Category: John Hiatt

Buddy and Julie Miller Cover: Bob Dylan, Gram Parsons, John Hiatt, John Sebastian, and more!

July 6th, 2008 — 10:01 am

One of the primary reasons I focus on coversong here at Cover Lay Down is because I believe that covers are a great way to make the process of discovering new artists both comfortable and familiar. Most of the time, whether the organizing principle of a given post is the interpretive work of one singer-songwriter, or a single artists’ songbook, this means a focus on popular songs, and less popular artists performing them. After all, you don’t need me to introduce you to Bob Dylan, but you’re much less likely to have heard Angel Snow’s delicate, raw take on Dylan’s Meet Me in the Morning.

But for me, the discovery process works the other way, too. When I began collecting covers in earnest as part of the creation of this blog, I started using the “composer” field in iTunes actively; in doing so, I gained the ability to easily cluster songs by songwriter. This not only made it easier to organize songs for our Covered in Folk feature posts — it also led me to discover artists I might not otherwise have found, had I not been confronted with the fact that many beloved songs I had thought were unrelated originals by different artists shared a common songwriter, and gone looking for more work by that songwriter.

Today, this process bears wonderful fruit: a focus on the interpretive work of a married pair of singer-songwriters who I first encountered through their songs as covered by other artists. They’re known better as behind-the-scenes wizards from the country/roots-rock end of American folk music, but they’re great performers in their own right, and I think they deserve as much a chance to shine as their songs do. Ladies and Gentlemen: Buddy and Julie Miller.

Texan Julie Miller started singing at sixteen, releasing her first album in 1991; long-time Nashville session guitarist Buddy Miller met her on the road, and soon they were sharing both bed and band. But the singing-songwriting team of Buddy and Julie Miller was truly formed in 1995, when Julie co-wrote songs and contributed vocal talents for Buddy’s first solo effort Your Love And Other Lies. Two years later, critical accolades for the release of her major-label debut Blue Pony, which featured Buddy as producer and on multiple instruments, sealed their reputations in the folk and country worlds; since then, the two have become one of the most successful musical husband and wife teams you’ve never heard of.

You’ve almost definitely heard Buddy and Julie’s session work, though. Both are heavily in demand: Buddy for his production work, vocals, bass, and lead guitarplay, Julie for her vocal harmonies and writing. Between them, they’ve worked on over a hundred albums, in session with the likes of everyone from Frank Black and Jimmie Dale Gilmore to Mindy Smith and Patty Griffin. Buddy, who served in Emmylou Harris’ band for eight years, has earned accolades from bandmates Emmylou and Steve Earle, among others, for his guitarwork and his vocals; meanwhile, Julie’s vocal harmony has become the mark of a certain kind of promise for releases from predominantly female folk artists with a particular southern folk/country bent to their sound and their outlook.

But because session work is often invisible to the average listener, in name, at least, Buddy and Julie are probably better known for their work as interpreted by others. Their songs are unmistakable: rich with black and white old-testament imagery, catchy melodies, that particular form of desperate hope and strength common to regional music of proud but dirt-poor community, and a mountain gospel trope which fits well with the typical themes of post-folk country music. As other people’s hits and deep cuts, their music has helped bring fame and fortune to a huge set of artists from the country and folk worlds, from core country artists Lee Ann Womack (multiple tracks), The Dixie Chicks (Hole in My Head) and Brooks and Dunn (My Love Will Follow You) to countryfolk Emmylou Harris (All My Tears) and Hank Williams III (Lonesome for You), from Christian rockers Jars of Clay (All My Tears) to bluesman John Mayall (Dirty Water) to straight-up folk artists Lucy Kaplansky and Richard Shindell (see bonus section below).

