Some Songs Considered - Posts Tagged 'cover song'

March 12, 2010

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“Redemption Song” – Johnny Cash and Joe Strummer
(Words/music: Bob Marley, available on Cash Unearthed, American / Universal 2003)

I spent four years in college yet never went through a Bob Marley phase. My instinct is to say that I got enough of it second hand, but after thinking about it for a minute I’d say that it was repeated plays of the same Marley tunes that burned me out on his music. I could only hear “Get Up, Stand Up” and “I Shot the Sheriff” so many times before a quick upward strum on a guitar would cause me to retreat. The positive side effect to this combination of burnout and stubbornness means that occasionally I get to make small discoveries in Marley’s cannon. The first one, the one that made me rethink my distaste, was “Redemption Song.” Sure, it partially has to do with the different instrumentation, but it was Marley’s careful weaving of his personal spirituality and politics of liberation that made the song speak to me. At other moments, Marley leans heavily on one (or both) of these polarizing ideas, but on “Redemption Song” he strikes a balance where it’s easier to see the beauty of his convictions without getting caught up in the polarizing details.

The first version of “Redemption Song” I truly loved was on Joe Strummer’s posthumous Streetcore album. In particular, I loved all of the extra touches – the guitar flourishes, the organ chords – that accompanied Strummer’s voice. Later on, I heard this duet version – the same instrumental track only with Strummer and Johnny Cash trading verses. Neither man saw the release of this track (Cash Unearthed came out shortly after his death), and I’m not even sure if Cash and Strummer recorded the song together or whether Cash added his vocals afterward (if you know, I’d love to know). All of this leads me to the most interesting bit of trivia (remember, I’m a Marley lightweight, so this didn’t seem obvious to me) that Marley wrote and recorded “Redemption Song” after his cancer diagnosis. All three of these men sang this song near the end of their lives (granted, for three different reasons – Marley’s illness, Strummer’s sudden heart attack, and Cash’s slowly declining health), and I’d like to think that this song brought them all peace as they neared the end of their time on Earth. If nothing else, all three – Marley’s original, Strummer’s version, and the version Cash augments – left beautiful interpretations for us to remember them fondly.

More on Johnny Cash: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 9, 2010

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“Dirty Old Town” - Ted Leo
(Words/music: Ewan MacColl, appears on “Tell Balgeary, Balgury is Dead” EP, Lookout! 2003)

(In honor of the new Ted Leo and the Pharmacists album The Brutalist Bricks, I’d like to re-run the story of when I first met Ted Leo in February 2003. This post originally ran on January 7, 2009. Back to new posts tomorrow!)

I’ve been blessed to have been involved with college radio while earning both of my degrees (first at WDOM in Providence, later at WQAQ in Connecticut), and it was (and continues to be) an important factor in my ever evolving musical taste. This post, however, isn’t my love letter to college radio (that comes with a different song) but rather a reflection of my favorite experience as a DJ.

I was fortunate enough to meet and interview Ted Leo during February 2003, right after the Hearts of Oak album came out (and right after I discovered his music). It was a surreal experience for a college sophomore to have to plan questions and interview someone who would be on Conan O’Brien later that week. From the moment that we helped Ted cart in his amplifier and guitar case (the same ones he still uses years later), it was apparent that Ted was almost as grateful to have the opportunity to appear on our modest station as we were to have him come to us. Through all sorts of stumbling blocks – our station’s faulty heater (it didn’t work a lot that winter), a less than vegan friendly cafeteria, his nagging vocal chord problems, and my nervous propensity to mix metaphors (he signed a poster with one of my quotes - “top to bottom, front to back” - my attempt to complement the body of songs on Hearts of Oak), Ted remained upbeat, enthusiastic, and completely engaging. We had Ted on for an hour or so – a mix of discussions about ska music, going to Catholic school, listening to New Order, and other topics with about half a dozen performances of songs from The Tyranny of Distance and Hearts of Oak. By the end of the afternoon, everyone in the room not only became fans of his music, but became fans of the man. In addition to his kindness and wit, Ted’s personal ethics shine through everything he does. Few contemporaries champion their causes as earnestly and completely and it seems that he has time to play on behalf of people and causes that he supports (for example, playing a benefit for a local punk rock promoter who recently passed away).

