Ahh covers month—it has been a sprawling, really generous definition of a month here at Charm City Jukebox, and I swear for all you covers-haters out there (do you exist? I would find that totally fascinating—leave a comment), we’re almost done.
As covers month comes to a close, it’s time to talk about cover song ignorance. Know thy covers, friends—know who sang the original, so you can win all the trivia nights and avoid being the butt of jokes from your music snob buddies (not us, of course).
Embarrassed at your original vs. cover song knowledge gaps? I’ll get you started. Here are the top five songs that I didn’t know were covers. Leave yours in the comments!
“One More Cup of Coffee” cover by The White Stripes, originally by Bob Dylan
Everyone has a serious “how did I not know this was a cover?” song (I think the top two most common “How did I not know this was a cover?” songs are “I Will Always Love You” and “Son of a Preacher Man.”) While I just feel surprised by the other songs on this list, “One More Cup of Coffee” makes me blush. Bob Dylan and Jack White have many things in common, but one that sticks out is how often listeners who don’t like them point to their unconventional voices as the reason why. Jack White’s voice is perfect here—this is a great example of why and how his voice works. Bob Dylan’s voice…well, even as a Dylan fan, this is one of those songs where I really understand the dislike.
“Strange Little Girl” by Tori Amos, originally by The Stranglers
Sure, Amos purists, this should be obvious since it’s plucked off of an album of covers. But Amos covers “Strange Little Girl” with such authority and ownership that it seems impossible that it could be by another artist. It’s a natural fit, and her delivery of this song by The Stranglers sets the tone and creates the title for the rest of the album.
Sidenote: If you love covers (we do, haveyounoticed?), check out the entire Strange Little Girls album, which has some solid, sometimes strange tracks, and will make you wonder why we didn’t make a bigger deal about the original “Kim,” Eminem’s ode to uxoricide and domestic violence.
“I Love Rock ‘N’ Roll” by Joan Jett, originally by Alan Merrill
Speaking of authority and ownership, how often do you think people compliment Alan Merrill on his Joan Jett cover when he performs this? Every version since Joan Jett has been a cover of Joan Jett, not Alan Merrill; we all know it. It doesn’t matter how loyal Jett’s version was to the original; this is her song. I can’t find the quote, but I swear I once read that Dusty Springfield ended up preferring Aretha Franklin’s more popular version of “Son of a Preacher Man” than her own. I wonder if Merrill feels the same way.
“Tainted Love” by Soft Cell, originally by Gloria Jones
I’ve definitely heard the Gloria Jones version before, but for some reason always thought it was a Soft Cell original. I prefer the original, not just because it’s a great recording, but because “Tainted Love” may belong on our long ago “Top 5 Songs Classic Rock Radio Has Ruined” lists. A great song, for sure, but it’s predecessor sounds fresher, less exhausted by years whirling around on car radios and in grocery stores.
“Torn” by Natalie Imbruglia, originally by Ednaswap
I think I bought Natalie Imbruglia’s album in middle school based on my unrequited love for this song, which haunted every kind of radio station for about two years straight. The fact that this is actually a cover deserves a sitcom style “Whaaaa?!” sound effect. (Found one!)
Imbruglia’s version is a pretty straightforward cover, except for some obvious pop glossiness. Is it weird that I feel a little betrayed? What other classic 90′s hits are undercover covers? Other than “Return of the Mack,” which everyone knows is by Patsy Cline.
I’ve been thinking about dream covers ever since this post, in which I requested that Joshua get a band together and start doing filthy funk interpretations of saccharine James Taylor jams. I stand by the fact that “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” could be downright dirty, if given the appropriate timing and musical accoutrements.
Until that cover gets made (oh please? someone? I can’t really sing, but I’ll play the hell out of a triangle if it means making this cover happen), here are five more dream covers. Leave yours in the comments!