Though their co-billed album Buddy and Julie Miller was a 2001 Grammy Nominee for Best Contemporary Folk Album, Buddy and Julie Miller are lesser-known as performers in their own right outside the music community. The Millers spend more time on sidelines than center stage; as such, they sometimes come off as session players getting their big break in concert, but they have their moments. I saw them a few years ago at the Green River Festival: Buddy studious, ragged and white-haired, grinning as he hunched over the guitar like a sideman; Julie beside him, smiling, singing a bit too brashly for her voice, her confidence level somewhere between performing spouse and full-blown performer. But the music was memorable in its way — big and generous, skillfully and unpretentiously presented, clearly studied — and the songs catchy and fun in the particular manner of rock music sung by folk musicians.

Still, it’s the studio where these folks really shine as solo artists. By himself, Buddy Miller favors an electrified roots-rock sound, with skilled guitarwork that runs a full range from driving to atmospheric wail, while Julie leans towards more traditional southern-style singer-songwriter folk fare in the vein of Nanci Griffith or Caroline Herring, produced (by Buddy, mostly) in a folkpop vein. They work with each other, so though nominally some albums are hers, some his, there are usually bits of each of them in the songs. Together, they make a powerful team, both in the way their various talents come together as a single whole, and in the way Julie’s sometimes tentative vocals compliment Buddy’s rough southern voice — think a slightly lighter-weight Kasey Chambers with a more intelligible Steve Earle, and you’ve just about got it.

Here’s some of Buddy and Julie Miller’s best coverwork, both solo and with others, that you’ve never heard.

*Look, the point here is to whet your appetite, so you’ll buy the stuff; ordinarily, I’d have links here and above to Buddy and Julie’s webstore, where you can pick up more of their fully autographed works direct from the source, without dropping most of the profit in the coffers of Big Music. But Buddy usually runs the store, and he’s currently on tour with Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, so he can’t fill orders. And most of Julie’s old albums are out of print, while the Millers prepare a “best of the early years” CD.

My recommendation: pick up Universal United House of Prayer NOW, direct from the label, and let that be your turntable goodness for the summer. Then, when you want more, come back to the webstore in August…or head out to your local indie store, where they’ll be happy to order whatever they can find for you.

Want more? Of course you do. And given the high recognition factor for the Buddy and Julie Miller songbook, we’d be remiss in not offering you a look at some of their best songs as performed by others. Because the list was so exhaustive, though it was hard not to share Emmylou’s version of All My Tears, I’ve decided to focus on some of our favorite song interpreters in the folkworld: Dar Williams, Richard Shindell, and Lucy Kaplansky, the three folk artists who, together, comprised the short-lived folk supergroup Cry Cry Cry. Today’s bonus coversongs may be just the tip of a very big, very wonderful iceberg, but I think you’ll find them worthy. (Bonus points: see if you can make out Buddy on one of these covers!)

Previously on Cover Lay Down:

  • The Gibson Brothers cover Somewhere Trouble Don’t Go
  • 806 comments » | Bob Dylan, Buddy and Julie Miller, Buddy Miller, cry cry cry, Gram Parsons, John Hiatt, John Sebastian, Julie Miller, Lucy Kaplansky, richard shindell

    Covered in Kidfolk, Part 4: Daddy’s Little Girl Coversongs for Fathers and Daughters

    April 14th, 2008 — 01:52 am

    My younger daughter turns three tomorrow, and we’ve spent the weekend celebrating with extended family: a trip to the circus yesterday, brunch and a slightly damp walkaround at 19th century “living museum” Old Sturbridge Village today. It’s been exhausting, to be honest — putting the girls in their spring dresses, driving back and forth the length of Massachusetts, and advocating for the kids sanity among the best intentions of so many family members is a lot of work.

    But I’m grateful for the distraction. Because if I had a chance to really sit and think about how big my little girl is getting, I’d probably just end up crying.