“Dirty Old Town” was the last song that Ted played that day, introducing it as a “song for the city of Providence.” I didn’t know the song (I hadn’t discovered The Pogues at that point), but I was struck by how he sang someone else’s song with the same passion and conviction that he sang his own songs. Looking back at that day nearly six years later, I have two prevailing thoughts. The first is the refreshing realization that the people that we’re fans of are fans themselves. It’s clear that Ted has a passion for music (look at the wide body of cover songs in his repertoire – in particular the obscure songs he’s playing on his recent solo tour) and that even to this day he remains a fan. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, I’ve learned that songs don’t belong exclusively to their authors – they belong to us all. We all have our own unique memories associated with individual songs – sometimes shared, sometimes private – and that some songs immediately can immediately bring us back to a specific place or time. I’m not sure what Ted Leo thinks of when he hears Shane MacGowan sing “Dirty Old Town,” but this song will always make me think back to that afternoon in Providence where I got to interview one of my favorite musicians.

More on Ted Leo: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 2, 2010

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“Rock ‘n Roll Dreams’ll Come True” – Ted Leo
(Words: Tom Sharpling and Jon Wurster, Music: Ted Leo, recorded on WFMU 3/13/2007)

New Jersey free form station WFMU is in its annual fundraiser this week, and tonight is the marathon’s flagship event when Tom Sharpling’s The Best Show on WFMU takes to the airwaves to solicit funds to fuel the station. I’m out of range (by a couple states) to listen to WFMU in the car, but I’ll occasionally check out the live stream on their website to enjoy their eclectic mix of shows, but generally it’s to hear The Best Show. Sharpling, a funny man in his own right, brings in hilarious guests on a regular basis (John Hodgman and Patton Oswalt are among regulars), and when the show isn’t deep in inside jokes (or if I follow the joke, at least), it’s an entertaining bit of live radio.

Ted Leo, a friend of Sharpling (Sharpling wrote the liner notes to Leo’s new album The Brutalist Bricks), has appeared on his show several times, including playing odd requests and covers in exchange for donations to WFMU’s operating fund. His covers range from stellar (“Brass in Pocket” and a WFMU-modified “That’s Entertainment” in 2007, Blondie’s “Union City Blue” in 2008, among others) to ridiculous (Sharpling and Leo performed Streisand & Neil Diamond’s “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” as a duet, for instance), including “Rock ‘n Roll Dreams’ll Come True,” a Best Show inside joke. The song comes from a bit between Sharpling and his comedy partner (and Superchunk drummer) Jon Wurster where Wurster called in as an aged rock star with very specific requirements for casting his surefire hit band The Gas Station Dogs. During this call (which appears on the Sharpling-Wurster disc New Hope for the Ape-Eared and is worth the listen, if only for Wurster’s obsession with details), Wurster’s character Barry Dworkin performs this song, one that only has lyrics and a melody and took nearly two decades to compose. The Sharpling-Wurster bit explains why these lyrics are inane and, well, awful, but Leo manages to make it into a catchy little tune (and even turns it into a riotous stomp on a Chunklet 7” single he split with Zach Galifinakis). It’s catchy enough on its own, but even more ridiculous knowing why Leo committed all of these absurd words to memory.

The Best Show airs tonight between 8-11 PM, so if you’re hanging around with nothing to do, give a listen and see what sort of odd mayhem Sharpling, Wurster, and Ted Leo have in store to try to earn operating capitol for a terrific independent station.

