10 awful covers that butcher the original classic song
“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings,” Percy Bysshe Shelley once wrote, “Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains”. The wreck and ruin caused by many covering artists over the years has declared a similar message of destruction to classic songs by The Beach Boys, Joy Division and many more. Nobody says that tackling a classic track is easy, but if you’re stepping up to the mark, then just make sure your work is not a complete Chernobyl job.
When Nick Cave covered one of his favourite songs of all time with Leonard Cohen’s ‘Avalanche’, the esteemed Cohen commented: “There have probably been some who have butchered it, but I’ve generally liked the job that people have done with it. I guess you could say Nick Cave butchered my song, ‘Avalanche,’ and if that’s the case, let there be more butchers like that.”
Well, today we’re focussing on the bad kind of butchering—the sort that assaults the song, taking a fillet steak and serving it well-done, with nothing more than a leaf of parsley and a middle finger. Based on the conglomerate of atrocities we have assembled with the list, the message is clear: if you’re going to reinvent the wheel of a classic track, then make sure you come up with a hovercraft because merely meddling and missing the mark is a sin.
So without further ado, let’s look at the artists who couldn’t tell the shit from Shinola when it came to their work. From the great PJ Harvey having an off day to Barbie having a lot to answer for with its shambolic soundtrack effort, these are the covers that destroyed works in a way that even make Ozymandias despair.
10 awful covers of classic songs:
‘Fun, Fun, Fun’ – Steve Aoki (originally by The Beach Boys)
“I’ve found it,” I remember proclaiming, “the ultimate Broadmoor anthem”. It came to me one morning when I was searching for the day brightening ways of The Beach Boys, what I erroneously ended up with this day blighter. It resulted in one of the worst mornings I’ve had for some time, and I’ve had some fucking mornings, let me tell you.
To its credit, the song achieves the literal sound of insanity. Psychologists are no doubt currently listening to Steve Aoki’s bludgeoning effort to gain greater empathy with their patients. It may well be for the new Barbie movie, but The Beach Boys were already a popcorn-friendly band: why did Aoki have to take that ethos to a delirious height?
‘Is That All There Is?’ – PJ Harvey & John Parish (originally by Peggy Lee)
At first, this cover seems inoffensive. Then there comes a point – about 40 seconds in – when you feel like you have been listening to it for an eternity. You begin to actively feel your ephemeral time on this planet slip away; a spiritual sand timer ticks the life away from your briefly animate corpse. You look again, the song has now been playing for 50 seconds.
The irony is that the Peggy Lee postmodernist classic is titled ‘Is That All There Is?’ and yet this version seems to contain the entirety of human’s tortured blip in eternity. Strangely, the only real issue is that it is so maudlin and subdued that it is insufferable for any living soul with an ounce of life in them. There is great talent behind it, but it sadly proves that self-indulgence can be a dangerous game.
‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ – Fall Out Boy (originally by Joy Division)
Now, it must be said that we’re not here to cynically state who can cover what, the beauty of pop music is that it’s a sharing hive of ideas, but Fall Out Boy covering Joy Division does seem a bit like the guys behind Scary Movie remaking Andrei Tarkovsky’s Stalker. Sometimes a classic can be subverted by a switch-up in styles, but sometimes you need to know your lane and stick in it; this sees Fall Out Boy try to leave their lane without indicating and causing a six-car-pile-up.
It weirdly sees Fall Out Boy adopt a style musicologically similar to R.E.M., which makes it seem even less sincere. When we’re dealing with a song that was originally one of the most heartbreakingly sincere in modern history, that makes this effort a sorry and reprehensible folly.
‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ – Take That (originally by Nirvana)
The title says it all here, really. Without even listening to it, seeing the mere words that Take That have covered Nirvana is about as reassuring as a Prince Andrew interview. The result is even worse than you might imagine. This is the antithesis of what Kurt Cobain had in mind when he fashioned his new brand of punk.
The most remarkable thing is that this abomination had long disappeared, and then in 2016, someone at team Take That thought it was about time they uploaded the monstrosity to YouTube. The rationale behind this move is almost as unfathomable as the cover itself. Maybe it was Gary Barlow’s disgruntled former personal trainer wanting to showcase the chest the frontman had back in the day as he tears his vest in the campest way imaginable.
