The Soul of a Song

by

Henry L. Carrigan, Jr.

Here’s a quick quiz.

What’s your favorite version of All Along the Watchtower? Bob Dylan’s (who wrote it)? Jimi Hendrix’s? Dave Mason’s?

What about I Will Always Love You? Dolly Parton’s (the original; she sang it as a farewell to Porter Wagoner when she left him to go solo)? Linda Ronstadt’s? Whitney Houston’s?

How about When a Man Loves a Woman? Percy Sledge’s or Michael Bolton’s?

What’s your favorite take on Take It Easy? Jackson Browne’s (who wrote it)? The Eagles (who actually recorded and released it before Browne)? Travis Tritt? I once heard a country DJ—who should have known better—call The Eagles’ version a cover of Tritt’s. I wanted to throttle her, but I chalked it up to a morning airhead too young to remember The Eagles. I mean, what’s the world coming to when DJs don’t know anything about the music they’re playing?

Hank Williams’ Roly Poly or Asleep at the Wheel and the Dixie Chicks?

Robert Johnston’s or Eric Clapton’s Crossroads?

Otis Redding or Three Dog Night or Elvis singing Try a Little Tenderness?

Warren Zevon or Linda Ronstadt singing Mohammed’s Radio?

Okay, I’m sure by now you get my point. The list could go on and on. Artists covering songs written or sung originally by others litter the musical landscape. Devotees of the original will fiercely defend its purity, while fans of the cover may never have heard the original and attribute the song to the artist covering it. Sometimes there is enough distance between the original and the cover that the cover drives you back to hear the original. If you’re familiar with the original, you keep waiting for that guitar lick or vocal flourish that makes you shudder. When it’s missing in the cover, you’re disappointed. Yet, artists will continue to cover others’ songs as long as the music industry thrives.

In the world of pop music, imitation is not simply a sincere form of flattery; when singers or bands record the song, or songs, of other artists, they are performing a tribute to the artistry, skill, and visions of the musicians and writers whose songs they are performing. For example, Jimi Hendrix, Dave Mason, and U2, among others, have recorded their own versions of Bob Dylan’s prophetic ode on politics, “All Along the Watchtower.” Although the screaming guitars of Hendrix’s version are likely even more well known than the gravelly vocals of the Dylan original, each artist embraces Dylan’s song and wrings from it his own particular meaning.

Such songs, called cover songs both to distinguish between artists’ original compositions and to indicate their special performative take on the original song they’re singing, abound on the radio and CDs. Sometimes artists use a few bars from another song as a hook to draw listeners into an original composition. Other artists record entire albums of other people’s songs. Patti Smith’s album, Twelve (2007), for example, contains no original compositions but covers of songs recorded originally by artists ranging from the Rolling Stones to Bruce Springsteen.

The reasons that artists cover others’ songs range from the simple to the complex. Some artists—Linda Ronstadt’s version of Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You’” for example—simply honor the beauty and integrity of the original performer. Others—such as Eric Clapton’s covers of Elmore James’s songs like “Crossroads—demonstrate an artist’s struggles to craft his own artistic identity.

Michael Awkward, Gayl A. Jones Collegiate Professor of Afro-American Literature and Culture at the University of Michigan, takes a look at three artists—Aretha Franklin, Al Green, and Phoebe Snow—as his case studies of the ways that artist use cover songs to establish their own musical identities in Soul Covers: Rhythm and Blues Remakes and the Struggle for Artistic Identity (Duke University Press; $21.95).

Awkward believes that “aspects of the singers’ selves are communicable in, reflective of, and have the potential to enhance their renderings of others’ songs and that covers seem unavoidably to provoke comparisons whose outcome is always potentially in doubt.” In exploring these claims, he examines Franklin’s Unforgettable: A Tribute to Dinah Washington (1964), Green’s Call Me (1973), and Snow’s Second Childhood (1976).

His chapters on Green and Snow offer few helpful insights into these artists’ use of cover songs. Green’s album contains songs that he either composed himself or that he partly composed. Awkward primarily shows the ways in which Green’s songs express the singer’s attempt to balance his deep religious feelings with his longings for passionate love. The section on Snow, most famous for her song “Poetry Man,” also focuses more on her own compositions than her covers of other’s songs.

His chapter on Franklin most effectively captures his thesis. On Unforgettable, the young Franklin pays tribute to her idol, Dinah Washington, while at the same time offering her own stylings of Washington’s songs. Franklin’s soaring song stylings not only honor Washington but also elevate Franklin to a position far above Washington; she uses Washington’s song to establish her own career, not simply to honor her mentor. In her performances of “Cold, Cold Heart” and “Drinking Again,” in particular, Franklin captures the power and vulnerability of the tradition of black female singers, from Billie Holiday to Dinah Washington. More than Green and Snow, Franklin uses cover songs as a platform form which to launch her own career.

Although Awkward’s highly academic prose is often filled with jargon, his valuable insights into these three albums encourages listeners to pick the up and listen to them again in light of his examination of them; just what all good music books should do.


Henry Carrigan dreamed of being a rock ‘n roll star with a life of coast-to-coast tours and wild parties with Van Morrison and Joni Mitchell among others. But books intervened, and instead he went to Emory University to major in Religion and Literature. Later, teaching humanities in college, he took up writing about books—this time to avoid reading students’ papers. Henry soon became Library Journal's religion columnist, then religion book editor for Publishers Weekly. While working as editor-in-chief for Northwestern University Press and editing classic books for Paraclete Press, he still continues to write for LJ and PW, as well as the Washington Post Book World, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, the Cleveland Plain Dealer, the Charlotte Observer, ForeWord magazine—and now, BiblioBuffet. And he still enjoys playing his guitar. Henry can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it