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- Herausgeber: McNidder and Grace
- Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
- Serie: Ultimate Playlist
- Sprache: Englisch
Which Blondie Top Five was originally a flop for a West Coast power pop band? Who wrote Alice Cooper's 1973 hit 'Hello Hurray', and which folk singer first recorded it? Who launched their career with a tear and a cover of a little known Prince song? Where was Joe Cocker sitting when he came up with the idea of covering 'With a Little Help from my Friends?'. Everybody likes a good song and a good story. The 100 Greatest Cover Versions traces the histories of some of the great songs you may know only as second-hand recordings and explores some unusual and creative takes on a few of pop's well-known tracks. Based on the Independent's popular long-running Story of the Song column, this collection features previously unpublished pieces alongside fully expanded, updated stories. Robert Webb details the background to each song how it was written, who first recorded it and how it came to be covered and explains how, in some cases, the cover version has become more popular than the original. Artists range from Patti Smith to the Happy Mondays, David Bowie to Florence + the Machine, and Stevie Wonder to Robert Wyatt. The book also includes additional further listening suggestions and a bonus track. Whether you download, rip from CD or stream your music, the Ultimate Playlist series provides the perfect accompaniment to your personal compilation. The series aims to guide listeners through large and often bewildering back catalogues of the major artists as well as key genres and styles in popular music. If you love music and you enjoy knowing more about the history behind some of pop's greatest songs, then you will love this book.
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Seitenzahl: 225
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013
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To Kathy, Barney and Arthur
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Some of the pieces in this book first appeared, in one shape or another, in the Independent between 2001 and 2010, in my columns Story of the Song and Double Take.
I am indebted to the many singers and songwriters, too numerous to mention individually, who, over the years, have explained how (and why) they wrote and recorded some of their best-known songs. I am, as ever, immeasurably grateful for the encouragement and support of my wonderful wife, Kathy, who has had to endure my record collection for longer than is probably healthy. Thanks are also due especially to Andrew Peden Smith at McNidder & Grace. For ideas, inspiration and all-round encouragement I am grateful to Mark Narayn, Mollie Narayn, Louis Narayn, Laurie Staff, Nick Coleman, Derek Chapman, Richard Balls, Jem Bailey and Tim Allen. Appreciation also to Dorothy Howe and Adam White. And last, but not least, to my mother, Jean Webb, with whom I heard my first memorable cover version (Millie’s ‘My Boy Lollipop’).
Robert Webb 2012
Contents
INTRODUCTION
Which Blondie Top Five was originally a flop for a West Coast power pop band? Who wrote Alice Cooper’s 1973 hit ‘Hello Hurray’, and which folk singer first recorded it? Who launched their career with a tear and a cover of a little known Prince song? Where was Joe Cocker sitting when he came up with the idea of covering ‘With a Little Help from my Friends?’
The 100 Greatest Cover Versions traces the histories of some of the great songs you may know only as second-hand recordings and explores some unusual and creative takes on a few of pop’s well-known tracks. First though, an admission. I imagine that not all the songs in this book will be on your own list of “great cover versions” and, in truth, several are not on mine. There is an intended irony and deliberate provocation in the book’s title – yes, I know, the whole thing is meaninglessly subjective anyway. But, stepping back, I can’t in all honesty defend them all as amongst “the greatest”. (‘Mony Mony’ is a feelgood number, for sure, but, on reflection, Billy Idol’s version is perhaps not a champion cover. Someone out there must really like it, though: it was a huge hit.) So, where the remake isn’t “great” in a critical sense (whatever that might mean), I would argue the original is, hence its inclusion in this book. Most importantly, though, my criterion is that the backstory is worth retelling. And everybody likes a good song – and a good story.
A great song will travel and plenty of artists have more than a few covers in their back catalogue. Some have even assembled whole albums of borrowed songs.