“Birdhouse in Your Soul,” by They Might be Giants, covered by Alison Krauss and Emmylou Harris
Only the honeyed voices of Emmylou Harris and Alison Krauss will do when it comes to a reimagining of “Flood.” Picture the quiet loveliness of Emmylou’s voice on “Road Movie to Berlin” or Krauss crooning “Sapphire Bullets of Pure Love.” And what sweet magic would they lend to quirky classics like “Whistling in the Dark” and “Particle Man”? Ralph Stanley could sit in on “They Might Be Giants,” and I want Lucinda Williams in the studio getting rowdy on “Twisting.” “Birdhouse in Your Soul” would be stripped down to just short of a capella, their voices paired with a lone fiddle, and a banjo making brief, rapidly plucked cameos.
“Radio,” by Lana Del Rey, covered by Andrew Luttrell and Rosie Thomas
Lana Del Rey got caught in a mean spirited game of SEO one upmanship several months ago. Music bloggers battled it out to see who could make her sound the most like a harbinger of the apocalypse. This SNL skit really sums up my feelings on this.
Del Rey is no Carol King, but she makes decent, sometimes interesting pop music and I don’t think she’s a sign of the end times for humanity or modern music (and if you think that, you haven’t been paying attention to pop music. You have so many other things to be horrified about) “Radio” is one of those sometimes interesting songs. The lyrics and tune are kind of fun, and the whole song could be more interesting if it was divided into a duet and outfitted with different singers.
The duet concept? A couple is tested by the newfound musical fame of one partner. They banter and flirt, but the whole dialogue is edged in genuine worry that all this radio fame will have an impact on the relationship.
A: Now my life is sweet like cinnamon/ Like a fucking dream I’m living in/Baby love me cause I’m playing on the radio/How do you like me now?
B: Pick me up and take me like a vitamin/ Cause my body’s sweet like sugar venom oh yeah
A:Baby love me cause I’m playing on the radio
B:How do you like me now?
The singers: Andrew Luttrell, who has the guitar chops and straightforward, slightly gruff delivery one half of this duet requires. His musical sparring partner is Rosie Thomas, who sounds like honey and rosewater and is adept at revealing layered, complicated forms of sadness through her voice.
“She’s Got You,” by Patsy Cline, covered by Lauryn Hill
Lauryn Hill and Patsy Cline share an aptness for keeping slow, slightly mournful numbers entertaining. They also don’t require much in the way of backup: A stripped down Lauryn Hill track is riveting, and Patsy Cline’s voice fills and carries each song. When I think about Hill covering this song, I can hear her cover of “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You,” or her song “Selah.” I know this would be equally haunting and beautiful. Much like my “Allison Krauss and Emmylou Harris Take on They Might Be Giants” scheme, I would be a happy girl if I found a whole album of Patsy Cline covers by Lauryn Hill (Although I would be a happy girl if I found a whole album of just about anything by Lauryn Hill.)
“Marionette,” by the 5 Chinese Brothers, covered by Warren Haynes
I became so obsessed with this cover idea about six or seven years ago that I briefly considered pitching it in a letter to Warren Haynes. I had Let’s Kill Saturday Night on heavy repeat around the time I saw Warren Haynes do a solo show in Philadelphia. It was one of the best shows I’d ever seen. Warren was charming, the acoustics were insane, and his versions of well known songs made you feel like you hadn’t known those songs very well after all. I rarely walk out of a show starry eyed and thoroughly pleased, ready to pledge allegiance and endless fan-ship to the artist. This was one of those shows.
I heard “Marionette” for probably the 100th time a few days later and could hear how Warren Haynes voice would sound on it. He would amplify the sadness and anger. He would lend some gravel voiced magic to it. “Marionette” is already great, and his version could be sublime.
“You’ve Got Her in Your Pocket,” by The White Stripes, covered by Mavis Staples
More Mavis Staples, guys. The world needs more Mavis Staples. Her album with Jeff Tweedy was great. Her 2011 version of “The Weight” with Wilco and Nick Lowe haunts my dreams. “You’ve Got Her in Your Pocket” would sound amazing with her voice, and could be such a different song without Jack White’s high pitched musical stylings. Ideal situation: Jack White produces the cover, maybe even plays guitar on the track. They strike up a friendship and make an album together. And we get a great cover, another great album, and most importantly, more Mavis Staples.