More on Ted Leo: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

February 17, 2010

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“100,000 Fireflies” – Superchunk
(Words/music: Stephin Merritt, available on Incidental Music 1991 – 95, Merge Records 1995)

I first knew “100,000 Fireflies” through the Superchunk version, and because my original copy of Incidental Music was on a CD-R, I didn’t know it wasn’t a Superchunk song. With a bit of hindsight and and much deeper love for Superchunk’s catalogue, it stands out from a bunch of their earlier songs. Lyrically it’s a little more dramatic than Mac McCaughan usually gets (I don’t think the phrase “I want to kill myself” appears in any of his songs). Their cover highlights a lot of the things I love about the early Superchunk, particularly their fusion of melody and mayhem without sacrificing either. It’s also more complex than the three chord pop-punk birthed at the end of the decade; the arrangement rises and falls in both volume and intensity.

There’s a certain justice to follow the “when I turn up the tone / on my electric guitar” lyric with electric guitars, and the energy Superchunk breathes into the song is infectious. McCaughan’s strained vocals, particularly in the post-chorus section, lean on the desperation in the lyrics. The guitar slows down and feels heavier as he pleads for another chance. Gradually, Jim Wilbur embellishes on the main riff, twisting it into a brief solo before the song ends.

In many ways, Superchunk gets right to the core of the song, bringing the urgency to the forefront with distorted guitars. Like the Magnetic Fields version (and more on them in the next post – give me a half hour or so), the Superchunk cover relies on crafting a specific mood. Their mood draws on the ones that run beneath the surface – ones I might not have gleaned just from the original version alone.

(Part 2 on the Magnetic Fields’ version can be read here)

More on Superchunk: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

February 9, 2010

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“Atlantic City” – The Band
(Words/music: Bruce Springsteen, available on Jericho, Rhino 1993)

This Levon Helm led version of “Atlantic City “ threw me for a loop the first time I heard it. I know Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska by reputation as some of his starkest songs with some of his darkest characters. So hearing the brightness of the accordion and mandolin on the Band’s version caught me off guard. For a song where the narrator turns to gambling as a desperate solution to problems, The Band’s version sounded too bright. It sounded more like a leisurely afternoon on the boardwalk than terse moments inside a casino.

So I went back to Springsteen’s recording and found his original version closer to this one than I remembered. Sure, this isn’t the inspired, determined protagonist associated with a lot of his later work, but the main character in “Atlantic City” isn’t completely devoid of hope. He tempers his observation that “everyone dies” with the hope that “everything that dies someday comes back.” Whether it’s what he wants to believe or it’s a true sign of faith, hope remains nonetheless. Even some of the sonic details in the Band’s version that I found surprising – specifically the mandolin and the harmony vocals – exist in Springsteen’s recording too. Whether Springsteen plays a mandolin or an acoustic guitar in its upper register, a string instrument accompanies him the same way his double-tracked vocal harmonizes with him during the chorus. Levon Helm and his bandmates did what good covers often do by highlighting certain aspects of the original. As a result, it creates a distinctly unique version of the song that differentiates itself while still paying tribute to the original.

More on The Band: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

February 4, 2010

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“Across the Universe” – David Bowie
(Words/music: John Lennon & Paul McCartney, available on Young Americans, Virgin 1975)

The Beatles’ recording of “Across the Universe,” recorded primarily on February 4, 1968, gradually unfolds itself and lets subtle layers of strings and harmonies roll out as the song progresses. It’s appropriate, given both the song’s famous opening line and the way John Lennon described the song “flowing” into him one night in bed. With its Sanskrit mantra mixed in, “Across the Universe” thrives on this circular interconnectivity on both the lyrical and musical level.

