Even after the whole South Park Scientology debacle earlier this year, my opinion of Mr. Black Moses himself refuses to be swayed. No one interpreted popular music of the day the way he did, and the following is a handful of some of my favorites of his.

“(They Long to Be) Close to You” – Isaac Hayes 9:05 (Black Moses, Stax 1971)

I find it remarkable that any other version of this song instantaneously triggers my gag reflex within the first few seconds of exposure; such was Hayes’ mastery at transforming my least favorite Bacharach number into one of the most heavenly slow jams committed to analog. The secret weapon on this cover is the backing vocal arrangement from Hot Buttered Soul Unlimited, comprised of those three sexy sistas Hot, Buttered, and – wait for it – Soul. Their velvety whispers are the optimal foil for Hayes’ buttery baritone, but it’s the explicit placement of lines like “closer, closer, closer,” “just like me,” and “all the fellas wanna be” that’s genius. Other memorable moments include the repeated pelvic thrusts of the horns at 1:22, the key change over a lulling breakbeat at 3:43, and a coda that just refuses to fade. There is little of Hayes’ trademark scorched Memphis funk here; instead he opts to cruise along unhurriedly, vibing off the sunny afternoon groove. Nine minutes of pure bliss and I still can’t get enough of it.

“Feel Like Making Love” – Isaac Hayes 4:02 (Hotbed, Stax 1978)

Based on the sleazy guitar lead during the intro, it would be safe to assume that Hayes is going to tackle this Roberta Flack tune with all the rauch of a coke-fueled, post-disco bedroom orgy. Yet this cover finds Hayes in Tender Romance Mode once the verse begins, gently reminding his woman that it doesn’t take much to get him horny: strolling in the park, observing other couples make out, or even the slightest touch or utterance from her lips. His backing musicians are in fine form, particularly the electric bass and the horn and string arrangements during the bridge. There’s a slight overdose of reverb on the entire production, but instead of suffocating the track into a murky swamp, it gives the impression of a surreal, enchanting reminiscence of a passionate evening. Note the date; this was arguably the last great music Hayes recorded before succombing to the hangover that was ’80s R&B.

“Light My Fire (Live)” – Isaac Hayes 3:29 (Live at the Sahara Tahoe, Stax 1973)

A roaring church organ, overdriven Ernie Isley-ish guitar, swarms of Latin percussion, and the list goes on; suffice it to say that few would have dared to cover The Doors like this. Hayes strips the original of its last shred of moody psychedelia, discards all the excess detritus except the chord changes, and reinvents “Light My Fire” as a fiery gospel rant. Suddenly the lights dim, and he affectionately croons the chorus as unexpectedly as he entered; the ritzy casino crowd is clearly digging it before he revs back into the two-chord vamp. A pity that Hayes’ catalogue lacks a definitive studio version of this, as it would have nestled in cozily (and very easily bettered) with most of the material on The Isaac Hayes Movement (1970).

“Let’s Stay Together” – Isaac Hayes 3:35 (The Best of Isaac Hayes, Vol. 2, Stax 197?)

A B-side to be sure, but mildly fascinating nonetheless. The charming small-group instrumentation of Al Green’s signature dish is inflated to overbudgeted Hollywood excess here, with a little glitter and Muzak-ishness thrown in for good measure. Hayes is clever enough to play with the harmony, occasionally even supplementing his own changes (1:32). A distant tenor sax outlines the vocal melody before expounding on the theme during the chorus, and the ladies sweetly sing the title at seemingly arbitrary moments during the course of the song. I’m still unable to locate the original source of this track (B-side? Obscure compilation inclusion? Studio outtake/leftover?), but it was curiously placed alongside “The Look of Love” and “By the Time I Get to Phoenix” on the second volume of Stax’s The Best of Isaac Hayes (1986). Perhaps its best use would have been buried somewhere in any number of Blaxploitation soundtracks, a tossed-off cue for the background music of a beauty parlor just before the main character is forced to ice some lousy pimp.

