I lived in Maui nomadically for a summer to surf, shave ice, camp and repeat in an epic attempt to find myself and escape my biggest fear: committing to a career. During this super indulgent phase of my life, I didn’t have much access to iPhone chargers or WiFi, and so I spent almost all of the summer practicing the ancient ritual of listening to the radio. This is how I discovered Nights With Alice Cooper — a radio show by the “School’s Out” star and fellow hedonist — which occasionally aired a segment featuring deep track rock n’ roll covers. This is also how I discovered that Alice Cooper is still alive.

I typically am not a believer in covers. I’m a purist, and I get personally offended if someone has the audacity to fuck up one of my favorite pieces of art. Here I’m going to invite you to listen to Judy Collins’ version of Joni Mitchell’s “Chelsea Morning,” which epitomizes the risk that covers pose: taking musically complex and deeply personal songs and re-popularizing them by dumbing them down and sugarcoating them with shallow sonic aesthetics.

In the case of “Chelsea Morning,” Joni purposely plays with her guitar tuning and sings off-key in parts, which is an integral element of her holistic artistic expression and a crucial method in communicating a deeply personal message. The popularity of Collins’ cover takes the structure of the song and reproduces it using a categorically beautiful and in-tune voice. In doing so, she dismisses and erases Joni’s brilliance — one that purposely teeters on the edge of intolerable as she narrates deeply emotional experiences that match her voice in its discomfort. It’s brilliant when it hits you.

It is dangerous for musicians — especially pop artists — to cover songs, because if the cover is as or more popular than the original there is a destruction of  the integrity of the emotion written behind the song in the first place — an obliteration often so swift and simple it goes entirely unnoticed. So, in theory, I am ethically against covers. This makes sense because again, I write about music and am therefore super pretentious. But I digress…

That’s my long-winded and heated explanation of why I was skeptical of this segment upon my first introduction. But alas, I ultimately fell to the show’s seduction. Alice warmed me up with some covers that I like and consider exceptions to the general “covers are evil” rule: Hendrix’s “All Along the Watchtower,” Aerosmith’s “Train Kept A Rollin’,” etc. etc. etc.

But those songs didn’t change me because, well, I’ve heard them a thousand times.

And then, when I was least expecting it, anticipating a GNR “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door” or something equally predictable, he hit me with the impossible. Something new, and something fucking fantastic.

I knew as soon as I heard the first line, which I now regard as the most eloquently bloodthirsty opener in rock and roll.

“I’M. A. STREET. WALKING. CHEETAH. WITH. A. HEART. FULL. OF. NAPALM.”

Except this powerhouse sentence wasn’t jauntily declared by Iggy Pop in the way that I was used to; it was snarled — lassoed around my neck and tightened in an asphyxiating maneuver that dominated my attention and pleasure and control for the entire three-minute duration of its reign.

And as much as I love and adore and wish to procreate with Iggy Pop, the only person who can master that tender space between violent and gentle, control that dimension between operatic howls and metal screams, and deliver such a sinister line with a playful-yet-dominating smirk is Chris Cornell. I was pried down from the first note.

Soundgarden’s live cover of The Stooges’ “Search and Destroy” takes an iconic self-profession and gives it a heavy and masturbatory edge that gives the lyrics the compelling drive they command and deserve.

Soundgarden toys with the simple time signature, dramatically speeding up and complicating the song, and backs it with power chords while introducing an epic drum section. And don’t even get me fucking started on the guitar solo that electrifies and transforms the song completely.

It’s clean, fast, and Van Halen-esque. It hooks, but never really ever leaves. It weaves in with the locomotive-like power chords at supersonic speed, somehow maintaining control while always edging on anarchy. The solo redefines the original song and leads heavier than the vocals, diving beneath and resurfacing over the lyrics  in epic duet with Cornell.

Soundgarden takes this piece of rock n’ roll DNA and swells it with the soul, passion and hardness the song’s blueprint requires, giving it the element of absolute chaos that the song screams for but The Stooges manage to tame in their original. Soundgarden honors the heart of the song by drawing attention to its smugly sinister lyricism and its loudness, all while maintaining the prophetic and introspective elements of its original character.

The cover evokes a sense of comradery rather than ownership — a line that plenty of musicians (cough cough Judy Collins) cannot find or respect — and pays homage to an original narrative that is, at its core, ultimately an epic celebration of disturbance.

And that’s exactly what Soundgarden exaggerates in their cover, like no one else on the planet could.

I’m the world’s forgotten boy. The one who’s searching to destroy. I mean, come on. Who else could fucking cover this?

Article by Natalie Silver