    I remember, from her older sister: three is the turning point, where a child begins to turn from a state of constant parental need to wanting space and freedom, a room of her own. Sure enough, when we asked the wee one what she wanted for her birthday, she asked for a bunk bed — which was, for her older sister, the moment we could no longer lie in bed together, late at night in the darkness, and do what daddies and their children do: share stories, snuggle close, and, finally, listen for those sweet deep sighs, the ones that mean sleep has finally come to take my child from me one more time.

    The elderchild read her first book all the way through this week — just us and Sam I Am on the couch past her bedtime, struggling with would nots and could nots until the triumphant end. I was proud, and it seemed right. But my mind and heart play tricks. While milestones seem perfectly natural for the older child, and always have, there’s a part of my heart that rails against change when it comes to her younger sister. I want so much for her to be little forever, it hurts like hell.

    She’s getting big without me, more than her big sister did. We get so little time, just her and me, and she is still adjusting to Mama as a working girl — she clings to Mama when she comes home, and will not talk to me for the rest of the evening. This tiny towhead who once insisted on her Daddy, and only her Daddy, in the middle of the crying night is losing her lisp, and gaining her independence, and fighting to hold on to her Mama, and all I can do is watch the clock, and ache to hold her in my arms while they are still strong enough to carry her.

    So it’s been a poignant time for me, there on the couch with the elderchild while the wee one snuggles in with her Mama. I’ve always felt like I give the second child short shrift; it seems like we had so much more time, so much more focus when there was only one. Now so much more of our life together is spent in threes, trying to manage the play between them. Now here I am, running out of time.

    I’m proud of them, and I feel good about the time we spend together, on the whole. But my little girls are growing up, and though there’s nothing I can do about it except take the moments as they come, and fight for every one I can, I miss their smaller selves. And my heart breaks when I think how precious, how rare, the moments are about to become.

    There are several popular folksongs about fathers and sons which have been covered within the genre — stellar versions of Cat Stevens’ Father and Son and Paul Simon’s St. Judy’s Comet jump to mind, though Ben Folds’ Still Fighting It remains so definitive it is practically uncoverable. But with the exception of a few sappy countrypop tunes, there aren’t so many songs written from fathers to daughters out there.

    One reason the crossgender parent-to-child song may be so rare is that it provides a weaker outlet for the narrator to project their own sense of childhood into the child. Which is to say: The narrative trick which turns a song about fathers into a song about fatherhood, which makes mincemeat of my heart in songs like Harry Chapin’s Cat in the Cradle and Mike Rutherford’s Living Years, is unavailable to us. No matter how much I love my children, I can never claim to know what it is to be a little girl with a Daddy.

    But though like the moments I have with my own little girls, songs which speak directly and explicitly to our lot as parents with daughters are precious and few, what songs there are tug powerfully at the heartstrings. So today, a short set of songs which speak to my own complicated feelings for my own little girls. I’ve deliberately left out songs which name sons or mothers, though I’ve allowed myself a couple of songs which are open enough to come from any parent to any child. But this set of songs is intended first and foremost for daddies to give to their daughters. As such, it runs from sugar and spice, through everything nice. Because whether you listen as a child or as a parent, that’s what memories are made of.

    Unlike our previous kidsong posts here on Cover Lay Down, a vast majority of the songs included herein were not originally intended for children. Instead, most teeter on an open line, innocent enough to apply to either a lover or a child, unspecific enough to allow a good interpreter to choose, if they wish. To me, the delivery and intention of the performances below resolves the lyrical vagueness in a way that makes them perfect for sharing between parent and child. But many work well as more general songs of love and affection. You’re welcome, as always, to make them your own in any way you need them to. That’s the heart of folk, right there.

    • Livingston Taylor, Isn’t She Lovely (orig. Stevie Wonder)
      Like brother James, Livingston Taylor specializes in sweet songs delivered in a crisp, light crooning tenor over bright acoustic stringwork. This cover of Stevie Wonder’s tribute to female innocence comes from kidlabel Music for Little People, off out-of-print collection That’s What Little Girls Are Made Of.