“Ain’t No Sunshine (Live)” – Isaac Hayes 17:38 (Wattstax, Stax 1972)

Hayes’ hour-long headlining appearance at Wattstax in August of 1972 was finally restored to its full performance on Isaac Hayes at Wattstax (2003), but this juggernaut has been available for years as part of the Wattstax: The Living Word (1972) soundtrack. He begins the extended jam by rapping over an electric piano vamp, toying with the crowd of 112,000 and belting out the occasional piercing shriek for kicks. At 6:37 Charlie Pitts‘ filthy, wah-wah guitar work ignites the proceedings, setting the stage for Emerson Able’s alto sax solo. The band breaks into an impromptu chanting of the famous “I know, I know” at 9:28 over a nervous mass of percussion. The rest of the rendition features an a capella Hayes lamenting to himself before launching into a bluesy shuffle led by Able’s tireless riffing, culminating in a final explosion from the group at 16:48. This is pretty much mandatory listening, in its entire duration at least once, for any fan of ’70s Soul and I’m sure it made Bill Withers proud.

“Sweet Child o’ Mine” – The Aluminum Group 4:18 (Wonder Boy Plus, Minty Fresh 1999)

Leave it to those gay ol’ Navin brothers to kidnap one of the most recognizable and popular guitar ballads of the ’80s, strip it of its sweaty bar-room masculinity, and present it as a tender, lilting reflection on innocent love. From the first notes of that instantly familiar lead (on acoustic guitar, no less), Guns n’ Roses‘ definitive anthem of sleaze-rock goes from the back seat of a flame-painted Camaro to the interior of a spiffy new Volvo, from a drunken jukebox dedication to a bedtime lullaby to a newborn baby girl. This triggers a lot of gag reflexes whenever I happen to play it for friends, but the organ during the chorus and those dreamy maj7 chords are so unexpected that it retains its freshness every time I hear it. And the trombone solos are like icing on the cake. I’d pay to see the look on Axl’s mug the first time he heard this, assuming he bothered, of course.

“California Dreamin’” – American Music Club 2:35 (San Francisco, Reprise 1994)

This hidden bonus track on American Music Club’s swan song couldn’t have been a more appropriate fit for a cover, given the album’s subject matter. Where The Mamas & the Papas injected the original with their own brand of druggy, freespirited sunniness, Eitzel’s interpretation has all the fun of a dreary, morning-after smoker’s cough. His withered voice aches its way through the chilling wail of subtle feedback that hovers behind the mix, propelled by naturally distored drums and a bass guitar that sounds like it was mic’ed from a shitty ten-dollar practice amp. Vudi wisely reproduces the guitar solo note-for-note, still one of the most finely crafted solos in pop history. “California Dreamin’” is one of those songs that should come with a warning, as it’s damn near impossible to erase this from my head once it’s stuck there.

“Welcome Christmas” – Califone 2:08 (Christmas Sampler, Perishable 2001)

Being that this is Black Friday and all (yet I’m still stationed at work in my non-retail job), I thought a classic heartwarming carol would warm the spirit and set the tone for the season. Califone’s warped take on this Dr. Seuss holiday hymn is typical of Tim Rutili’s noisy junkyard explorations of rural Americana; no surprises there. It just happens that this sounds like the spectral cries of the damned, dragging their chains as they toil in eternal servitude in the bowels of Hades. But wait - is that a little girl’s voice singing along? What the hell is going on here?!? Fortunately, the track’s brevity prevents it from permanently haunting my subconscious.

“Lay Lady Lay” – Ministry 5:44 (Filth Pig, Warner Bros. 1996)

As lambasting as the initial reviews of Ministry’s Filth Pig (1996) were, the most scathing attacks focused on the band’s ill-advised choice of including this cover near the end of the record. Though I respect his work as a songwriter, I couldn’t give a rat’s carcass about Dylan’s music, which perhaps explains why I didn’t view this cover as a defiant sacrilegious piss on his legacy when it was released over ten years ago. Paul Barker’s bottom-feeding, gutteral bass tone practically makes the song, despite Al Jourgensen’s utter lack of vocal enthusiasm, quizzically adopting an odd British inflection at times. Though it wears out its welcome around the fourth minute or so, this isn’t really as vehemently objectionable as the naysayers made it out to be.

