From imitations of life to dedications of other singers' songs to imitations of other singers' songs, we now come to the ultimate imitation: the cover band. Ain't no shame in being a cover band folks; almost every band you hear on the radio or on your mp3 player or on your turntable began covering other bands' songs. and like Robert Randolph sang, there ain't nothin' wrong with that. And like Detroit Cobra's lead singer Rachel Nagy has said, if you can't write songs as worthy as the ones you love, then might as well play the ones you love, but just play them better than anyone else can in hopes that others can be turned onto and into the music just as you were. If imitation is the sincerest form of exaltation, then the Detroit Cobras are the most sincere cover band in the history of cover bands. Sure, there's Weird Al and Me First & the Gimme Gimmes, but their covers are crack ups; what the Detroit Cobras do is find the heart of each song, push it to the fore, play the hell out of it, and leave you dancing and shouting for more.
The Detroit Cobras excel in taking obscure (obscure to the mainstream, and often even to aficianadoes) singles by soul artists (some well known--Otis Redding, Irma Thomas, the Shirelles--and some not so well known--The Oblivians, The Gardenias, Dori Grayson) and filling them with enough ferocious energy (without punkifying them) so that the songs sound not just updated but fresh, yet still sound like themselves. The catalysts for all this combustion are singer Nagy and guitarists Mary Ramirez, the self-styled leaders of the band whose live performances are known for their take-no-prisoners, belles-to-the-wall raucousness. Ramirez brings the rock by immersing her guitar in echo and flanger and feedback, and Nagy brings the sultry soul, coming across with the attitude of Joan Jett and the decadent heartache of (the Shangri-La's singer) Mary Weiss. An apocrphyal adade of Bob Dylan goes that he could sing the phone book and make it sound interesting; well, Rachel Nagy could sing the phone book and make you want to look up her number.
The band's song selection is choice, too. Sure, most of the songs are relatively unknown, many of them B-sides, many never-released album cuts, but all of them are quality songs that for one reason or another, never hit nationally. That classification applies to "Ya Ya Ya (Lookin' for My Baby." Originally titled "Lookin' for My Baby (Ya Ya Ya)," the song was written and recorded in 1954 by Doc Starke and His Nite Riders, a Philly doo wop & roll band. The song hit regionally was well received in certain cities where Starke and band toured, but in '54, this single had little chance of charting anywhere--even the R&B charts--because it's a rock and roll record, not a jazz record, not a blues record, not a doo-wop record (and soul records hadn't been invented yet). You know how many rock and roll records hit in '54, white or black? Not many. Ike Turner had a few (and started rock and roll himself in '51), and Joe Turner (whose pianist, Van Welles, played on the "Lookin' for My Baby" track) had a few, but...that's just about it. Fats Domino, Little Richard, Bo Diddley, and Ray Charles all had yet to debut (or fully develop) nationally, so Starkes had slim chance of having his record become a national hit, 'cause the music was just too raw and too new (if you can track down the original, then please do, 'cause it's great, and it's rock all the way, and it sounds like it came from easily five years later) to cross over.
I'm glad the Detroit Cobras knew about it, though...or else I never would have. The Cobras' take doesn't necessarily best the original, but it does stake its own ground, and because of nigh-tangible crackle they give it--especially Nagy's vocals--it's their best cut. They didn't write it, but it's theirs as much as it is the Nite Riders'. It takes a special type of talent to eke out a living as a professional cover band, one with a recording contract and a couple of national commercials using their versions of someone else's songs. Someone once termed them, "God's cover band," and I wouldn't doubt that assertion, for if one day the Cobras are in Heaven, I could see all the other artists sitting in a club, paying admission to hear 'em, calling out requests, and watching Nagy and company rip all to shreds, only stopping to sweat when Ronnie Van Zant giggles and shouts out, "Freebird!"
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