All this makes David Bowie’s version a little stranger. Where Lennon’s performance flows effortlessly, Bowie’s version lags. Anchored by a strong backbeat, the rest of the song feels like it’s moving in slow motion – the harmonies are strained and stretched out and the guitar melodies expand past their original length. This isn’t a bad thing, either. In fact, a straight-ahead cover from Bowie would be boring and out of character. Instead, as it appears with the rest of the “plastic soul” Young Americans, Bowie’s universe feels slightly melted and warped and just slightly more irregular than Lennon’s perfect circle. However, even with slightly disjointed parts, Bowie’s version reaches a moment of connectivity as well when Lennon shows up and trades off vocals at the end. If Lennon’s original is a meditation, Bowie and Lennon’s trade off feels like resolution in the face of hardship. With disjointed pieces and all, it’s a reminder that sometimes inner peace comes from ourselves rather than our surroundings.

More on David Bowie: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

January 29, 2010

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“My Way” – Sid Vicious
(Words: Paul Anka, music: Claude François and Jacques Revaux, available on Sid Sings, EMI 1979)

Truth be told, I have little to add to this. It’s memorable in part because Sid Vicious died a premature and violent death, in part because it’s tweaking Sinatra, and in part because Scorsese used it over the credits of Goodfellas. If anything, interpretation probably falls right down the middle between Vicious desecrating a standard and Vicious embodying the song’s denouncement of detractors. Whether used to celebrate a full life or simply victory on one’s terms, “My Way” always came off to me as a bit too boastful to be truly moving.

Even if I’m not really sure whether Vicious means this belligerently or earnestly, I know that I let off a little laugh when he sneers his way into “regrets.” That, and I think of Ben Garant and Kerri Kenney’s portrayal of Sid and Nancy on a game show on The State and I laugh again. I’m not quite sure what the agenda here is, but this is probably where all those ironic punk covers of decidedly non-punk songs come back to. In that case, I’m torn; I admire the prototype yet hate the replications.

More on Sid Vicious: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: sid vicious | sex pistols | frank sinatra | 1979 | 1970s | EMI | cover song |

January 24, 2010

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“Freebird (Live)” – Built to Spill
(Words/music: Allen Collins and Ronnie Van Zant, undated live recording)

After Conan O’Brien’s send off episode ended with an absurd performance of “Freebird” (which speaks for itself, so I won’t add anything new), I’ve had “Freebird” in the back of my mind. It led me back to this recording of Built to Spill playing the song. Situated somewhere between an unfunny joke and a guilty pleasure, “Freebird” probably yields the lowest request-to-performance ration of songs requested at rock shows. However, Built to Spill have played the song for years (part of the reason I can’t identify the date of this recording – if you know, let me know and I’ll update the post). They don’t just tease the song, either; they play the whole thing, solos and all. Whether intended as a thumbing of the nose to those annoying requests from the crowd or a sincere take (and their 20+ minute version of “Cortez the Killer” from the band’s official live album leads me to think it’s intentional), Built to Spill take the opportunity to wail on the song for a solid eight minutes.

I’m inclined to think that the band isn’t being tongue-in-cheek with their version because it gives the band a chance to wail for a while. Their “Freebird” doesn’t delve into the same distorted psychedelia that their “Cortez the Killer” features. Instead, it gives the band an excuse to cut loose. Looking back at it years later, their “Freebird” foreshadowed the guitar-heavy (and song-extending) tendencies on some of their more recent output. In short, I’ve kept this version of “Freebird” for the same reason that the version on Conan worked – it’s played sincerely and comes across as a band having fun.

More on Built to Spill: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

December 25, 2009

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“Jesus Christ” – Teenage Fanclub
(Words/music: Alex Chilton, available on Ain’t That Enough EP, Creation 1997)

Writing about Teenage Fanclub covering a Big Star song does a disservice to the band, as they’re unfairly cast aside as Big Star imitators too often. Still, it’s Christmas and I wrote about Big Star at the beginning of the year, so Teenage Fanclub will get their own day sometime next year.

