Cover Songs – The Agony & The Ecstasy by Antony Zito
You’re minding your own business one peaceful afternoon, silently arranging your sock drawer, and you make the fatal mistake of turning on the radio. Not the Pandora or the Spotify, but ye good olde-fashioned radio, with the waves and stuff. You’re just but a minute in, when you drop your socks and lunge across the room in an urgent attempt to flip the dial before that horrific Loverboy song can penetrate the creases of your memory center. Eyes rolling, you apathetically spin from one degrading, insulting scenario to another; car commercials, new country, smooth jazz, auto-tuned hip-hop, talk radio, evangelical gibberish, the death report – disaster, disaster, disaster! Finally (Thank you, Jesus!) you land on the intro to Gimme Shelter, a breath of pure, clean air; one last maraca of hope for the FM dial. You really want to believe in the radio, that it’s actually possible to still enjoy the airwaves, far away from the world of curated playlists. And it’s working. As your booty shakes to the eye-moistening aria of Miss Merry Clayton, you drift back to your socks, away from the dial once again, and go on about your day. And you get your fix for a quarter hour – you get your “LA Woman”, your “Custard Pie”, your “Rock the Kasbah” … sometimes, somehow, they actually manage to make you feel alright and not add unwarranted stress to your day.
And then it happens. You hear what, at first listen, would appear to be the entry strains of a passably decent stumble down nostalgia boulevard… that Bob Seger tour bus ballad “Turn the Page.” But something is wrong. Something is VERY wrong. Where once was the distant, reverb-drenched sigh of a 70s saxophone, is now the inappropriate, monotonous chugging of a heavy metal guitar “half-gallop.” Your brow forms a questioning frown, but just this one time, your hands are full of socks and, as horrible as it seems, your curiosity allows this aberration to continue. Then the voice comes in. It’s immediately nauseating, the pathetic, default vocal effect of the standard “hard rock tough guy”, snarling and growling through a cover version of a song that dear old Bob once sang in a pensive almost-whisper. It’s Metallica. Why?! And no. Just no.
There are some great cover songs out there in the world. We all have heard how Hendrix took Dylan‘s, “Watchtower”, from Zimmerman’s brilliant folk treatise, to an epic, driven, psych-rock anthem. The Pixies version of The Jesus and Mary Chain’s song, “Head On” also wins out over the original. Cobain’s version of “The Man Who Sold the World?” – perfect. And Aerosmith does a dang decent, “Come Together” (but really no-one should cover the Beatles). But the sad truth about covers, is that they almost always fail to faithfully do justice to, or uniquely re-interpret, the original. An unfortunate fact of life is that the list of bad covers is so monumental and enduring, that it is akin to reading the comments below a political thread on Facebook. It‘s that level of inanity, plus a whole landfill of “What?!” and “Why?!”
Speaking of great cover songs, there is a really kick-ass stoner rock band from New Jersey that I absolutely fucking love, called The Atomic Bitchwax. Although only one founding member remains, the gritty, urgent spontaneity of this band continues to animate its current lineup. Bass player and founding member, Chris Kosnik, is without a doubt one of the most mesmerizing musicians to see live. His left hand possesses a veritable Harlem Globetrotters of monkey fingers; frantic, fleshy French fries that flap with ease across the fretboard (like a leaping slam-dunk right over the heads of that poor white team that always loses). And yet, for all his mind-boggling virtuosity, he operates firmly within the Geezer Butler Academy of the tried-and-true “box riff” school of thought – a testament to the pure simplicity of real rock-n-roll.
And all three members of this power trio are rock monsters; popping wheelies and pounding the stage with ham-fisted elegance through riff-addled, hard rock, psychedelic anthems at break-neck speed, with bewildering conciseness. There are moments of proggy, space-rock breakdowns; melodic interludes, which inevitably slam headlong back into the mayhem. And the band is laughing wildly, howling into the wind, appearing to be in a state of giddy disbelief at how much fun they’re having. The drums thunder through the grungy, syncopated, distorted guitar/bass calliope; audience heads are spinning, eyeballs rolling back into beer-buzzing brains. The rafters of this Brooklyn bar rumble at a rolling boil. Everyone in attendance has a pint in one hand and a raised fist of goats in the other. The more ardent fans holler every lyric into the deafening void. I love to see these guys! They are gritty, fast, exciting, virtuosic, funny and irreverent.