Do you follow us on Twitter (ahem @chrmcityjukebox ahem)? Since we started tweeting, I’ve found a treasure trove of covers from music blogs and music magazines and music types, and I can’t. stop. listening. to. them. What is it about a solid cover that’s so magical? Our first post on Charm City Jukebox was about our Top 5 covers and we had enough leftovers to warrant a Leftover List and a Reader Request. We posted 23 covers that week and I think we could have doubled that, easily.
So if, like us, you can’t get enough covers, here are a few more to tide you over. And if you have more can’t miss covers, leave them in the comments, pretty please (we could use a few more. Seriously)
I attribute the development of my musical tastes to two sources: my dad’s CD collection, and all the boys I played with in elementary school. In 5th grade, while all the girls skipped off to chorus practice, I stayed behind with the boys, preparing our entry for the Baltimore Museum of Industry’s Maryland Engineering Challenge. (For the record, we submitted the “Sneeches Swing,” a Dr. Suess themed carnival swing, and significant portions of it disassembled in transit to the competition. This marked my first and last foray into engineering.) Over the weekends, our basement work sessions would be soundtracked by Sublime, Pearl Jam, Third Eye Blind, Led Zepplin, the Wallflowers, the Beatles, and No Doubt — a selection influenced by the almighty 99.1 HFS, whatever everyone’s older brothers were listening to, and whatever CDs could be surreptitiously stolen from our fathers’ collections.
I’m going to go ahead and make a bold statement: for a girl growing up in the heyday of boy bands, I had good taste. In high school, financed by income from babysitting and swim lessons, I finally weaned myself off of my family’s CDs. Almost all of my money went towards CDs. But in 2002 and 2003—the pre-internet era—It wasn’t easy to find new music if you weren’t allowed to go to shows. Luckily, we had a great alt-rock radio station, and I received a crisp Rolling Stone in the mail every other week.
So, as a 16-year-old, what songs was I utterly, incomprehensibly, manically in love with?
“Fell in Love With a Girl,” The White Stripes
White Blood Cells was released in 2001, but it didn’t get to me until almost a year later. I was in the car with my mom, driving home from the mall. I remember exactly where we were – crossing the Dulaney Valley Rd. bridge over the beltway – when this song came onto the radio (99.1, naturally). There it was, 1:50 minutes of furious, passionate, dirty, uncultured rock and roll. It was an epiphany wedged between the rap-metal of Limp Bizkit and Korn and the remnants of grunge.
The idea of bands toiling away in obscurity in the shell of a factory seems banal at this point: it’s an expected right of passage for buzz bands from Brooklyn. But in 2002, this seemed to me, at 16, to be a novel idea. The unrefined passions in “Fell in Love with a Girl” sounds like they were experienced, then recorded, in the same dilapidated workshop, and its lyrics were simple enough to learn after just a few listens. There’s been a lot of ink spilled on this song’s role in precipitating THE RETURN OF ROCK MUSIC, but its impact on my tastes for years to come has been undeniable. I am a sucker for garage rock: I would have never crossed paths with the Detroit Cobras, the Von Bondies, the Black Keys, the Paybacks, and countless others had it not been for “Fell in Love With a Girl.”
I still try to get this song played in bars. For some reason, it never works.
“Crazy in Love,” Beyoncé
I didn’t know I liked to dance until I heard this song at homecoming 2003. Flash-forward 10 years, and the second thing strangers learn about me is how much I dig a good dance party. Let’s not forget that this song is absurdly catchy: it’s so good that I did and continue to relinquish all my indie pretensions to accept that this is just a great song.
And, do we remember the music video? Were Beyoncé and Jay-Z even dating then?
“In My Life,” The Beatles
This song was difficult to choose for the purpose of this list: I only wanted to pick one Beatles song, but so many could easily fill this position. I listened to Rubber Soul and Revolver repeatedly throughout high school, and they remain two of my favorite albums. These songs were perfect masks for the silence of my parent’s house at 1 am when I was up late explicating form poetry for class.
“In My Life” captured the anxieties I felt during high school. I was acutely aware at 16, as I have been at many later points in my life, of the transience of happiness: for me, even the most joyous and radiant of days evoke pangs of depression. “In My Life,” elicits nostalgia for lost for friends and lovers. This song remains, in my opinion, quintessential night-time listening: best played while writing after midnight, windows open to the warm spring breeze, and eavesdropping on the couple chatting on the back steps of the house next door.
