Two Albums of Great Covered Material

I love a good cover. It's both exciting and interesting to hear an artist perform a song written by someone else. An homage to a fellow artist, or a soul-bearing recognition of one's adolescent influences, such a track can take a listener deeper still, drawing him or her into psyche of an artist and how they wish to define their music.

Two recent albums solely devoted to covers have been spotlighted on Aquarium Drunkard, in the past two weeks. Richard Swift and Damien Jurado released their cleverly-titled, nine track album Other People's Songs Vol. 1 which features their interpretation of tracks by everyone from Yes to John Denver. Among my personal favorites are "Be Not Fearful" and "Crazy Like a Fox," the latter complete with fuzzed recording, and a driving piano-percussion union that echoes of the work of Lou Reed and The Velvet Underground. Compilation albums like Other People's Songs and Okkervil River's Golden Opportunities Mixtape are all the more interesting because there are such high prospects for quite a range of musical diversity and perspective in narrative. Swift's commentary on each of the nine songs is provided in the link below, as well as where the album can be downloaded for free.

It is not often that an artist is bold enough to forge ahead with an undertaking the likes of which J. Tillman, of Fleet Foxes, has just released in Tillman Sings 'Tonight's the Night.' Neil Young's 1975 album Tonight's The Night is an almost spiritual memorial, packed with the quaking grief, impuissance, and guilt that assaulted all depths of Young's inner and outer self following the deaths of two of his close companions by overdose within a few short months. It seems almost too vaunting a task for one to attempt, no matter the depth of talent. Young's vocals are so idiosyncratic in nature, I asked myself whether anyone can replicate that strained sound, peppered with a twinge of the off-key. So often on Tonight's the Night, the emotion, the hurt seems to have a hold over Young, the tension in his voice makes one wonder if he can manage to keep his voice above that of a whisper for the length of an entire song, especially on the title track and "Borrowed Tune." However, after a few listens through I believe Tillman has served us with a worthy rendition. This is more a case of the recent remake of the classic western 3:10 to Yuma than it is the Pierce Brosnan-led butchering of the memory of Steve McQueen's performance in The Thomas Crown Affair. Tillman Sings 'Tonight's the Night' plays as an adoration of Neil Young's work, with a taste of Tillman's own artistic mannerisms sprinkled in. On the very surface, isn't that all a cover is anyway?

Other People's Songs - http://www.aquariumdrunkard.com/2010/09/07/richard-swift-damien-jurado-other-peoples-songs-vol-1/

Tillman Sings 'Tonight's the Night' - http://www.aquariumdrunkard.com/2010/09/13/j-tillman-tillman-sings-tonights-the-night/

Horse Feathers, "This Bed"

I count myself fortunate to have had the opportunity to enjoy seeing Horse Feathers perform live, about a month ago. The quartet has recorded three tantalizingly harmonious albums since they formed in 2005, their newest, Thistled Spring, being no different. One of my favorite tracks has been "This Bed," a honey-soaked melody incorporating a beautifully understated entanglement between guitar and banjo set against a forlorn violin.

For all the pleasing orchestration, Justin Ringle's lyrics lend power and emotional weight, grounding the song with the heart-rending tensions of a crumbling relationship. It is a musical dichotomy that Horse Feathers have perfected. As the emotions stack up, a breaking point approaches with the realization that, "The one I love loves me the least / A growing need for apologies, but when I'm wrong I'm weak in the knees." Thereupon, a piteous, self-loathing verse, a cornerstone emotion of the track, is delivered. The tones of the harmonium only add to to the deflating, depthless despair: "It's better now, don't come back to me / Let it be known, I'm a liar and a thief."

Ringle almost seems to lack the faith to deliver the words, and a heavy guilt saturates the song. It is guilt born of mistrust, and fueled by self-blame, and its result is a seclusion erected by the narrator ("Inch by inch, a foot to feet, a growing gap, and miles between / A single lie becomes a beast"). It is there, when the lyrical atmosphere of isolation has come to its peak, that the beautiful arrangement of instruments rises up in support of the powerful verse: "Breathing deep, lying awake to alone to sleep / It's in my mind and in my head / There's a certain type of cold that lives in this bed." Repeated, Ringle's voice strains in the slightest, and the potency of those words builds, the downcast withdrawal of the narrator seems all but cemented. A beautiful melody, with wrenching verse. It is truly captivating.