Meshell Ndegeocello has shared another track from her all covers album, Synonym. (A few weeks ago she shared a duet recorded with Cynthia Erivo.) This newest track features a duet with Cat Power and it’s a cover of The Human League‘s classic 80’s hit, “Don’t You Want Me.” Continue reading »
Meshell Ndegeocello has announced her newest record and it will be an album of covers titled Synonym. The first single was released with the announcement and it features Ndegeocello collaborating with Cynthia Erivo on a Aretha Franklin/George Michael song. The two teamed up to cover the 1986 hit, “I Knew You Were Waiting (For Me.)” Continue reading »
In the Spotlight showcases a cross-section of an artist’s cover work. View past installments, then post suggestions for future picks in the comments!
Marrying the old school (Aretha, Chaka, Gladys and the soul of the ’80s, Anita Baker in particular) with the new school (hip hop), Mary J. Blige’s debut album, 1992’s What’s The 411, and her stone cold classic sophomore LP, 1994’s My Life, changed the sonic game in soul and pop forever. I was working in an HMV store in NYC when 411 was released, and I can tell you that the fever and excitement about the album back then was palpable as f*ck. Mary was from Yonkers. She grew up listening to the same radio stations as us all of us Gen X squirts at the store. She was tough, gorgeous, cool and vulnerable at the same time. It quickly got to the point where you didn’t even have to refer to her by her surname. When a customer came into the store and asked for the “new Mary album,” we all knew who they meant.
It’s hard to accurately express just what a big deal she was in the early ’90s and just how impactful her sound was and continues to be in the R&B and hip-hop universe. Mary’s magnificent, raw, coloring-over-the-edges, steamrolling voice has an air of believability and lived experience. Mary doesn’t pretend when she sings. She has been open and brutally honest about her childhood trauma, depression and substance abuse issues in multitudes of interviews. It’s all realness, all the time.
Like so many before her, Mary’s career was set into motion by singing a cover song. But her discovery story was gloriously human (a mall was involved) and completely fantastical ( “listen to my stepdaughter singing this song”). In 1988, she’d gone to the Galleria Mall in White Plains, NY and stepped into one of the fun-sized recording kiosks they had where you could tape yourself singing a popular song. The tune she chose was the then premier quiet storm queen Anita Baker’s “Caught Up In The Rapture.” She played the tape she’d recorded for her stepdad, who was so blown away he passed it to a friend he knew in the music biz. This seemingly whimsical moment at the mall resulted in her getting signed, for real, to Uptown Records. Years later she performed the song that launched her career with Baker herself, and couldn’t help but let the tears flow and remind everyone just how she got there (see here).
Here are a few of her finest covers from after she was discovered, not before.
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Rufus Wainwright’s Folkocracy is a reminder of how different a context is the word folk, when there is that Atlantic Ocean dividing America and Europe. This album feels a very North American version, where, broadly, anything much with an acoustic guitar, and on the softer side of rock, fits the bill, with often a fair old slice of the older social commentators, Seeger, Guthrie et al, chucked in for good measure. In the UK, folk tends more to the trad. arr., in style if not necessarily sacrosanct in content, and of a devoutly Celtic or Anglo hue. Wainwright doesn’t totally ignore any particular aul’ country, but Folkocracy is full of nods, sometimes eccentric, to an early 60’s heyday of Kingston Trios, Peter Paul and Mary and that ilk, if with a few left field lurches into Broadway and Hollywood. At times it is astonishing, in a beguiling way, sometimes bewildering and sometimes just plain odd. But, overall, this album is impressive, if more on the side of to be admired more than loved, with a slew of guests adding their varied (and variable) flavors at several stages along the way.
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‘The Best Covers Ever’ series counts down our favorite covers of great artists.
In July of 1958, a Prince was created. That was the month Charles became Prince of Wales. Earlier this month he was officially crowned King.
In June of 1958, another Prince was created. He died seven years before Charles’ coronation, but he had long before passed beyond the arena of royalty into the field of the celestial.
Prince was, if not a god, a divine presence, more felt than understood. That he was a musical genius was almost taken for granted; his prolific recording, his tremendous work ethic, his mysterious appearances where you least expected him (On Muppets Tonight?? Making fun of Hee Haw???)–all served to make him more myth than man, and now he’s less man than legend.
Prince famously told George Lopez that “covering the music means your version doesn’t exist anymore,” but that’s not quite so. Prince may not (or may) be immortal, but his music definitely is, and the covers that continue to roll in are all the proof you need. This post offers some of the evidence. (Certainly not all of it – more nominations missed the cut than made it, and the great majority of them were very worthy.)
Before we begin: to qualify, a Prince song needed to have been officially released before the cover version. Sadly, this means the Bangles’ “Manic Monday,” Sheila E’s “The Belle of St. Mark,” Celine Dion’s “With This Tear,” and others didn’t get considered.
And now for our selections. And don’t worry, Charles–it’s good to be King. It’s just more magical to be Prince.
–Patrick Robbins
Full Albums features covers of every track off a classic album. Got an idea for a future pick? Leave a note in the comments!
The album Pearl saw Janis Joplin working with a strong set of songs, a tight band in Full Tilt Boogie, and a simpatico producer in Paul Rothchild. She may not have known she was making a masterpiece, but there was no disguising how well the sessions were going. They came to the most abrupt end possible, however, on October 4th, 1970, when Joplin died of a heroin overdose at the age of 27. A few months later, Pearl was released, and while her death couldn’t help but overshadow it, over the years that shadow has receded. More than just a final statement, it sealed Joplin’s place as the best female singer of blues and rock ‘n’ roll of her era, and in “Me and Bobby McGee” it contained her signature song, one that still feels good to hear on the radio.
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