“Can’t Help Falling in Love” – Howe Gelb 2:58 (Confluence, Thrill Jockey 2001)

The intimacy of Howe Gelb’s interpretation of Elvis’ classic ballad is the most immediate sentiment conveyed here, probably recorded to an old tape deck in his living room (one can hear the natural analog compression). After Gelb concludes the song on a lounge-y Ebmaj7 chord, he brings the band in for a drunken instrumental reprise at 2:13. Gelb somehow seems to bring out the song’s inherent French origins in his translation, channeling less of Elvis’ blue-eyed Southern balladry and placing more emphasis on the centuries-old folk melody. Which is infinitesimally better than UB40’s nightmarish version from ’93 that we’re all trying to forget.

“So Into You” – Shudder to Think 3:43 (Pony Express Record, Epic 1994)

The insipidly-named Atlanta Rhythm Section, sort-of a poor man’s Steely Dan, never made much of an impact over the course of their career during the 70’s; their most notable achievements are performing for Jimmy Carter at the White House and “So Into You,” the group’s biggest hit. Shudder to Think proves why they were one of the most brilliantly clever and underrated bands of the last decade, turning this trashy, Pabst-soaked jukebox clunker upside-down with singer Craig Wedren’s hyper-effeminate crooning over dense walls of droning feedback and Nathan Larson’s stadium-sized guitars. Nearly all of the original’s harmonic content is either subverted into Shudder’s warped musical renderings or discarded altogether. This was hilariously shocking when it was originally released, and has lost little of its bite.

“I Want to Be Your Dog” – Swans 3:35 (Children of God/World of Skin, Atavistic 1997)

Only Michael Gira could transform Iggy Pop into a morbid, candlelit meditation on mortality, first stripping the original’s full-on psychedelic noise down to a lonely acoustic guitar and organ. Then Gira intones “Now I’m ready to close my eyes,” altering the meaning of Pop’s acid-fueled visions from burning ecstasy to a sobering, final acceptance of death. His seems to savor the sound of his mantra-like baritone echoing in your chest, and the taunting “come on”s at the end are just plain creepy.

“Mr. Grieves” – TV on the Radio 4:11 (Young Liars, Touch & Go 2003)

This cover drove me crazy when I first heard it – I could not, for the life of me, identify its original source, which is part of the reason why it’s so brilliant. How TV on the Radio thought of taking an energetic Pixies album filler and morphing it into a mournful slice of doo-wop is beyond me, but it’s absolutely marvelous. Vocalist Tunde Adebimpe’s multi-tracked crooning is rich and soothing, naked in its vulnerability, but supported by finger snaps and an upright bass. This is ideally what a cover should be: a respectful yet radical interpretation that preserves the essence and intentions of the original, but is a refreshing moment of familiarity.

“Be Thankful for What You’ve Got” – Yo La Tengo 4:58 (Little Honda, Matador 1998)

I laughed out loud the first time I heard this, not at Yo La Tengo’s choice of cover material (God knows they’ve been more audacious), but their courage in selecting a tune that so glaringly reveals their whiteness, which is part of its charm. There is an undeniable, innate comfort in hearing Ira and Georgia harmonizing the line “Diggin’ the scene with the gangster lean” without the slightest trace of irony. The warm, late-afternoon vibe and pace of William DeVaughn’s original is preserved, but in a low-key guitar/bass/drums simplicity, which the band skillfully makes the most of.

My friend David and I have been creating music for about seven years now, although in the past few years our opportunities to write have been roughly biannual occasions, what with him repping DC and me in Boston. I don’t think we ever solidified a moniker for our work, but I believe the name Great Barrington was tossed around in the past and is probably what we’ll answer to. Our music involves a lot of chance experimentation with whatever instruments happen to be lying around; usually, we’ll set up a MIDI chain of as many drum machines, samplers, and sequencers as possible, hit “start,” and attempt to harness as much sound as four hands will allow. I have dozens of minidiscs that contain everything from serene, ambient piano pieces to wild, noisy drum machine romps. Few musicians are lucky enough to find their exact musical counterpart, the Gil Evans to their Miles Davis, if you will, and David has always been the yin to my yang, completing my creative thoughts and complimenting my musical input with crystalline insight. Oftentimes the connection has been downright scary.

A few months ago I journeyed down to DC for a weekend of noisemaking, and was somewhat curious and apprehensive when David told me that he asked his friend Mat to join us. In the past, adding a third party had occasionally produced uninspiring results, but our session with Mat proved to be remarkably fruitful, resulting in some of our best work. Mat has recorded under several guises: his experimental solo work under Mons, the ambient spaced-out bliss of Betatron, and his found sound/field recordings collaboration with David called Silence Is So Accurate. He is also one of the most down-to-earth, genuinely nicest individuals I’ve had the pleasure of meeting and playing music with, and his wife Emily, whom I only met briefly, is a sweetheart.

The recording setup in Mat’s small living room was a logistical challenge for the three of us, but there is something inherently rewarding about being surrounded by a mess of patch cables, mic cords, and an overabundance of electronics. For “Mercury: Freedom 7,” David and I both operated keys and drum machines while Mat played to a click on a two-piece kit he had set up and mic’ed. David wrenched some glitched-out squeals from his ER-1, and I was impressed by the accuracy of Mat’s time (any drummer will tell you that playing to a click is incredibly tough). If I remember correctly, this was the first piece we created, and our level of interaction was extraordinary. Mat took the unenviable task of piecing our session together into tracks, resulting in over two hours of music, and dubbed the project Great Barringtron.

“Mercury: Freedom 7” – Great Barringtron 8:21 (Mercury – Gemini – Apollo, self-released 2006)

It had been weeks since I had listened to those sessions until the other day, when, during my morning ritual, I happened to select a disc at random to play as I was getting ready: the “Freek Funk” CD single from Luke Slater, which I still have no recollection of acquiring. Slater has been a part of the U.K. electronic music scene for almost two decades now, releasing a slew of 12”s, remixes, and full-lengths on various dance labels. “Freek Funk” is the title track to his 1997 release on Novamute, and is a hypnotic mélange of choppy breakbeats and atmospheric choir keys. I was immediately struck by its similarity to our “Mercury: Freedom 7,” though I highly doubt any of us had the slightest inclination to remake Slater’s track; it certainly wasn’t on my mind during the recording. Both have comparable tempos, drum patterns, rhythmic feels, and the lack of any immediate melodic content to grasp onto. Perhaps it’s not to an uncanny degree, but I found the relationships of both tracks interesting and rather unusual.

“Freek Funk” – Luke Slater 5:52 (Freek Funk, Novamute 1997)