By the early Seventies, as pop began to glance over its shoulder to see where it had come from, the idea of dipping into a gene pool of popular song became rather an attractive one. David Bowie, Bryan Ferry and The Band all released albums in 1973 comprising other people’s songs, exhumed from the previous decade and a half. Those long players – Bowie’s especially, called Pin Ups – now slot seamlessly into the eclecticism of the early Seventies, but at the time Bowie was at the avant-garde of pop, a forward-thrusting, chameleon-coloured modernist, and it seemed an odd move. The shock of the old, perhaps?
In truth the quixotic Pin Ups and Ferry’s These Foolish Things were nothing more than exercises in thumbing through the musical photo album to point, misty-eyed, at their roots, before the two bright young things moved on to the next phase of their respective, ever-shifting futures. Both records were hugely successful and helped pave the way towards a trend for tribute albums in the decades that followed.
The same year (1973), Harry Nilsson, something of a cover version king, took the concept one step further (back), issuing A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night, his entirely un-rocking, orchestrated croon through the great American songbook (and an immeasurable improvement on Ringo Starr’s own similarly old-timer set, Sentimental Journey). Also in ’73 John Lennon began work on Rock’n’ roll, a tribute to his own formative period – whilst taking time out to collaborate on parboiled covers set with Nilsson, the lovingly confused Pussy Cats.
The Band’s Moondog Matinee, in which they resurrect some pet sounds from the Fifties, came about largely though a lack of any real original ideas. As Levon Helm, the band’s drummer, recalled: someone suggested, “why don’t we just do our old nightclub act?” Their retread of Fats Domino, Chuck Berry and Elvis standards was met with little critical sympathy at the time, but the album brought some great songs back to life and cast them at a new, younger audience. It’s since been the subject of some revisionist thinking – in 2010, Rhapsody radio, declared The Band’s version of ‘Mystery Train’ to be “crisp, funky and ready for a barroom brawl to break out”.
By the Nineties the single-artist covers albums was de rigueur in new pop. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds’ Kicking Against the Pricks (1986) boots the bottom out of some unlikely hand-me-downs from the likes of Glen Campbell, Gene Pitney and the Seekers. The following year, Siouxsie and the Banshees issued Through the Looking Glass, on which they name-check some of their pre-punk heroes (Sparks, John Cale, Kraftwerk, Television, and so on).
Elvis Costello followed up his 1981 album of country covers, Almost Blue, with an early-Nineties round-up of some of his personal favourites from rock, country and R&B, Kojak Variety, which sequences some Kitemark covers of the Kinks, Jesse Winchester and Little Richard, amongst others. Ironically, despite being one of the late-twentieth century’s great songwriters, Costello’s biggest chart hits, like Nilsson’s, have largely been with other people’s songs (‘A Good Year for the Roses’, ‘I Can’t Stand up for Falling Down’ and ‘She’).
Duran Duran even weighed in with Thank You (1995), a covers collection finds the Birmingham beatsters tackling songs like Bob Dylan’s ‘Lay Lady Lay’ (incidentally, originally pitched by Dylan as the theme for Midnight Cowboy, but losing out to Nilsson and his appropriation of Fred Neil’s world-go-away anthem ‘Everybody’s Talking’), Costello’s ‘Watching the Detectives’ and truly execrable, middle England covers of Grandmaster Melle Mel’s ‘White Lines (Don’t do it)’ and the Temptation’s ‘Ball of Confusion’. No, thank you. It’s difficult to see who, exactly, the album was aimed at.
As the new millennium curved into view, Paul McCartney replicated Lennon’s Rock ’n’ roll outing with a retro collection of his own, Run Devil Run, where – alongside guest musicians such as David Gilmore, Dave Mattacks and Pete Wingfield – Macca lovingly recreates his musical youth.
