by Matt Hanson

originally published in Flak Magazine

            For obsessive audiophiles like myself, the cover song always carries with it a unique risk.  Part of being a music fan is falling in love with a certain version of a song done by a particular person- no one, it seems, can replicate the singular beauty achieved with that chorus or those drums.  When an artist chooses to deconstruct a popular chestnut, there's no telling how much power he will tap into.  Jimi Hendrix covering 'All Along The Watchtower' is immortal partly for this reason.  So is, or will be, Nirvana's growling, desperate version of Leadbelly's 'In The Pines', to pick just two obvious and mainstream examples.           

            There are always exceptions to this. It goes without saying that not every remake of every principally well-written tune is going to work.  Remember Limp Bizkit's putrid, flogging takes on George Michael and The Who?  I hope not.  Or, for extra delights, try and recall Madonna's fuzzed-out and vapid 'American Pie'.  Not to mention Hillary Duff fellating her way through the Go-Go's 'Our Lips Are Sealed' and Jessica Simpson's horrid 'Take My Breath Away'.  It's enough to make you wonder whatever happened to copyright infringement.     

            <<The cover song has a long and twisty-turny history.  The modern cover or remake, as we know it, began to show itself in the early part of the last century.  The idea was to cash in quick on a new hit by having your label recruit an artist who could do a passable version of a tune the market had already blessed. The term came from the cheaper clone recording usually coming out later than the original and therefore stacked in front in the record store.  Apparently this switcheroo was successful and justified its own existence long enough to create it's own sub-genera. As Irving Berlin once shruggingly admitted- "popular music is popular because a lot of people like it."         

            Sometimes the knack of putting oneself into someone else's song becomes downright subversive.  Jazz musicians were commonly known to take a very well played show tune, say 'Someday My Prince Will Come' or 'My Favorite Things' and make something poetic and powerful- revolutionary, at that- in the middle of the night in the bottom of a club in front of an audience who was high on a little more than the music itself.>>         

            Enter Nouvelle Vague. The group began as a project for two French producers who wanted to incorporate Brazilian bossa nova with French instrumentation and a carousel of fresh female voices re-interpreting classic and obscure punk/ new wave from the 70's and 80's.  Nouvelle Vague  (pronounced NEW-velle Vah-gh) is the summation of this cheeky and clever trial of mixed media.  And the result is, with reservations, perpetually gorgeous.       

            The new record, named after a movie by Godard, follows the thread unspooled by the previous album.  Choosing not to listen to the established versions of songs by The Cure, The Clash, P.I.L, Billy Idol and Dead Kennedys took a lot of guts.  The gamble paid off: hearing The Clash's brooding, militant 'Guns Of Brixton' as a pouty, sexy Billie Holiday number and Modern English's 'I Melt With You' as a childlike aria of faith in innocence is wonderful enough.  Gimmick doesn't even enter into the picture.  The new question would then arise- how long can they keep it up?  Bande A Part answers the challenge, and kicks kitsch to the curb.      

            Playful eclecticism rules the day.  The singers sound relaxed, jazzy, and warm with the fusion.  Brazilan bossa nova melds with Jamaican ocean lapping on Blondie's 'Heart Of Glass', ironically affirming what Debbie Harry  & company were shooting for by rehearsing it in the early days as "the reggae song".  The Buzzcock's snarling, bitter, 'Ever Fallen In Love?' is redone through the eyes of a wistful woman this time and a similar role reversal is brought to Eco And The Bunnymen's brooding, obsessive 'The Killing Moon' .  Both are also potent concert pieces, too.  There's something about playing other people's songs live that makes you especially trust a band, especially when the margin of error is so obvious.  Mixing genders brings out another layer of pleasurable po-mo mindfuckery and seduction.        

            Seductiveness comes to light in other terms, as well.  Morrissey's ironic and seemingly callous ode to sudden death, 'Sweet And Tender Hooligan',  loses its skittish rockabilly nerve and gains a brisk, sweeping acoustic kiss.  The same goes for the deep, raunchy blues of The Cramps' 'Human Fly'- moaned from the back of the throat as the band saunters and struts over the misanthropic miasma of the lyric.  The funniest and most surprising adaptation has to be Billy Idol's onanistic ode to oafishness 'Dancing With Myself' redone as a 1920's-style florid show tune complete with a tap number and a bouncing, giddy vibe.  Josephine Baker, the Parisian staple- all hips and feathers and giant showgirl grin- would have been proud.        

            In the pop world, there's not usually much shame in jumping a bandwagon when the wagon in question is loaded with candy.  Part of this may have to do with the resignation that there really never is anything new under the sun.  Nouvelle Vague's latest output has shown two things to be true.  Even if there's nothing new under the sun, turning older artifacts around even the slightest bit can catch a variety of shades you never knew existed.  And, almost but not quite the same point, candy is still sweet if it's not snatched from the original wrapper.