And then, as if that’s not enough, something unexpected happens mid-set. Something so surprising, that the first time it happened, my head just about exploded. They go from all that maniacal, riffing, metallic thunder, straight into the unmistakable first notes of “Pigs”, by Pink Floyd. Now, I grew up on Pink Floyd. And even as a kid I was starved for substance; melody, intellect, dynamics, and surreal emotional dreamscapes. I’m proud to say that not a damn thing has changed about what I demand from my art, entertainment and culture. From the cosmic-rock, early days when that beautiful madcap, Syd Barrett, spilled his marbles at the UFO club, through The Dark Side of the Moon, to The Final Cut, and The Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking, I’ve always been a rabid fan. And when one fan finds another in an unexpected place, it can be a rapturous, tribal reunion. So, when I first heard my favorite riff-mad, stoner rock band drop into one of my very favorite surreal, political anthems from Animals, one of my very favorite Floyd records, you guessed it – my head just about exploded. “Pigs (Three Different Ones)” is, in no small way, an epic song. And as they should have done, The Bitchwax shortened it and sped it up a bit, giving the song that snappy urgency that a live performance demands.
It’s a beautiful thing when some of your favorite artists give you more reason to respect them. Especially when there seems to be very little room for improvement. They were already great – and they just got greater! It’s no sin to play cover songs, especially when 90% of your set is original material. On the contrary, I think it is important to tout your influences, to tip the hat and say, “This is where I came from, where I learned my licks.” Your audience deserves to know that. And what a great revelation it can be.
On an intriguing note of context, there is a peculiar love/hate revolving door of band members between The Atomic Bitchwax and major label, Jersey stoner-rock kings, Monster Magnet. Monster Magnet is a super fun, hook-laden, tongue-in-cheek hard rock outfit. And by now, three Atomic Bitchwax members are in, or have been in, Monster Magnet – and Bitchwax has only ever been a power trio.
It goes like this: bassist Chris Kosnik and guitarist Ed Mundell form The Atomic Bitchwax, with drummer Keith Ackerman in 1992. Ed is already playing in Monster Magnet, who is about to sign a major label deal and soon, they do. In the meantime, the smaller band records two incredible records; The Atomic Bitchwax, and The Atomic Bitchwax II, on Tee Pee Records. There is a vibrant, rugged, freshness to these debut LPs that illustrates the inspiration of a new unit, just formed, grinning and wide-eyed, all full of big ideas. Many years, many tours, many cancellations of Bitchwax shows due to Ed’s Monster Magnet obligations, and the band eventually splits. Feelings are hurt, egos are bruised, but soon Finn Ryan replaces Ed on guitar, and the Bitchwax rides again. At some point, the original (and super badass) drummer, Keith, leaves Bitchwax and is replaced by current (and super badass) drummer Bob Pantella who is, you guessed it, presently employed as skin-slapper for Monster Magnet. Oh, the webs we weave! And of course, some years later, as fate would have it, Chris Kosnik is called in to fill the bass slot with Monster Magnet, bringing it full circle. Holy Jersey Band-cest! It’s a particular type of Greek tragedy that takes place in the New Jersey stoner rock community, with a plot as thick as two drunk guys who get in a fight at a bar and eventually end up in blackout bromance mode, as best pals. And in the end, The Atomic Bitchwax is once again, as it was in the beginning, the more experimental, side project of members of Monster Magnet. MM is their “day job” that pays the bills. They tour the world to massive crowds, then come home and whip off a Bitchwax US tour and regular stints throughout Europe where, as opposed to America, they are received like kings by sellout crowds. Sorta typical.
You can go see two-thirds of The Atomic Bitchwax playing with “The Spacelord”, Dave Wyndorf, in Monster Magnet on Sunday, Dec 30, 2018 with The Ribeye Brothers at House of Independents, Asbury Park, NJ. Wear your leather pants. You will have a blast. But do yourself a favor… go see The Atomic Bitchwax when they come around. You will NOT be disappointed.
Antony Zito is a NYC & New England-based artist, curator, filmmaker, and writer. Reach him at zitozone@gmail.com and see him visual art at www.zitogallery.com
