I once had a mentor who told me never to do covers.
He gave me a long explanation for his reasoning, but all I remember him saying was, “Covers are for cover bands. That shit is corny.” He was in a very hip hardcore band, and to his credit, they don’t really do covers in that world. But despite his advice usually being sound, I knew he was wrong about that one.
The first cover I ever heard was “I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston, originally written and performed by the legendary Dolly Parton. My dad must’ve played The Bodyguard soundtrack 500 times that year, so I got very familiar with Whitney’s iconic rendition. Eventually, I heard the original version on the radio, and I had a visceral reaction. My six-year-old ears had yet to develop a taste for country music, and I couldn’t sink my teeth into Dolly’s more subdued delivery after growing accustomed to Whitney’s powerhouse of a voice.
Then there was Jimi Hendrix’s “All Along the Watchtower,” which I loved, as my first guitar was a white Stratocaster because of Jimi. I read somewhere that he was obsessed with Bob Dylan and carried around a book of his lyrics, and I eventually stumbled upon Dylan’s original rendition of the song, but had a similar experience to the Whitney and Dolly dilemma. Dylan’s voice would grow to become one of my favorites of all time, but in my teenage years, it sounded absolutely ridiculous.
In time, my tastes matured, and I began to appreciate both the cover and the original. I cried watching the music video for Johnny Cash’s rendition of Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt.” I’d go back to back, cueing up Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly” right after hearing the Fugees version. I found Lars Frederiksen and the Bastards’ cover of “To Have and To Have Not” and subsequently became a Billy Bragg fan.
As far as covering songs myself, it’s a beautiful meditation. It’s like taking something apart and then putting it back together, except you’ve lost half the parts, and now you have to rebuild it with whatever’s lying around your house. You’ll never replicate it, but that’s the point. That’s the fun.
I used to cover songs on tour all the time, often choosing them based on things I wanted to say but hadn’t found the words for. Someone else had said it already, and it was cathartic to borrow their words each night. I launched into an impromptu version of Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone” at my old band’s farewell show at Irving Plaza. We were a mess—barely talking to each other—and I was filled with anger and bitterness. I didn’t have the words, so I borrowed them.
Now you don’t talk so loud Now you don’t seem so proud About having to be scrounging your next meal How does it feel to be on your own? To be without a home? Like a complete unknown?
Covering songs forces me out of my own melodic inclinations and vocabulary. It rewires my brain and takes me down new roads. And more often than not, covers remind me that the most beautiful songs are simple, but brilliant. The easiest stuff is the hardest to make.
I did a few shows with a band called Eisley many years ago. They were oddballs within our music scene, just like my band. I kept up with them, and one day stumbled upon Stacy Dupree covering Fleetwood Mac’s “Silver Springs,” with some help from her husband, Darren King from the band Mutemath. I became obsessed with their rendition and love it just as much as the original.
I think my cover borrows from both Stacy’s version and the original, as I’ve been playing this song for so many years to an audience of my dogs on the couch that I’ve lost sight of which parts I took from each.
You can listen below. I hope you enjoy.