The funk-ball that is Mark Ronson’s Version, issued in 2007, brought a fresh approach to the genre by revving up material from the Kaiser Chiefs, Paul Weller and others. With a roster of contemporary, radio-friendly singers on board, it broke the covers-album mould by looking defiantly forward, rather than back, and thus spawning the Amy Winehouse hit ‘Valerie’. Another of the decade’s more idiosyncratic covers albums was Peter Gabriel’s Scratch My Back, one half of a planned project – the anticipated follow-up, You Scratch Mine, is supposedly a saddlebag of Gabriel songs covered by others (some have already been released as iTunes exclusives). Less original was Gabriel’s ex-bandmate Phil Collins’ slick collection of copycat Motown covers, Going Back: respectful, but lacking soul.
Rumer’s bittersweet 2012 covers album, Boys Don’t Cry, cuddles up with some of pop’s more overlooked songwriters, including Todd Rundgren, Ronnie Lane, Gilbert O’Sullivan, Terry Reid and Clifford T. Ward.
The cult of the cover has inevitably spawned numerous blogspots and forums, where listeners and completists can jostle, argue and proffer playlists of their own. Some songs are so cover friendly that they have deservedly been granted their own scholarly website – notably summertime-connection.nl, devoted to the apparently (and astonishing) 33,000-plus-and-counting recorded versions of Gershwin’s ‘Summertime’ (although surely not all commercially released? I can only find 48 on Spotify). Sam Cooke’s will do it for me.
So here is my selection of 100 cover versions. Many can be heard on Spotify or downloaded from your favourite online store. Others you will have to rip from CD in order to compile that perfect playlist. Some you may have to search a little harder for.
I apologise if your personal favourite isn’t included (although perhaps not, if it is one of the estimated three thousand released versions of the overrated ‘Yesterday’). But here’s your chance to pitch in. Follow us @100covers or visit the website at www.ultimateplaylists.co.uk to post your own playlist and tell the world why disco versions of Pink Floyd and Neil Young shouldn’t be allowed, why you think Kate Bush’s 1991 cover of Elton John’s ‘Rocket Man (I Think it’s Going to Be a Long, Long Time)’ (voted by Observer readers as the greatest cover of all time in 2007) is a criminal omission – or why Billy Idol’s ‘Mony Mony’ really is great.
LOUIE LOUIE
THE KINGSMEN (1963)
Original by Richard Berry (1956)
It’s the ultimate garage anthem: so good they named it twice. There are well-known versions by Iggy Pop, the Kinks, Motorhead and the Flamin’ Groovies and even one by Julie ‘Cry Me a River’ London. One source has documented over a thousand recorded versions of ‘Louie Louie’. There are books and blogs devoted to its convoluted history and there’s even an album, Love That Louie: The Louie Louie Files, a compilation of 24 of the best versions. Not bad for a two-minute riff which started out as a lowly, neglected B-side.
The earliest version we usually hear is by the Kingsmen. First recorded with Jack Ely on vocals, the mix featured on the band’s 1963 album In Person was overdubbed with audience noise to create a “live” feel. The original undubbed recording made it to seven-inch in 1966 and has been widely anthologised.
‘Louie Louie’ was already seven years old in 1963. It was written by Richard Berry, a Louisiana-born singer who toured rock ’n’ roll and doo-wop covers at weekends with an LA outfit called the Rhythm Rockers, often performing two shows a night. Berry tended to sit out the first part of the set, which was largely instrumental. As Dave Marsh explains in the book Louie Louie, one night Berry heard a steady pulse thrumming through the dressing-room walls: duh-duh-duh, duh duh. The song being played on stage was Rene Touzet’s arrangement of ‘Amarren Al Loco’, retitled ‘El Loco Cha Cha’. The beat was hardly new in Latin music but, thanks to the muffled acoustics in the dressing room, Berry was transfixed. Keeping the rhythmic cadence in his head, he scribbled down some lyrics about a homesick sailor and a barkeeper. He dissected the cha-cha chug and assembled a Latin-infused R&B number. In Berry’s song, the sailor has no name, but the barkeeper does: Louie.
