I recently re-read High Fidelity, and was amused by the scene where Rob (the sad-sack record store proprietor and commitment-phobe) is flirting with a music journalist, and calls her a half-dozen times to correct his list of top 5 songs (I think of all time, but I promptly misplaced the book right after I put it down, so I can't be sure). This vaguery serves as a commitment metaphor, of course, since Rob's main life dilemma is that he can't decide, romantically, who in fact is the human embodiment of Let's Get it On by Marvin Gaye.

It does seem a little risky, a little point-in-time, to just name the top 5, ever, and be done with it, because there's always going to be another song, and another nameless emotion left to feel, that's going to match up with it exactly. You can't just make a list of five, and leave no room for that one, I see his point.

So, here I've endeavored to sub-genre-ize this notion of the top five ever, because that's too big of a commitment, and just leave it at the top 5 cover songs, because that's hard enough.

Note: Relatedly, Enigmatic Zero details five cover songs that I didn't find out were covers until it was too late, to comic effect.

Hallelujah, Jeff Buckley (Leonard Cohen)

No contest. This is an entirely unoriginal choice, for which Barry (played, as you surely remember, by Jack Black in the film) would produce a withering insult ("oh, that's not obvious enough... how about fucking... Beethoven?"), but, there is no denying that this is the best cover song in the history of history. That Jeff Buckley pulled this hair-raising interpretation out of the weirdly digitized and underwhelming Leonard Cohen original is the only proof I need of his god-likeness, but there was plenty of other evidence.

When you listen to this song, if time doesn't seem to slow down for you in a completely reverent way, then you are deaf.

To Love Somebody, Janis Joplin (The Bee Gees)

When I was in high school, Janis Joplin was my personal Jesus, and she still kind of is. Her whole junk-drawer banshee bravado was something I reverently admired, but was too much of a coward to ever truly emulate. But this song seemed to say it all so bravely on my behalf. (Well, technically, Work Me, Lord kind of said it better, but that's not a cover song.)   

Nina Simone does a version of To Love Somebody that is *almost* as good, but Janis takes all of these extra little heartfelt shots, "you don't know what it's like and you never, ever, ever, ever did," and she's so dead right with every one of the extra evers, because, the bastards? They never do ever know.

Mr. Bojangles, Nina Simone (Jerry Jeff Walker)

Sadly, most people only know this song from the tepid, e-z listenin' version by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. Nina does something very moving to this song-- she tells its story, in a way the pathetic, above-named 70's rock act completely failed to do, and thus you may find yourself tearing up at the lines:

He spoke with tears of 15 years
How his dog and him traveled about
His dog up and died, he up and died
After 20 years he still grieves

You're getting it, suddenly, because of the way she sings, with such a perfect gravity, you understand the pathos of his life, the cadence of his speech, even, the sadness and the glory of it, the way he persevered. Nina Simone, you are amazing.

Early Morning Rain, Peter, Paul, and Mary (Gordon Lightfoot)

Even though this song includes the possibly non-applicable line, Well the liquor tasted good and the women all were fast, this is the ultimate song of my entire existence, and I fully expect the five people who attend my memorial service to cue up this song to a slide show of my baby pictures.

As I have likely mentioned elsewhere on tiny dog, I was exposed to versions by PP&M, Elvis Presley, and Gordon Lightfoot as a child, thanks to the 8-track tape player we used to have in our van, when I was a kid. All of these versions have their merits, I have a soft spot for drunk, leisure suit Elvis, but PP&M really seem to capture that certain ephemeral essence of 70's era Salt Lake KOA's, and Stuckey's restaurants, and other grand-seeming oases of summer road trips to Kentucky when I was eight or nine, and therefore I commit to this song, without looking back.

Thirteen, Elliott Smith (Big Star)

This was a wild card selection, and battled it out with Killing Me Softly With His Song, by the Fugees, which, wow, if you can make one of Roberta Flack's songs actually sound more incredible than she can, hats off to you.  

But back to Elliott. I heard the Big Star original years before I ever heard Elliott's version, and it's definitely good: delicate and innocent, and shimmery, the way Big Star does with a song, reminding you of some sun-kissed 70's era summer that you were too young to have actually experienced, at least, in a romantic kind of way. But then Elliott busts out with his cover, and he adds this whole other layer to it: it's delicate, sure, that's why he picked it, but there is something more plaintive and urgent about Elliott's version, more personal and less pop: the way he delivers certain lines: Come inside now, it's okay/And I'll shake you, like he's really that kid, play-acting all casual, while offering up his guts for the first time in his life, to some girl. Oh, I'm glad I picked this one, after all.

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