‘Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?’ – Queens of the Stone Age (originally by Arctic Monkeys)
In perfect contrast to Take That covering Nirvana, Queens of the Stone Age covering the Arctic Monkeys had all the hallmarks of a classic. After all, Josh Homme has produced the Sheffield band and exercised a clear influence on their more recent sound. Sadly, it seems this connection made him and his bandmates a little overconfident, and they barely learnt the chords, melody, words or anything else that makes up a song.
With jazzy inflexions that completely skew things towards the wayward, the track is typified by the fact that Homme cuddles his guitar throughout but never actually plays it. You just have to hope that the saving grace from this bombshell was Alex Turner texting his pal, saying: “Why do you only ever cover me when you’re high?”
‘Fortunate Son’ – U2 (originally by Creedence Clearwater Revival)
This protest classic from Creedence Clearwater Revival has had a very peculiar time since its release. Remarkably Donald Trump, the son of a man whose net worth exceeded one billion dollars in 1997, used this song as part of his campaign rally, a move which John Fogerty renounced and understandably found very “confusing”.
He may well have been more confused by the soul-eviscerating ‘soul’ cover that U2 offered up. The original soars because it is just so guttural and earthy, but in 1992, with millions already to their name, U2 decided to strip that back and offer up an anaemic version of the red-blooded classic. The result is like refining hot sauce into a mild ranch or restyling Johnny Ramone in a Hawaiian shirt.
‘Roll Over Beethoven’ – ELO (originally by Chuck Berry)
Not every novel idea is a good one; taking a rock ‘n’ roll classic and mixing it with the composer in the title might’ve gotten a nerdy chuckle when it was mentioned in the studio, but when the eight-minute recording graced the public, the joke landed like a lead balloon.
The song is purely all concept; Beethoven’s ‘Fifth’ and Chuck Berry simply don’t pair, and the concept isn’t even that clever in the first place. And that is what irks listeners most about this song: it’s not actually that awful in truth, but you can almost see the band patting themselves on the back for this average effort, and it is truly infuriating. It’s a bit like how a truly terrible comedian is far more bearable than merely annoying.
‘Feeling Good’ – Muse (originally by Nina Simone)
I previously said we’re not here to say who can cover what, but I take that back. Stay away from Nina Simone. She is the undisputed queen of covers herself; therefore, covering her music seems like ‘having a go’ a jazzing up the Mona Lisa. It is a sacrilegious endeavour, and it might’ve paid off commercially for Muse, but they will rot in hell for it.
Piously they try to match her passion, they try to go stride for stride with the jazzy soul euphoria of the original. In the process, they come across like a guy on an electric bike earnestly competing in the Tour de France. That is ultimately its biggest crime, you are left feeling slightly offended by the whole thing.
‘Light My Fire’ – Train (originally by The Doors)
The Doors’ guitarist Robby Krieger once recalled how the animal magnetism of ‘Light My Fire’ came to be, telling Uncut: “I was living with my parents in Pacific Palisades – I had my amp and SG. I asked Jim, what should I write about? He said, ‘Something universal, which won’t disappear two years from now.” Covers have certainly rendered the track immortal, but Train’s insipid version proves even universality isn’t fit for everyone.
Krieger might have written it when he was living with his parents and eager to get out there in the lusty world, but Train’s cover sounds like a band who are still living at home quite contentedly in their 40s, popping out every other Saturday to play a few numbers down at the local Bingo hall.
‘Purple Haze’ – The Cure (originally by Jimi Hendrix)
Jimi Hendrix is just about uncoverable simply by virtue of his unreachable technical skill. Here, the composition comes up with an inventive way around that hurdle, but in the same way that scrubbing out the words as you read them is an inventive way of saving on bookmarks. It’s pointless elaborate stuff to the absolute detriment of enjoyment.
With sleazy ’80s production only adding to the uneasiness of listening to this musical assault, music doesn’t get much more disquieting. The jarring musicology is a bewildering thing to behold, somewhere between a horrific marriage of Jandek and Right Said Fred. It simply never seems to be sure of itself, and their limping cub was never set to survive the wild.
