Green monkeys should take a balsam specific

Another sickly Green Monkey, his flesh riddled with fakery, covered with it, if you will. Bwahahahaha, sorry.

"You unfunny bastard."

Now I'm supposed to explain why I chose these cover songs.

The short version: 'cause they're cool.

The long version:

Metallica, The Small Hours. Originally performed by NWOBHM band Holocaust -- good luck using that name now, you'd have the ADL pitching a hissyfit tent in about five seconds -- this was one of the songs recorded for the 1987 cheapo EP Garage Days Re-revisited, used to break in Jason Newsted after the tragic death of bass god Cliff Burton. Why this paean to the post-midnight dead zone? The supremely eerie intro, neo-doom riffery and lines such as "don't step into the demon's lair," sung with ridiculously ominous bravado, made for much joyful banging of teenage heads.

Mott the Hoople, Sweet Jane. I know that it's de rigeur to say that Hendrix's version of All Along the Watchtower is the best rock and/or roll cover version in existence, but hell, this incredibly hooky, jangled Velvet Underground track, helmed here by the vocals of Mr. Ian Fucking Hunter -- check out that murderously cool vocal/guitar lick buildup swirling around 3:00 -- courageously challenges that notion.


Celtic Frost, Mexican Radio. What the fuck is the band who recorded Morbid Tales and To Mega Therion, two Cyclopean slabs of proto-black/death metal, whose riffs are still stolen twenty years later, doing recording a Wall of Voodoo new wave rave up? Thrown Into the Pandemonium indeed I was, though talking like Yoda I did not, even in my surprise that was great. Hey, works it did. Ask, you should not, for busy I am stuffing my face with barbecued iguana.

Cheap Trick, California Man. Aside from the handful of corporate-approved tracks allowed on commercial radio, I wasn't all that familiar with the Trick growing up: Nintendo, cases of carbonated beverages, soccer practice, oodles of thrashy devil worship and Penthouse Letter-worthy daydreams about the girl with the long brown hair can cut into a punk ass kid's time. Anyway, once I aged gracefully and realized that the boys from Rockford rocked as I imagine a Ford does to Toby Keith and the Ford Truck Man Army®, I was awarded additional happiness by the rock and/or roll gods. This Roy Wood track, recorded by The Move, led me to check out that band and all their British goodness.

The White Stripes, Stop Breaking Down. For an intellectually neanderthal metalhead such as myself, the blues are best when powered by one million eight zillion watt amps turned up to eleven. This is what Jack and Meg White do with this Robert Johnson burner. Bonus points from yours truly since it's about a good man torn down. Hear that, sometimes-better half? I think I'm the one who feels broken down.

"Good thing Mrs. Graves doesn't read this."

No shit.

Faith No More, Easy. These lunatics were good, got Mike Patton in the band and became great, recorded an album that everyone loved with video hits on MTV, followed up with their finest work -- frankly, a musical pillar of the 1990s, may your flesh be gnawed off by Bill Frist's dead cats if you don't agree -- threw everyone for a loop, then followed that up with this North American EP containing a Dead Kennedys cover (Let's Lynch the Landlord) , the theme from Midnight Cowboy which was lifted from the aforementioned Angel Dust, a fucked up original (Das Schutzenfest) and a surprisingly excellent cover of this Commodores tune. And of course, who can ever forget the accompanying video full of wannabe Rudy!s?