Cover Classics Archives

Cover Classics: Joe Cocker’s ‘Organic’

Posted by Seuras Og at 12:00 pm No Responses »

Nov 042025

Cover Classics takes a closer look at all-cover albums of the past, their genesis, and their legacy.

To celebrate the entry of Joe Cocker into the Rock’n’Roll Hall Of Fame, possibly the only way to celebrate this sometimes consummate interpreter of song, is to drill down into one of his many albums. Organic was a bit different, even by his standards; as well as a selection of songs new to him, producer Don Was got him to revisit some of his earlier covers. Quite a risk, as the now 52-year-old singer was widely seen, by then, as merely functional, going through the motions with a gruff bluster and a camouflage of backing singers.

Rewind to 1969. Arms flailing and eyes tight shut, the sight of the ex-gas fitter as he transformed “With a Little Help From My Friends” from skip-over track, into a searing ceremony of the soul; it was an astonishing moment. It had already captured the hearts of listeners at home, a number one UK single in 1968. But, played out on stage to thousands at Woodstock, the film then made sure it was then seen by millions worldwide. Suddenly he was a star, seemingly from nowhere.

For a while he could do no wrong. Blessed by a crack team of London’s best session men, his first two albums are a remarkable salvo of intent, matching his sublime vocals, Ray Charles with a little more frailty, with some of the best playing of the day. He even wrote a bit back then, but it soon became far more apparent that his strength lay more in what he could bring to the songs of others. On the back of these albums, and buoyed by Woodstock, he hurtled next into the Leon Russell helmed Mad Dogs & Englishmen circus, a carnival of excesses that went on a 48-date tour. Cocker, already exhausted by his earlier whirlwind ascent to fame, self-medicated his way around America on pills and booze, became a wreck by the end of it.

That could have been that, and nearly was; he needed two years away from music to even begin to recover. However, good friend Chris Stainton lured him back to the limelight. The return to the treadmill, and all its attendant vices, nearly and should have killed him. So much so that, when Michael Lang agreed to become his manager, in 1976, this was only on the condition of his sobriety, a condition which, against both odds or expectation, he came to fulfill.

From that time, and almost up to the time of his death, his workload remained formidable. Dipping between styles, he would follow up an album with the Crusaders, heavy with horns, with a bevy of soundtrack anthems, to wave lighters in the sky to. Quality varied and it was hard to know quite to whom he was aiming his appeal. But, by and large, his bread and butter was in the melodic songs of the ’60s, songs by Dylan and the Beatles, who suited his soulful timbre. Retaining healthy audience numbers, they were forgiving his fraying range, right up until he died, aged 75.

So, back to Organic. Don Was, the maverick musician, record producer, music director, film composer and documentary filmmaker, had already shown a Midas touch with his ability to revitalise flagging careers and/or add new pep to those then needing a lift. Iggy Pop, Bonnie Raitt, Brian Wilson and the Rolling Stones can all owe a degree of debt to the bassist from Detroit, they all ahead of Cocker, with many more after. His idea was to revisit some of Cocker’s greatest moments, tacking on a few new songs to cover in addition. A veritable who’s who came out to add their instruments to the album, headed by the ever faithful Stanton, also including Billy Preston, Jim Keltner, Darryl Jones, and Greg Leisz, with even cameos from Randy Newman and Dean Parks. Additional, let’s say, buffering vocals came from the likes of Merry Clayton.

Sadly, at the time, the album did not fare well, and failed, at least in the U.S., to chart. Nonetheless, worldwide sales eventually exceeded the million mark, as it went gold in several European territories. I think it has needed the sands of time to sift over it, ahead of this belated decontextualisation of its worth. Ready?
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Cover Classics : Babybird’s ‘Covers’

Posted by Seuras Og at 11:00 am No Responses »

Jul 152025

Cover Classics takes a closer look at all-cover albums of the past, their genesis, and their legacy.