“Always On My Mind,” Phantom Planet
Alright, so we all know Phantom Planet made it big after their song “California” just so happened to be the theme song to The O.C. And yes, that’s how I first got to know their music. Play their album The Guest, and you’ll be greeted by the familiar refrain of “California.” But wait three minutes, and the next song that follows is “Always On My Mind.” It’s more danceable, that’s for sure, and it has some killer crescendos.
“Atomic,” Blondie
Some people saw Titanic at the movies three times. I saw Bend it Like Beckham three times. I owned the soundtrack. I had pictures of Jonathan Rhys Meyers on my wall. During the movie, the song plays as the girls travel to Hamburg for their soccer tournament. In this scene, “Atomic” captures the urgency and tensions arising from the love triangle brewing between Keira Knightly, Parminder Nagra, and Jonathan Rhys Meyers. Yes, this song appeared in one of my favorite movies. But what’s notable here is that it led me to raid my dad’s CD collection for a Blondie Best Of album. What would my life be like if I couldn’t sing all the words to “Call Me”? (I won’t pretend to know any of the words in “Heart of Glass,” those are just too difficult to discern).
Claire: We’re wading through our record collections this month and taking a look at opening tracks, middle tracks, closing tracks, penultimate tracks, with, as always, some musical nostalgia and High Fidelity references thrown in. The idea for this month’s theme started with both of us rereading High Fidelity, as all good ideas do.
So what makes a good album opener? A giant musical blast, or a soft hand-held intro? A song that hints at a great album and delivers, or song that cons you into listening to something subpar? We landed on all of the above.
JOSHUA’s List:
“Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)” by Arcade Fire, on Funeral
This song has the softest opening of any of the songs on this list, but like the album it begins, it swells to a grand and exhilarating scale. It positively exudes the childhood wonder that permeates this album: It’s like Win Butler dropped acid and mentally regressed to age 6 and wrote an album about it. The instrumentation of the song reflects that idea, with wide open, repetitive piano chords and simple, bass drum heavy drumming. This song made me listen to everything Arcade Fire ever wrote.
“Dog Days Are Over” by Florence + the Machine, on Lungs
I once told my brother Daniel I’d love to cover this song…if I only had a harp. It’s so infectious. I think it’s the clapping that causes this song to just stick in your head for months after you hear it. And Florence’s voice…Jeebos. Unfortunately, it has a level of promise that the rest of the album just doesn’t quite live up to. And the album is pretty damn good too, but this is a masterpiece, hands down. Just try to get it out of your head. Good luck. Side note: Florence Welch sings about horses all the fucking time.
“The Boy in the Bubble” by Paul Simon, on Graceland
A perfect way to start what I think is one of the most perfect albums ever written. How Simon makes accordion so appealing, I’ll never know. And that bass! Oh man, I have dreams of being the bassist for this album like three times a week. The lyrical phrasing and timing of this song is great, too: it’s never quite on the beat, but either just behind it or just ahead of it. The song signals what’s to come in the album and glib and ironic ideas of what’s to come in America from 1986 on. And lasers! Bizzow!
“Testify” by Rage Against the Machine, on Battle of Los Angeles
I don’t think you can talk about album openers without talking about Rage Against the Machine. Every album they had opened with an insanely “up” song and this is no exception. And it’s tight. Tight like the whole album is, much more so than their other albums. It’s like the album was designed to be listened to start to finish each time, each song building on the intensity and message of the previous. It may not have been as caustic as the previous albums, but I think it’s their best, and this is the best way to open that album.
“Don’t Carry It All” by The Decemberists, on The King Is Dead
This is my favorite album opener on the list, hands down. Those of you familiar with the Decemberists know that their previous albums were all steeped in the tradition of British folk revival; that is, it sounded like their music was plucked out of a galley of a whaling ship in 1860. This is decidedly different: Big, open major chords, harmonica, beautiful mandolin and backing vocals. It’s the Decemberists’ take on classic Americana. It’s exactly what they sing about: A “turning of the season.” Let’s raise a glass!
