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* "covers and originals"

A recent addition to my iTunes playlist categories is one I've labeled (for lack of any wittier description) "covers and originals." It's a slowly growing file of songs for which I have (in my computer's database) both the original version and at least one cover of that song.

I've found it to be enjoyable and enlightening for several reasons. First and foremost, probably, is that any song which another artist deemed worth covering is pretty likely to be a good song. So the subset is inherently a rather strong one musically.

Second, and more personally particular to my own tastes, I suppose, is that the notion plays to my predelection for listening repeatedly to the same song. There is, of course, on iTunes and most CD players, the option of playing a single track over and over -- once whimsically dubbed "zeitmode" by some of my friends in deference to one of my email handles -- but the "covers and originals" playlist adds a neat wrinkle to that process, since it's the same song being performed by different artists.

Finally, and perhaps most significantly, is that hearing both the original and a cover frequently sheds considerable light on the essence of the song. A good cover, of course, doesn't simply mimic the original, but attempts to recontextualize it, or reflect upon it, or reinvent it -- somehow or other bringing something new to the table, while also still connecting with the emotional resonance at the song's core.

That's not easy to do, but when it works, the sparks fly and light up the sky. I get that feeling from several of the tunes I'm hearing this evening as the playlist marches on. Such as....

* "Hawaiian Baby": A Rebecca Gates original recorded in the early '90s with her band the Spinanes, I'd always found this song achingly beautiful, but figured I had to be in a pretty small minority simply because so few people had heard it, given that it was on a 7-inch single. (That did get remedied a few months ago with a CD-EP reissue, which I reviewed in the pages of ND earlier this year.) Much to my very pleasant surprise, I recently happened upon a cover version by Buffalo Tom that was released a few years back on an odds-&-sods compilation. The timbre of the guitar is different, and Bill Janovitz's vocal inevitably imbues the verses with a slightly different hue; but the band strikes right at the heart of the song in terms of getting the mood and the feel right.

* "Valentine's Day Is Over": Billy Bragg's version in the late '80s (on the Workers' Playtime album) was one of his finest moments as both a songwriter and a recording artist; he's never written a better ballad. June Tabor & the Oyster Band covered it in the early '90s and gave it a very different reading -- it's jauntier, less melancholy, but in a pointed and purposeful way. Bragg wrote the tune from a woman's point of view but sings it with a sadness that perhaps reflects the man's sorrow. In Tabor's hands, it's much more of a kiss-off, and may well indeed better express the sentiment of the lyrics.

* "Orphan Girl": As the first song on Gillian Welch's first record -- and one that got covered by Emmylou Harris (on Wrecking Ball) before Welch's debut even hit the shelves -- this is one of Welch's most recognizable songs. And with good reason; it's pretty near perfect, if perhaps just a shade too straightforward (which has become clearer as Welch has grown more melodically adventurous in recent years). The cover version on my playlist is actually not Harris' rendition, however, but a more recent one by Crooked Still, the fine Massachusetts string band. Rushad Eggleston's cello adds the spike that's missing from Welch's original; their version pretty well jumps out of the speakers, breathing a whole new life into the song.

* "They Don't Know": Another case in which a cover is more prominent than the original: Tracey Ullman took it to the pop top-10 in 1984, but it was initially released a couple years earlier by Kirsty MacColl, who wrote it while still a teenager. I've long believed this is one of the very, very best pop songs ever written; it practically defines pop (to my sensibilities, anyway). There's not really a lot of difference between the Ullman and MacColl versions, but both are exquisite, from the chiming keys and guitars to the infectiously sing-songy rhythm of the lyrics to the pregnant pause and high-pitched "Bay-bee!" exultation at the song's zenith. One might guess Ullman's version was more "tricked up for radio" to get on the charts, but it really doesn't sound that way; there's not much more on Ullman's take that makes MacColl's original seem noticeably less-polished by comparison.

The wild-card here is a more recent rendition by Tara O'Neill that definitely is more lo-fi. Its indie sensibility certainly takes the song out of pop-radio context; and yet, danged if the song isn't just so strong that it hardly matters. O'Neill isn't as bubbly as Ullman or MacColl, but she still connects with the radiance of the rhythm and lyrics. You get the feeling that anyone could sing this song -- sad-sack Mark Eitzel, cool-burning Marianne Faithfull, screech-meister Geddy Lee -- and its irrepressible sun would still shine.

adios,
peter

Posted by peter on July 24, 2007 11:49 PM | Permalink