That aside, their version of Chilton’s “Jesus Christ” leans heaviest on the ways Big Star influenced generations of power pop bands. Every inch of this song, whether the sweet melody in the hook, the fuzzy lead guitars, or the clear counter melodies plucked underneath, hums with melody. Their version is a faithful, slightly more muscular version of Big Star’s recoridng, although it leaves out Chilton’s closing declaration that “we’re gonna get born now.” Even though it’s one of my favorite parts of the original (especially the way Chilton slightly rises up from his otherwise placid delivery), it’s a necessary omission. This final line, along with the rest of the weird and twisted Third / Sister Lovers collection, suggests that Chilton laces the song with sarcasm. Regardless of his intent, the sweetness of the melody and the charming arrangement are wonderous, and it’s this part of the song Teenage Fanclub honors on their version. That’s the way I plan on spending the rest of my Christmas - celebrating the spirit and beauty of the season and taking a day off from the snark or cynicism. There’s plenty of time for that the rest of the year.

More on Teenage Fanclub: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

December 18, 2009

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“Champagne Supernova (Live)” – Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks
(Words/music: Noel Gallagher, live at the Cat’s Cradle, 11 November 2001)

From his days fronting Pavement, Stephen Malkmus has a legendary reputation in the world of alternative rock. Over time, his reputation evolved, particularly to include the guitar heroism on his recent solo albums, but in general Malkmus is known for his sarcasm, his way with words, and his disjointed songs. He also has a tremendous sense of humor and an acute sense of the absurd, and from the first Pavement album through his most recent solo release, his songs contain numerous non-sequiturs, nonsensical digressions, and surrealist images. Part of digesting a Malkmus recording is deciphering his skewered viewpoint and appreciating the humor.

Malkmus’ playfulness takes centerstage on this recording of his band covering Oasis’ overblown epic. Appropriately, Malkmus’ version teeters between mockery and reverence, ultimately striking the proper balance between the two. As a card-carrying Oasis fan (and someone who gets upset when radio stations fade out before the guitar solo), I will still acknowledge the ridiculousness of “Champagne Supernova,” both in its extended arrangement and its lyrics. Malkmus twists the lyrics both to mock the original (hence the reference to a Coke can pipe) and reflect on the drug-laden mid ‘90s that helped birth the song. Despite this mockery, Malkmus giddily declares the lead guitar his “favorite part” before playing the lick perfectly. Yes, it’s overblown and absurd, but that’s part of the song’s charm, and Malkmus capitalizes on the song’s character. Sure, he’s tossing off lines about being a “natural Englishman” and about ecstasy “raining from the sky,” but he’s also staying faithful to the song’s arrangement. It’s this blend of admiration and absurdity that not only captures Malkmus’ interpretation of the song, but Malkmus’ legacy as well. Ultimately, one appreciates this cover similar to one of his songs – while the humor might be more exaggerated here, it’s foiled by solid musicianship and a respect for the source material.

More on Stephen Malkmus: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

December 13, 2009

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“Head On” – Pixies
(Words/music: William Reid, available on Trompe le Monde, 4AD 1991)

Even though neither Frank Black nor Kim Deal wrote “Head On,” it remains one of my favorite recordings by the Pixies. It’s not as lyrically twisted as many of the Pixies other songs, and even though Frank Black dips into the maniacal part of his vocal register, he doesn’t sound as deranged as he does at other points in their catalogue. Instead, it’s a two and a quarter minutes tearing through a Jesus and Mary Chain song played faithfully enough to please JAMC fans while still giving it the necessary Pixies arrangement to warrant its inclusion on their final studio disc.

Aside from running half as long (and at an increased tempo), the major difference between the Pixies cover and the original lies in the exaggerated dynamics. The original recording mainly stays at the same volume, aside from the part where the drums cut out in the bridge. While the Pixies cover never gets as whisper quiet as some of their other recordings (at least the ones where they earned the “loud-soft-loud” reputation that Kurt Cobain admired), the Pixies version pushes the needle into the red immediately. David Lovering’s drums set the pace immediately with a thunderous opening roll, signaling for the guitars to charge behind him. It’s Lovering again who sets the pace, first by cutting everything but his bass drum leading out of the chorus, settling into a solid groove when the song’s volume retreats, only to crescendo again when he opens his hi-hat. While the guitars provide the bulk of the volume (and Black’s tone provides the most tangible gauge), it’s Lovering’s drumming that leads the band through the song. His band mates follow along, making Reid’s song more explosive without sacrificing the melodic charm of the original.

