing and nearing the end of his life, put a long lifetime of struggles into the song, an air of desperation and a plea for forgiveness heavy in a voice torn and frayed. The song was his epitaph.
“Great Balls Of Fire,” Jerry Lee Lewis, originally by Otis Blackwell. Otis who? And this wasn’t the only great hit rock song nobody knew that the unpaid Blackwell wrote ("Fever," “Don’t Be Cruel,” “Handy Man,” “Return To Sender,” “Breathless"). Blackwell’s originals were fine, but cocky Jerry Lee Lewis snatched Blackwell’s “Great Balls Of Fire,” conferred with dark forces, and created — in one take-cover take — one of the most hell-raising rock singles of all time.
“All Along The Watchtower,” Jimi Hendrix, originally by Bob Dylan. Countless people have covered Dylan’s songs, but few have surpassed the master as definitively as did Hendrix’s 1968 recording of this song. It was Hendrix’s only Top 20 American single — and Dylan now performs it in a manner that echoes that of Hendrix. It’s that definitive.
“Crossroads,” Cream, originally by Robert Johnson. It’s hard to say that Eric Clapton and Cream’s version of Johnson’s haunting Delta blues is better — they’re really two different things. Cream’s blistering version is almost synonymous with classic rock — the guitar solo is so ingrained that it’s hummable. It remains a must-play for Clapton — and it brought the music of Robert Johnson into popular culture. A win-win situation for everybody.
“Black Magic Woman,” Santana, originally by Peter Green and Fleetwood Mac. A great, virtually unheard British blues samba taken and fully realized as a fiery groundbreaking Latin-rock fusion by a band that came to symbolize the best of the genre.
“Only You Know And I Know,” Delaney and Bonnie & Friends, originally by Dave Mason. Delaney and Bonnie Bramlett fronted a Southern soul revue deified by England’s rock royalty (Eric Clapton, George Harrison). This live version, on which Mason and the aforementioned rockers play, is virtually identical to Mason’s original but for one major exception: Bonnie & Delaney drive it like they stole it — which they had. It all comes down to soul.
“Hush,” Deep Purple, originally by Joe South. South’s swampy rock song was wholly transformed by proto-prog-metal rockers Deep Purple. Purple’s version, replete with howling wolves, chunky guitars and big, hard rocking choruses, made the original sound like easy-listening music — not that there’s anything wrong with that (in this case).
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EMANCIPATION
Many performers record new versions of songs they love that honor the original and bring fresh light and muscle to the work of everybody involved. Here are 10 covers that bring joy with every listen:
“Gin & Juice,” The Gourds, originally by Snoop Dogg. The down-home Gourds adopt a Dogg, complete with (rolling) papers, and turn a hip-hop anthem into a boisterous, funny hillbilly hoedown.
“Wish You Were Here,” Sparklehorse, originally by Pink Floyd. A depressed addicted singer-and-songwriter takes a beautiful eulogy to a like soul and finds new hope singing the hushed remake of the song to himself.
“Before They Make Me Run,” The Supersuckers, originally by The Rolling Stones. Keef Richards’ take on his heroin bust in Toronto revisted as an Everyman anthem, suitable for just about any situation, by a flat-out rock band that has never hit a straight or sober note. It’s almost better than the original — it’s certainly more raucous — and that says much.
“Love Is All Around,” Husker Du, originally the theme for The Mary Tyler Moore show. The theme song, written by Sonny Curtis, formerly of The Crickets, was the sugary equivalent of the TV show. Husker Du amped it up, sped it up, bashed it about — and still somehow retained the core sentiment. Must be heard to be believed.
“To Love Somebody,” Slobberbone, originally by The Bee Gees. A great song by the Brothers Gibb (pre-disco) that, in the slovenly bar-band hands of Slobberbone, tosses the gloss amid loud, sloppy guitars, then melts hearts with cracked but heartfelt vocals that carry a mesmerizing air of desperation and futility.
“….Baby One More Time,” Fountains Of Wayne, originally by Britney Spears. Proof that a good band can discard the original package to make tripe good.
“Maybe I’m Amazed,” The Faces, originally by Paul McCartney. A great McCartney song made better by a rollicking performance by the perpetually woozy Faces. It features wondrous vocals by the late Ronnie Lane and the late Rod Stewart. (I don’t know about you, but Stewart has been dead to me for at least 30 years, and has been really stinking for the last 10.).
“Brontosaurus,” Cheap Trick, originally by The Move. Cheap Trick always not-so-secretly wanted to be The Move. Here, they prove that they were up to the job.
“7 And 7 Is,” The Ramones, originally by Love. One of the greatest, jacked-up songs of the psychedelic era lovingly rendered by The Ramones, who amplified the song’s punk edge, sped up the tempo even more. The love (pun unintended) and enthusiasm is impossible to ignore.
“Baba O’Reily,” The Waco Brothers, originally by The Who. A spiritual anthem gets turned into a pub anthem, with no loss of energy or integrity.