It was April 1956 and Berry needed some material for an upcoming session of his own: that would do nicely. Later that year Flip Records issued a single by Richard Berry and the Pharaohs, with his new song, ‘Louie Louie’, on the flip. The B-side was good, but people seemed to prefer the A-side, ‘You are my Sunshine’. “I didn’t think ‘Louie Louie’ was gonna be a hit,” said Berry. “I just thought it was a good song that I wrote.” Eventually listeners came around to ‘Louie Louie’, making it a regional hit of sorts. But pop quickly moved on and Berry’s record was mostly forgotten within months.
It was Ron Holden and the Playboys who first revived the dormant ‘Louie Louie’, in the late Fifties, initially for the Pacific northwest’s growing garage-band scene. Then it was the Wailers’ turn to record it. Then a dozen more bands. By the time the Kingsmen got a hold of it, ‘Louie Louie’ was no longer a Latin groove – it was rock ’n’ roll. And so great was it that the Kingsmen once played an hour-and-a-half set riffing on just the one song: 90 minutes, duh-duh-duh, duh duh.
IT’S ALL OVER NOW
THE ROLLING STONES (1964)
Original by the Valentinos (1964)
With three British hit singles behind them and a bad reputation, the Rolling Stones found themselves in Chicago’s Chess Studios, trying to crack America. Chess was where their heroes Muddy Waters and Chuck Berry cut some of the quintet’s favourite tracks and this, decided their swaggering, 20-year-old manager Andrew Loog Oldham, who’d flown them over on a wing and a prayer, was where the Stones would make their name.
In the summer of 1964 ‘It’s All Over Now’ had just been released by brotherly R&B-soul outfit the Valentinos. The Stones first heard this rousing girl-done-me-wrong number, which came from the pen of the Valentinos’ principal songwriter Bobby Womack, during the course of a radio interview with legendary DJ Murray the K. It was leapt upon by Oldham and the boys, who wasted no time in blagging recording rights for the Chess session. At first Womack was less than happy at having his song probably ruined by a bunch of lanky Brits. “I didn’t want the Rolling Stones to record that song,” he recalled. “It was so important for that record to happen for the Valentinos.”
Womack soon found the flood of royalties eased the pain. It was released in Britain to advance orders of 150,000 – backed with the promise of having actually been made in America. The Stones transformed ‘It’s All Over Now’ from a ballsy soul groove into an early rock classic. Keith’s guitar grunts at Brian’s jaunty, country-style finger-picking. Jagger’s vocals snipe back. The Stones swept the charts with it, providing the young punks with their first Number One. The Valentinos’ original, by contrast, turned out to be their final chart appearance, reaching a lowly Number 94 in the US. It nevertheless gave Womack the recognition he deserved as one of soul’s primary singer-songwriters.
SAILING
ROD STEWART (1975)
Original by the Sutherland Brothers (1972)
Rod Stewart’s glasspaper tonsils have smoothed and shaped songs by, amongst others, Tom Waits, Jimi Hendrix and Cat Stevens. None has quite the gravitas of its original (although his take on Crazy Horse’s ‘I Don’t Want to Talk About It’ was his last truly great single). The first cut, invariably, is the deepest. 1975’s ‘Sailing’ was Rod’s third British Number One and the first cover he really made his own. It was first recorded by the Aberdeenshire two-piece Gavin and Iain Sutherland in 1972 – the Proclaimers of their day, who later teamed up with the pub rock band Quiver. Although awarded a fair bit of after-dark airtime, there was no chart action.
Yawing and creaking through a foghorn drone, the Sutherlands’ version is a haunting lamentation, a salty reminder of what draws us to the swollen tide and what we leave behind. “Its roots are in the old hymns we sang as kids in the kirk,” says Gavin Sutherland. “It’s more of a spiritual metaphor than a literal reference.” Stewart pitched ‘Sailing’ as a romantic anthem to distant lovers everywhere. “We were delighted to hear Rod’s version,” says Sutherland. “It was very different from ours; a much bigger production. It helped our careers a lot, bless him.”