You won’t know this one. Well, not unless you read our Good Better Best on The La’s ‘There She Goes‘, where Adam Mason gifted the best to the version from Stephen Jones, aka Babybird. (Or should that be babybird? Citation needed.) This isn’t a dig at taste anyone’s taste or due diligence in capturing all end every cover version in the world, more around the blink and you missed it nature of the release. Covid still very much the story of the day, it snuck out in June of 2021, likely a pointer to how Jones had himself spent lockdown. There were limited hard copies available, on CD, as a single disc, a double, containing a trio of additional revisions, and a special edition, with individually hand finished covers. These all sold out aeons ago, with none of these self-released items accessible even through Discogs. But, luckily for you, if so inclined, you can grab the downloads over on Bandcamp. And they are free! Continue reading »

Cover Classics: Jimmy Somerville’s ‘Suddenly Last Summer’

Posted by Seuras Og at 1:00 pm 2 Responses »

Nov 292024

Cover Classics takes a closer look at all-cover albums of the past, their genesis, and their legacy.

Jimmy Somerville, should you need reminding, was the idiosyncratic voice of both Bronski Beat and the Communards, a high and pure countertenor, falsetto even, frayed at the margins. His was an altogether extraordinary instrument, capable of drawing an emotive heft other ranges can’t always supply. With Bronski Beat very much derived within an electro footprint, the Communards cast a much wider musical palate, with textures freely shared out between HI-NRG, R’n’B and chanson, all with an ear on commercial hooks and sheer joyous exuberance. Which, given some of their subject matter, was a feat in itself.

It is somehow galling to appreciate that “Smalltown Boy,” likely Somerville’s most recognized song, stems from all of 40 years ago. He left Bronski Beat the following year, the duration of the Communards then merely three years. While his solo career never quite hit the heights of either of those two bands, the six albums he released between 1989 and 2015 showed he was still in the game. He has also dabbled in acting and busking, and he’s remained the political firebrand, often for gay causes. Indeed, his last recorded work was a 2021 cover of “Everything Must Change,” for London-based charity End Youth Homelessness, which shows his voice remains as striking as ever.

Somerville released a cover album, Suddenly Last Summer, in 2009. It didn’t chart anywhere, even in France, the French aways holding his torch reliably until then. It is both easy and hard to see how it sank with such little trace. Easy? Well, with little to trouble any sweaty clubbers, the acoustic format and the choice of material might prove too demanding for casual fans. Hard? Maybe my bias, but the eclecticism of the songs, featuring songs better known by The Doors, Deep Purple, Cole Porter and Patsy Cline, amongst others, is dauntingly brave, the often spare arrangements starkly impressive and, how can I put this any more simply, his voice. He nails ’em. Or the vast majority of them.

The chances are that many readers will be unfamiliar with Suddenly Last Summer. The songs on it were all chosen by Somerville personally, all songs close to his heart, rather than the ideas of his producer or management. This, and the evident passion from within the grooves, make it one that should at least invite curiosity.
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Cover Classics: Two A Tribe Called Quest Tributes

Posted by Ray Padgett at 3:00 pm No Responses »

Oct 152024

Cover Classics takes a closer look at all-cover albums of the past, their genesis, and their legacy.

Not many people have covered A Tribe Called Quest. That’s not entirely surprising. You see that a lot in hip-hop—a genre where the coin of the realm is the remixes and sample more than the cover—and especially so in lyrically and musically dense acts like Tribe, without big crossover hits and giant pop hooks. The Tribe entries in the various cover-song database look pretty barren.

But the few artists that do cover Tribe go deep. There have been two full-length Tribe tribute albums, and both are excellent. True to the sampling spirit of the original group, they take the source material as fodder to build on, veering far afield from the originals in some cases. Continue reading »

Cover Classics: Robyn Hitchcock’s ‘Robyn Sings’

Posted by Patrick Robbins at 1:00 pm No Responses »

Sep 062024

Cover Classics takes a closer look at all-cover albums of the past, their genesis, and their legacy.

[W]hen I sing other people’s songs… I’ve known them so long that they feel like they’re my songs, you know? Obviously, I don’t get the publishing for them, but I feel like they’re part of me, because they also formed the way I write songs. Those songs are like my parents or my elder brother, you know? [Laughs.] I may not possess them, but they’re certainly family. I don’t know if family is something you possess or something that possesses you. – Robyn Hitchcock

If Robyn Hitchcock sees Bob Dylan’s songs as family, then 2002’s Robyn Sings was him organizing a great family reunion. It was a two-CD collection of live Dylan covers; the second CD recreated the famed “Royal Albert Hall” concert. It’s got a bootleg sound and one clown who thinks it’s funny to yell “Judas!” after every song, but it gets the job done. The real treasure, though, is on the first disc, which is what we’ll focus on here today.