Honorable Mentions:
“Bat Out of Hell” by Meat Loaf, on Bat Out of Hell: Almost all of his songs are about losing his virginity, except this one, in where he beefs it on a motorcycle. Bad. Ass.
“1816, the Year Without a Summer” by Rasputina, on Oh Perilous World: Sets the stage for historical epic as commentary on the Iraq war. But this song, as Melora Creager is oft to say at performances, is a song about the weather.
“Psycho Killer” by Talking Heads, on Stop Making Sense: God, this was so close to making the top list. It’s amazing. The guitar work is impeccable.
CLAIRE’s List
“Born Under Punches (The Heat Goes On),” by the Talking Heads, on Remain in Light
I owned “Remain in Light” for years before I listened to the whole album because I could not get past this song. Funky, bizarre, like if Brian Eno and Parliament Funkadelic made a new wave love child. It’s rare to have an album start to with a burst like this, but as you can see from Joshua’s Honorary Mentions, the Talking Heads excel at this: “Burning Down the House” was a track one, as was “And She Was” which, though not as rowdy or bizarre, begins with a jolting “Hey!”
If, like me, you spend part of your week writing about albums, and the bulk of it reading stuff about the War on Women, don’t be surprised when the line “…And I’m a government man” gets stuck in your head. And the reoccuring dream where Rick Santorum dances to “Born Under Punches”? Occupational hazard.
“Box of Rain,” by the Grateful Dead, on American Beauty
The first time I ever listened to the Grateful Dead by myself, outside of my parents’ cars or stereo, was when I was fifteen and suddenly obsessed with “American Beauty.” It’s not a creative first Dead album, but I fell into that deep musical love with it, the kind where you listen to an album on repeat for a whole year with very few pauses for other music. This was the song I replayed the most. Beautiful, gentle, and one of the very few times where Robert Hunter’s odd-quasi-poetic lyrics got under my skin.
“Miss You,” by The Rolling Stones, on Some Girls
Is it weird that I’m always embarassed to write about the Rolling Stones? Is it because every time I play the “What band does everyone like that you don’t?” game with people, The Rolling Stones always come up? (Top 5 answers to that question: Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, The Ramones, The Who, Radiohead) Anyway, great opening to a great album—tense, sonically interesting (shuffling from oohs to aahs, singing to lyrics, and a nice showcase of Jagger’s weird and limited range) (none of those sound like compliments, but really, it’s a good song. Jagger is okay too.), and a solid introduction to the feel of the album overall.
“6’1″,” by Liz Phair, on Exile in Guyville
The irony of the placement here is not lost on me. This was Phair’s first album, so who knew what to expect. But when the guitar starts, and then her funny flat-ish voice throws out a catchy balance of anger and snark and imagery—you want to sit down and listen to the whole record. Even now, when Phair has since sold out and sold back in, has made good albums and not so good albums, when we all know what’s up with her and have for a while, this song has that “I want to know this girl, and I want to hear what she says next” quality.
“Cooksferry Queen,” by Richard Thompson, on Mock Tudor
What can I say? I like a tense opener. Listen to the first few bars of “Miss You” and “Cooksferry Queen” and you’ll understand. This song builds—in speed, in lyrical content, in Thompson’s voice, which goes from smooth and steady to gruff and growling. And it has the classic Thompson song story— Boy named James/Mulvaeney/Insert-British-sounding-name-here meets redheaded/curlyheaded/pigheaded girl, goes on a heady adventure with his ill-fated love, encounters danger/far flung small town locales/psychedelic imagery.
Honorable Mentions:
“Welcome to the Working Week,” Elvis Costello on My Aim is True: I listened to this song so many times at a long ago terrible job that it will always remind me of crying while eating a sandwich. For all you pop-music-lovers or terrible-job-havers (or anyone looking for a good, upbeat sandwich cry), this is a great song. Enjoy.
“Blue Bird,” Bonnie Raitt on Bonnie Raitt: A happy, lovely opening to a sometimes happy, always lovely self-titled freshman album by Bonnie Raitt.
“Icky Thump,” by the White Stripes on Icky Thump: I completely forgot about this album. These things happen. Welcome to the honorable mentions category, White Stripes.
