Uncovered

I recently told a friend who is in a cover band that I think the best covers are often interpretation over imitation— inspiration over replication. I enjoy it when an artist takes poetic license to reshape a song and give new context or new emotion, coaxing notes to the surface that were always there but never heard. 

There are millions of great covers out there in the world. You could never hear them all. Most of the time the original is the best. But occasionally you need a different tone. Maybe it needs to feel more obscure, or more direct. Maybe you’re chasing a mood, or you’re elbows-deep in a genre and need everything to sound like it belongs in pastoral frosted Scandinavia.

My brother used to make “mixtapes”—ripping discs, burning copies, and stashing them in every vehicle we spent time in. (That was before we discovered that Napster was piracy.) Later, our little ranch usually had the hum of Cat Power, his favorite, in the background. Around that time, Sea of Love was my favorite of her covers (like everyone else, right?). I’ll have to stick that in the archives for reference. 

Cover compilations are fun. But it’s less common to hear an ouroboric pulse in the arc of an artist’s choice. I’ve come across only a couple that capture what I mean. This winter I know I’ll find attunement with sounds that feel more rooted, so I’ll be steadier for whatever next spring brings.

So many of these dreams and duties floating around in my head haven’t found a way to manifest themselves into my days in a way that I like— yet. I have a bottle full of expired meth, so maybe that will catalyze the resolution for my affliction. Sometimes I worry that I won’t get to be around long enough to breathe life into my ideas. I wish there was more time. 

Time.