Cover Classics: Labour of Love: The Music of Nick Lowe

Posted by Seuras Og at 11:00 am No Responses »

Apr 052024

Cover Classics takes a closer look at all-cover albums of the past, their genesis, and their legacy.

I’m on a bit of a Nick Lowe bender at present, provoked by a question I was asked around how many versions there are of the timeless glory of (“What’s So Funny About) Peace, Love and Understanding.” (A: 70, as a bare minimum, and counting.) And no, here on this page, surely I don’t have to explain that isn’t him covering Elvis Costello, do I? Take it from us.

Lowe has had a curious career, currently riding the wave of celebrated elder statesman, something that, at one time, seemed inconceivable. Indeed, pub-rock was never deigned or designed to build legendary status, being more about a rowdy night out, three-minute songs and sticky carpets. For pub-rock is where he emerged first, that early ’70s response to the prevailing mood of the music of the day, then all sprawling epics, awash with endless lookatme solos and preening prima donna frontmen, more in touch with their accountants than their audience. Pub rock was fun and uplifting, by people that looked like you, for people that looked like you, a good time, recycling the best of rock and roll, rhythm and blues, country and soul. Solos were for sissies and the chorus was king.

Brinsley Schwarz, the band, had a shaky start fifty-four years ago today, but they picked themselves up and dusted themselves down. Songs and haircuts shortened, they joined a joyous circuit of largely London pubs, along with Dr. Feelgood, Ducks Deluxe, Chilli Willi and the Red Hot Peppers and many more. Predating punk by a year or three, the enthusiasm and excitement was the same, if garbed with a touch more experience and age. Nick Lowe was bassist, lead singer and main songwriter for Brinsley Schwarz, and they made a good run for themselves before splitting. Schwarz, the guitarist who gave his name to the name of the group, hooked up with Graham Parker and was the linchpin of his band, The Rumour, whilst Lowe joined forces with Welsh retro-rock guitar man Dave Edmunds to form Rockpile.

The Rockpile years saw a stellar uplift in Lowe’s writing. Whilst his influences remained obvious, his magpie tendencies with a melody were less overt, and the run of records, whilst short, was wonderful. (Rockpile, the band, only really made one record, but Edmunds and Lowe’s solo albums were Rockpile records in everything but name, as was, arguably, Musical Shapes, an album by Lowe’s then-wife Carlene Carter.) As that band subsided, so Lowe advanced on a solo career, with more acclaim than sales.

The story goes that, down on his luck and thinking of jacking it all in, plop, a letter arrived in his mailbox. Unbeknownst to him, a cover of “Peace, Love and Understanding” had been picked up for a film. Curtis Stigers, in case you didn’t know.) And when that film is The Bodyguard, with Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner, a massive worldwide hit, with the soundtrack album going likewise global, the royalties on that one song were rather more than just an unexpected bonus, effectively paving the way for his career to continue.

Since then, Lowe has continued to ply his idiosyncratic path, with almost deliberately unfashionable songs of self-deprecation and sly humor, allied to melodies culled from musical styles seldom at any cutting edge, becoming a UK national treasure. His production work, with early Elvis Costello and the Pretenders, has also planted a reputation for a sound yet simple approach, where the melody is master, the surroundings there merely to reflect the song rather than to divert attention elsewhere. Content to follow his own muse, he is as likely to play live in a solo setting, just his voice and an acoustic guitar, rattling through his “hits,” as to turn up with oddball Tex-Mex rockabilly renegades Los Straitjackets, who have become an unofficially regular backing group for him.

Labour of Love is one of at least three Lowe tributes, there having been also Lowe Profile, featuring the likes of Dave Alvin and old Brinsley’s bandmate, Ian Gomm, and Lowe Country, with Amanda Shires, Ron Sexsmith and Chatham County Line, amongst others. I could have featured any of the trio, but collectively, I think this tops the other two. Curated by L.A. power popper Walter Clevenger, himself in thrall to the styles embraced by Lowe, and to the singer himself, this 2001 double disc captures most of Lowe’s moods and re-presents them in the hands of his peers, the affection often palpably obvious.