“Come As You Are” – Dani Siciliano 5:11 (Likes…, K7 2004)

Dani Siciliano had some brass to present the nth cover “Come As You Are” on her debut; what could she possibly add to this Nirvana classic that hadn’t already been done before? Well, for starters, other than the lyrics, it’s a completely different song. I would be so bold as to presume that it actually was an original track that was waiting for vocals, and Siciliano just happened to like the way Cobain’s verses complemented her arrangements. Sonically, this is a treasure trove for the ears: a springy upright bass dominates the proceedings, presiding over an army of insect-farm percussion, moody film noir horns, and Siciliano’s smoky nightclub voice.

“All for the Love of a Girl” – Acetone 3:04 (I Guess I Would, Vernon Yard 1994)

Following the fuzzed-out garage rock of their surprisingly great debut Cindy (1993), So-Cal trio Acetone took a detour into classic Country & Western for a lovely little EP of covers long before such a concept became fashionable. I must have been exposed to 50’s honky tonk crooner Johnny Horton (“When It’s Springtime in Alaska”) at some point in time during my childhood, because “All for the Love of a Girl” was strikingly familiar the first time I heard it. Acetone strip the original of its blustery orchestration, slow the tempo, and filter the song through a cloud of bong haze and the near-comatose buzz of a guitar. I’ve seen I Guess I Would (1994) in the used bins for a few bucks and it’s worth picking up, if only for their 11-minute psychedelic romp through Kris Kristofferson’s “Border Lord.”

“Losing My Religion” – Graveworm 4:24 (Engraved in Black, Nuclear Blast 2003)

I realize that anyone in their right mind will probably listen to this once, have a chuckle or two, and promptly forget about it minutes later. Which I’ll admit is my intention, I suppose. I don’t know anything about this band other than seeing their name scattered across Digital Metal on occasion. Oh no, I’ve said too much. Wraith-like vocal shrieks, hyper-picking duel guitars, an apocalyptic organ simmering underneath – at least Italy’s Graveworm knows a thing or two about black metal, and their deference to the original is sincere. I particularly enjoy how the drums double-time the second half of the chorus, along with the requisite lyric alteration to “I think I thought I saw you DIE.”

“Anticipation” – J Mascis 2:56 (Martin & Me, Reprise 1996)

I still remember that when I bought Martin & Me (1996) ten years ago, the clerk at the record store (a fellow Mascis devotee) just couldn’t get over the fact that J was wild enough to cover a 70’s relic that makes most rockers gag: “Dude, he covers ‘Anticipation!’ Carly Simon, bro!” Mascis may have been waist-deep in a drug binge at the time, but his solo interpretations of old Dinosaur Jr faves and intriguing cover choices made a fine record, at a time when he was arguably at the lowest rung on the popularity ladder. Here, his clunky guitar strumming and signature slacker drawl is quite charming; note his lazy enunciation of “wait” at 0:57 and 1:51.

“When the World Is Running Down” – ON 3:54 (Make Believe, self-released, 2003)

I used to love me some Ken Andrews. Failure was one of the most underrated bands of the 90’s, commanded by Andrews’ syrupy guitar crunch and creamy white vocals. He currently owns and operates a studio in Los Angeles where he slathers sickening gobs of compression over anyone who happens to book time, from Charlotte Martin to his own (now-defunct, disasterous) Year of the Rabbit. ON is his the moniker for his solo studio work, and this Police cover was likely constructed out of boredom. The original is absolutely untouchable, but I’m still on the fence about Andrews’ take; it’s either mildly entertaining in a streamlined, retro-futuristic sense, or it’s some tired, unnecessary Bladerunner-esque bullshit that’s achingly obvious from the entrance of those synth strings. Regardless, lay off the compression, dude. Seriously.

“Lyrics of Fury” – Tricky 3:20 (Pre-Millennium Tension, Island 1996)

Let me get the obvious out of the way: Martina is no Rakim. That’s not really the point here, however. Tricky’s humble cover of one of hip hop’s genuine classics is a pleasant diversion from his usual cocky swagger, and much like “Black Steel” from Maxinquaye (1995), is a reverent homage to his favorite era of popular music. Sonically, it’s certainly unique and quite impressive: Tricky laces the track with choking, backwards guitar samples while Martina stumbles her way through the lyrics, dodging the cluttered drums being hurled at her. I’ll bet that the first time Ra heard this, he leaned back, nodded his head, and simply uttered, “Cool.”