    • Lucy Kaplansky, Goodnight My Angel (orig. Billy Joel)
    • Eliza Gilkyson, Child Of Mine (orig. Carole King)
      A pair from the incredible kidfolk compilation Down at the Sea Hotel: Cover Lay Down fave Lucy Kaplansky with a gorgeous tune originally penned by Billy Joel for his own daughter, and Eliza Gilkyson with a breathy, slow country blues take on a Goffin/King classic which suggests misty-eyed regret even as the lyrics celebrate a child’s independance.

    • Shawn Colvin, Say A Little Prayer (orig. Greg Brown)
      So many female coverversions of songs written by fathers for their daughters. This one, which treats the late-night illness of a child with a stoicism and a lightness masking the secret fear all parents have for their sick children, is more poignant than many, more mystical than most. Shawn Colvin is but one of many strong folkwomen on the highly recommended all-female Greg Brown tribute Going Driftless.

    • John Haitt and Loudon Wainwright III, My Girl (orig. Smokey Robinson)
      Languid and dreamy, floated over a majestic piano and guitarstrum, the beauty of this version lies in the distance between Wainwright’s melodic voice and Hiatt’s rasp. Listen for the high harmony; it’s chilling. Originally a B-side, subsequently off out-of-print Demon Records compilation album From Hell to Obscurity.

    • Ani DiFranco w/ Jackie Chan, Unforgettable (orig. Nat King Cole)
      Originally a song with unspecified female subject, this song was transformed when Natalie Cole chose to re-record it with the ghost of her father. Though the end result was a song more from daughter to father than the other way around, I think the sentiment holds, even in Ani DiFranco and Jackie Chan’s unusual take. From When Pigs Fly: Songs You Never Thought You’d Hear.

    • Ben Lee, In My Life (orig. The Beatles)
    • Chantal Kreviazuk, In My Life (ibid.)
      This song may not have been intended to speak to the way all other loves pale in comparison to the sudden, deep love we feel for our chidren, almost from the moment they are born. But it says it, all the same. Many good versions to choose from here; in the interest of diversity, here’s Aussie Ben Lee‘s tentative, nasal tenor and slow wash of sound off of recent indie tribute album This Bird Has Flown, in sharp contrast with Canadian Chantal Kreviazuk‘s bright soprano, layered over production suprisingly similar to the original, from the Providence soundtrack.

    • Billy Bragg w/ Cara Tivey, She’s Leaving Home (orig. The Beatles)
      All my fears in one song: the parents who never truly understood their child, even as she leaves them behind without a goodbye. Another repost, and more Beatles, gorgeously performed by Billy Bragg; so tender and wistful, it’s just right for the occasion.

    • Sheryl Crow, You Can Close Your Eyes (orig. James Taylor)
      One of my very favorite songs to sing to children: a stunningly simple lullaby of eternal parent/child tomorrows from James Taylor, covered in folkpop well enough for a Grammy nomination for Sheryl Crow in the Best Pop Female Vocalist category.

    • Gray Sky Girls, You Are My Sunshine (orig. Jimmie Davis)
      I sing this song to my children, as my parents sung this song to me. Though the Elizabeth Mitchell version I posted in our very first Covered in Kidfolk post sounds more like my parents, the simple, sweet plaintive harmony from local “organic country slowgrass” folkies Gray Sky Girls best parallels that which I hear in my head and heart.

    As always, artist and album links above go to online sources for purchasing genuine plastic circles which offer the best chance of profit for musicians, and the least amount of corporate middleman skim-off. Teach your children well: support the artists you listen to.

    866 comments » | ani difranco, ben lee, Billy Bragg, Chantal Kreviazuk, Eliza Gilkyson, Gray Sky Girls, John Hiatt, Kidfolk, Livingston Taylor, Loudon Wainwright III, Lucy Kaplansky, Shawn Colvin, Sheryl Crow

    Subgenre Coverfolk: Zydeco Covers of John Hiatt, Dylan, War, Cracker, & more!