More on Pixies: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

December 1, 2009

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“Something” – Paul McCartney
(Words/music: George Harrison, available on Back in the U.S. – Live 2002, Capitol 2002)

The school where I worked on my masters’ degree had a clock above the library that played a different melody every hour. The first time I noticed the clock (and the only melody I can remember it playing) it was playing “Something.” It was a bright, sunny afternoon early in my first semester, and as the notes carried across the campus, everything looked more vibrant. It fit the scene so perfectly that I didn’t even realize what I was listening to until it was almost over; George Harrison’s simple melody seemed natural coming out of the bells of a clock tower, so I didn’t even realize that it was out of context right away.

It’s this simplicity that Paul McCartney’s ukulele version honors. During his 2001-2002 world tour, McCartney took a break from his greatest hits revue to perform Harrison’s signature Beatles tune, accompanied by four tiny strings. Recently, he’s performed the ukulele bit as an introduction, segueing into the traditional Abbey Road arrangement, but on this live album he performs the whole song by himself, including singing the lead guitar part. Even in this reduced setting, “Something” still captivates, as a 60 year old man and a ukulele alone kept tens of thousands of fans enraptured for three minutes. It’s appropriate, given that Harrison’s singing about the simple way that love affects us. It’s also a tribute to the versatility of Harrison’s song that whether in its lush studio arrangement, a clock tower bell system, or a tiny stringed instrument, the beauty radiates through. Rather than lean on its instrumentation, Harrison’s song relies on its melody and its honesty – in short, he made it simple to make it sound good.

More on Paul McCartney: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

September 25, 2009

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“Because the Night” – 10,000 Maniacs
(Words/music: Patti Smith and Bruce Springsteen, available on MTV Unplugged, Elektra 1993)

If it didn’t carry such a specific connotation, I’d declare “Because the Night” my favorite power ballad. Springsteen and Smith play off their mutual strengths, specifically their flair for the dramatic and their unconventionally powerful voices. “Because the Night” starts with a bittersweet piano line and gives the impression of a lonely piano feature before swelling and taking on the power of the full band. Appropriately, both Springsteen and Smith take their vocal cues from their arrangement; by the end of the song, both Smith and Springsteen emote the same passion and desperation as their lyrics. It’s this same quality that makes the 10,000 Maniacs version work for me. Natalie Merchant has her opportunity to step into the spotlight and plays up her strengths as a vocalist. That’s not to shortchange her band (who create a wonderful arrangement behind her, managing to elicit the necessary energy out of the unplugged arrangement), but this is Merchant’s moment in the spotlight (and let’s be honest, that’s the reason she’s the focal point in the cover photo). Like Springsteen and Smith, Merchant builds up to her emotional climax; while she doesn’t have the same power as the other two, she compensates with the sweet sincerity in her voice.

Merchant’s version, like the original Smith version and the Springsteen version on the Live 1975 – 1985 box, climaxes during the bridge. If the verses laid out the protagonist’s desire for her lover, the bridge drives home the extent of her longing. Appropriately, this is the musical turning point as well as the song builds in the final few bars. Merchant’s voice cracks slightly on the second “take me now,” and rather than feel like a bad note it almost sounds like she’s getting choked up. Whether it’s a bit of acting or an authentic moment of emotion, it only underscores the intensity of the moment.