In 1976 the cover was used as the theme for Sailor, the popular BBC fly-on-the-boat documentary about the Ark Royal aircraft carrier. Re-released, it was punted back up the charts by a patriotic public stirred by the song’s convection of elegiac defiance. It also, inevitably, became a soccer favourite. “Hearing it sung on the terraces for the first time was a real blast; even if it was ‘We are Tott’nam’,” says Sutherland. “And when the Navy started singing it, well that was just fine too, that’s what songs are for. It’s got a life of its own now, a proper folk song.”
JACKIE WILSON SAID (I’M IN HEAVEN WHEN YOU SMILE)
DEXYS MIDNIGHT RUNNERS (1982)
Original by Van Morrison (1972)
As the poet Paul Durcan has noted, Van Morrison’s songs are littered with the cadence of names. One of Morrison’s greatest compositions, ‘Jackie Wilson Said’, was among the first pop songs to celebrate the emotional impact of one singer on another. Having already name-checked another cult soul hero on the hit ‘Geno’ (Washington), a dungareed Dexys Midnight Runners charted with a note-perfect copy of Morrison’s original in 1982.
Wilson, known in his day as “Mr Excitement”, scored a string of solo hits, beginning with 1957’s ‘Reet Petite (The Finest Girl You Ever Want to Meet)’, and was a defining influence on the young Belfast boy. Van’s tribute to the man Smokey Robinson called the most exciting entertainer he’d ever seen first appeared in 1972, opening the enigmatically-titled Saint Dominic’s Preview. Van’s album uniquely blended celtic folk, jazz, gospel with his own brand of metaphysical soul.
Mark Isham, the composer and trumpeter who played with Morrison during the Eighties, recalled Van’s infatuation with the Detroit-born soul star. “He loves Jackie Wilson, who was pretty overtly sexual and rough around the edges. On the other hand, there’s an aspect of that that drives Van crazy, because it isn’t this higher-aesthetic thing.”
Dexys’ remake (on which Morrison declined an invitation to contribute) is also fondly remembered for a Top of the Pops performance, when the band inexplicably jigged before a billboard mugshot of darts player Jocky Wilson. As for Jackie himself, in 1961 he was shot and critically wounded by a demented fan – that was the official story, anyway: others say it was a jealous girlfriend who pulled the trigger. His career faltered through the Sixties and he suffered a heart attack on stage in Cherry Hill, New Jersey in 1975, striking his head as he fell. The resulting brain damage left him in a coma for more than eight years until his death a year or so after Dexys reminded us of a great song and an almost-forgotten legend.
THE BOOK OF LOVE
PETER GABRIEL (2004)
Original by the Magnetic Fields (1999)
Covers of Peter Gabriel songs have been rather hit and miss – Robert Wyatt’s ‘Biko’ was suitably solemn, although Erasure’s 4/4 disco version of ‘Solsbury Hill’ had most people running for the hills. On the few occasions Gabriel has tackled other people’s songs, however, he generally adds to what is already there. He was introduced to the Magnetic Fields, fronted by Stephin Merritt, through a friend and was immediately taken with “the quirky way the band were interpreting songs”. He was taken by one song in particular, from their sprawling 1999 album 69 Love Songs, and pitched, unsuccessfully, to have them signed to his Real World label.
The track which caught Gabriel’s ear was a tremulous guitar number, ‘The Book of Love’, which sounded a little like the Divine Comedy playing late period Nick Drake. Once heard it was difficult to forget and it was on his mind as he put finishing touches to his own 2002 album, Up. With time to spare during the dubbing of a string section to one of the tracks, he recorded a “simple string arrangement” for ‘The Book of Love’. “We did it there and then,” he said. Not fitting any Gabriel project at the time, the cover was sidelined onto the soundtrack for the 2004 movie Shall We Dance? “It was an effortless interpretation of a song where you really hear and feel the voice,” Gabriel said. And it gave him an idea.
Gabriel began gathering material from like-minded artists, such as David Bowie, Bon Iver, Arcade Fire and Radiohead for a projected album of contemporary covers. Scratch My Back