    December 19th, 2007 — 02:15 am

    Before radio nationalized musical types, and Dylan, Guthrie, Seeger and others involved in the american folk music revival of the fifties and sixties claimed the term to describe a particular lyrical style and approach to instrumentation, folk music was traditional music, and traditional music was regional music. Appalachian music was different from Cajun music was different from polka music was different from samba, but each in its own way was a kind of folk, literally “of the folk”, and the variance in sound as one traveled through the country was rich and beautiful and vast, steeped in the ancestry of the local population, and played on the back porch or local dancehall as a way to reclaim the old country for the newer generation.

    These days, of course, “folk music” usually means something entirely different. We see the term everywhere, with slashes and caveats, daily across the indie-populated blogosphere. But even as the term “folk” is being applied to a whole rising generation of acoustic indiekids, these different kinds of folk music seem to be moving back towards each other, a kind of musical genre reclamation.

    Zydeco and Urban folk once used the term “folk” as if the other did not exist, but more and more often, one can find the two types played to overlapping crowds in adjacent tents at the same folk festival, if not one after another on the main stage. In my local library, Polka music rests more and more easily next to Dylan in the section labeled “folk”. Some days, it is as if all popular American music is on the verge of falling into one of three broad categories: rock/pop/rap, classical, and folk/country.

    The folk music tent gets larger every year. According to an unsourced statement in Wikipedia, in June of this year, the National Association of Recording Artists and Songwriters “announced a new Grammy category, Best Zydeco or Cajun Music Album, in its folk music field.” Though here at Cover Lay Down we have chosen not to offer a “best of” list to end the year, in anticipation of this year’s awards, and as a way to bring some swampy southern warmth to our short New England winter days, we bring you our first feature in a new series, Subgenre Coverfolk, in which we focus on a specific subset of the folkmusic sound.

    According to Wikipedia, Zydeco has its roots in the dual cultures and communities of the Louisiana bayou: French Creoles and African-american slaves. But Zydeco as a finite form did not truly emerge until after the Civil War, when many french-speaking creole and african-american communities of the deep swamp south moved towards Texas in the first half of the twentieth century to find work. There, the once-separatist creoles found themselves in common bond with free african-americans, and both peoples developed a need to congregate and celebrate their shared regional histories.

    The music that they created to accompany themselves brought together instrumentation, lyrical elements, and other components of Creole music and african-american forms such as Jazz, Blues, and R&B. At first, just as folk music was still folk music after it lost its regionalism and began to describe a particular sound, this was just considered a new form of Creole music. But by the time Clifton Chenier and other began to introduce the sound to a generation of popular blues and R&B artists in the 1950s, they called it Zydeco.

    The term “Zydeco” seems to be a corruption of african terms that mostly just means “dance”, though its etymological origins are muddy as the delta — other sources suggest it is derived from les haricots, french for “the beans”, a reference to the title of what many believe is the first mainstream Zydeco song.

    But the zydeco sound is clearly identifiable. In order to serve the cultural and emotional needs of its listeners, the instruments of Zydeco are typically those portable handhelds which need no amplification to be heard, and which will not wilt or lose their tone in heat and humidity: accordian as wearable piano; washboard as a drumset held close to the chest. Even the dance style of zydeco sprawls across the dancefloor, reclaiming land in a manner unlike the meeker and more static cajun waltzes and squares they evolved from. It may have absorbed some elements of rock and R&B over the years, but the Zydeco sound is still very much distinctive.

    Today, some select covers from the reigning kings of modern Zydeco. You can catch these folks at the dance tent, late into the night, long after the mainstage folk or bluegrass festival acts have gone back to their hotels and song circles for the evening, and they’re worth staying up for.

    As always, album links above go to labels or artist homepages, not some huge and faceless conglomerate. Support niche labels, regional musicians, and small record shops, and keep the local alive.

