La vie en [cover] rose.
“Have you ever heard somebody sing some lyrics that you’ve never sung before, and you realize you’ve never sung the right words in that song? You hear them and all of a sudden you say to yourself, ‘Life in the Fast Lane?’ That’s what they’re saying right there? You think, ‘why have I been singing ‘wipe in the vaseline?’ how many people have heard me sing ‘wipe in the vaseline?’ I am an idiot.”
~ Ellen DeGeners
Only that this time I didn’t even come close to “wiping in the vaseline” but something that made even less sense, like… “la-la-la-train”. My messy fun delivered in out-of-tune shower symphonies, bows to the awesomeness that follows:
You don’t see genius every day, but after the Internet married Indie, now you can just click on it.
The best definition of cover music is probably Etta James‘ version:
“My mother always told me, even if a song has been done a thousand times, you can still bring something of your own to it. I’d like to think I did that.”
And some artists are so brilliant at resurrecting tunes, it’s hard for you to believe they didn’t write these songs themselves.
But they kind of did, in a way. Because by recycling and adding your own heart to the mix, you’re always making something new.
It doesn’t matter where it first started; it can always restart with you.
Cover music is perhaps the greenest, most mindful thing.
See, I was just thinking that if you can recycle songs into music and music into heart and heart into words and words into voice and voice into media and media into freedom of thought and expression (insert-breath-here); we should be equally enthusiastic about supporting the recyclers as we are about enjoying their work: art, media, yoga, life –you name it– it’s always a give and take.
Inspiration is the most contagious disease.
As the caffeinated Quote Whisperer in me likes to repeat:
“If we, citizens, do not support our artists, then we sacrifice our imagination on the altar of crude reality and we end up believing in nothing and having worthless dreams.”
~ Yann Martel