More on 10,000 Maniacs: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

September 11, 2009

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“Dancing in the Dark” – Drew O’Doherty and Ted Leo
(Words/music: Bruce Springsteen, originally available from Bradley’s Almanac, performed August 6, 2006)

Today is Ted Leo’s birthday, and my present is to repost a song I originally found on Bradley’s Almanac a few years ago. Head over there to read Brad’s account of the circumstances behind the show – specifically how “Dancing in the Dark” served as a “handoff” between O’Doherty’s opening set and Leo’s main set. Bradley’s Almanac is a must read, and I got to briefly meet Brad at XX Merge this summer and can confirm first hand that he’s as nice and cool as his blog suggests. Do yourself a favor and go subscribe to it.

Ted Leo also has the misfortune of sharing his birthday with the terrorist attacks in the United States eight years ago. In many ways, this “Dancing in the Dark” performance shares a lot of the qualities of the moments we looked for (and continue to need) in the weeks and months following. Earlier today, as they have for the past few years, McSweeney’s posted John Hodgman’s introduction from a literary reading a few weeks after the 9/11 terrorist attacks. In it, Hodgman (a friend of Leo’s, appropriately) shared his struggle to find the role of storytelling in an increasingly absurd world, ultimately suggesting that in a time of crisis, stories help us feel like we aren’t alone. For me, concerts provide the same comforting communal effort, and few create and utilize the temporary community that a live performance assembles the way Ted Leo uses it. His sets frequently mix his own stories (through his songs) with songs that he loves. “Dancing in the Dark,” a song about the desperate, unending quest for inspiration, frequently appears in these sets, often inspiring the audience to join in (at least for the “can’t start a fire” lines). I’ve written about the way Leo’s shows provide this spark for me, and I can’t help but feel like most of the crowd leaves the same way. Even if these moments can’t fix what’s broken inside us, they help to remind us that we’re all fractured in some ways and can help each other put the pieces back together. While 9/11 is a day to consider the ways we’ve started to heal, it’s also a day worth celebrating those who have helped us with that healing, even if it’s just by singing songs.

Happy birthday, Ted. Thanks for everything.

More on Drew O’Doherty: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

More on Ted Leo: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

September 3, 2009

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“Ain’t That Enough” – Cloud Eleven
(Words/music: Gerard Love, available on What a Concept! A Tribute to Teenage Fanclub, Not Lame 2004)

A few years back, I ended up with the What a Concept collection probably because I wanted to hear Superdrag’s version of “Radio,” one of my favorite Teenage Fanclub songs. This coincided with my gradual yet steadily growing love affair with Teenage Fanclub’s catalog. Even now, every time I listen to one of their albums or the handful of (recent) live recordings I possess, I find a new song to love. I’m also drawn to tribute albums the way that some people are drawn to cars pulled over by state troopers on the highway – you know nothing good will come from craning your neck in that direction, but you still can’t help but pay attention to it. I say this because tribute albums generally have three types of songs. From least to most frequent: the transcendent interpretation placing the song into a new context, the frustratingly awful version that hangs around the original like an albatross, and the play-it-safe almost too faithful recreation of the original. What a Concept leans heavily on the play-it-safe versions, but that in itself is a fitting tribute to Teenage Fanclub. A band that made its name on perfectly placed pop deserves to have their songs repeated note by note.

Of all the songs on the compilation, Cloud Eleven’s “Ain’t That Enough” might be the most by-the-numbers recreation of a Teenage Fanclub song. Even if the harmonies aren’t as prominent on their version, Cloud Eleven still recreates the glockenspiel, guitar riffs, and drum beat almost note for note. Ironically, “Ain’t That Enough” might be my favorite single song on this compilation. It’s a bit of a backhanded compliment calling the one that sounds the most like Teenage Fanclub my favorite, but it’s a credit to the band. “Ain’t That Enough” works because it’s simple and straightforward melody and harmony. It wouldn’t make sense at twice the speed or in a doom metal version. Cloud Eleven realizes this, and in this case their reverent take is the right move. Or, in this case, it’s enough.

More on Cloud Eleven: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

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