    As a nod to the continued evolution and cross-pollination of musical forms, today’s bonus (re)coveredsongs come from O Cracker, Where Art Thou, “psychocajun slamgrass” group Leftover Salmon’s collaboration with alt-rockers Cracker. Both songs are originally by Cracker.

    760 comments » | Bob Dylan, Cracker, John Hiatt, Leftover Salmon, Subgenre Coverfolk, War, Zydeco

    Chris Smither Covers: John Hiatt, The Grateful Dead, Little Feat, Chuck Berry, and Dylan

    October 28th, 2007 — 10:32 am

    I seriously considered Chris Smither for our Covered in Folk series. After all, for much of his forty-year career Smither was a total unknown outside a very small community…unless you happened to know who wrote Bonnie Raitt’s hit Love Me Like A Man. Smither has cred as a performer in his own right; he deserves to be touted for his own deceptively simple musicianship, not just his writing. The problem is, while his songs have been pretty consistently out in the open since he started out, his career path yaws like a ship in a storm.

    Smither joined the Cambridge, MA folk scene in the late sixties, and hit the national radar in the early seventies with a spate of albums that showcased his emerging songwriting and raw, bluesy swamp folk style. But he faded into relative obscurity by the end of the decade, touring sporadically, releasing only one album in the eighties while his songs lived on in the hands of others. For a while, it looked like another promising musician had gotten lost.

    But when Smither came back in 1991 with intimately recorded live album Another Way To Find You, it put him right back in the groove, winning awards and filling bars across the country. Since then, he’s been prolific and celebrated; today, where the Dixie Chicks still sell more Patty Griffin than Patty Griffin, Chris Smither has transcended life as “the guy who wrote that song” to become a headliner again, reemerging from the dark eighties to impress a new generation with his foot-stomping blues/folk guitar style, his throat-scratching Florida by way of New Orleans tenor drawl, and his interpretation of both his own well-crafted tunes and familiar standards from the folk canon.

    At his best, Smither’s signature sound is a holdover from the days of Leadbelly, before blues and folk music split into distinct genres. Like those that came before him, he can play fast and loose with tempo, speeding through phrases on the guitar in raw emotive power. What distinguishes his style from the great grandaddies of interpretive fingerplucking is a preference for fastfinger slide over chord-playing, and a mellow, weathered grin all his own that shines through his lyrical play to flavor even the most wistful of folksongs.

    The edgy, bluesy style Smither favors in performance is best featured on Another Way to Find You, in all its live, foot-stomping glory; his produced work shows an equally gifted ability to play the power of that wailing voice and sweet guitarplay off a full wash of sound. Here’s a full house of covers from his second wave of fame — a trio of solid tracks from Another Way, and a pair of more recent, more produced cuts — just to prove that you can rise again:

    • Friend of the Devil (orig. Grateful Dead)
    • Down in the Flood (orig. Bob Dylan)
    • Tulane (orig. Chuck Berry)
    • Rock and Roll Doctor (orig. Little Feat)
    • Real Fine Love (orig. John Hiatt)

    Chris Smither sells all his in-print works, from 1984′s amazing It Ain’t Easy to last year’s solid Leave The Light On, through his website, so you know where he’d prefer you buy them. Unfortunately, if you’d like to go back to his work from before the resurrection, you’ll have to scour the used recordshops — but they’re well worth the vintage price, if you find one in good condition.

    Today’s bonus coversongs are a full house, too:

    • Smoothjazz chanteuse Diana Krall covers Smither’s Love Me Like A Man
    • Bonnie Raitt covers Love Me Like A Man, too (live, from Road Tested)
    • Chris Smither’s original 1970 version of Love You Like A Man
      (our first NON-cover here on Cover Lay Down!)
    • Smither makes Roly Sally’s Killin’ the Blues his own
    • Shawn Colvin covers Smither’s version of Killing the Blues

    1,106 comments » | Bob Dylan, Bonnie Raitt, Chris Smither, Chuck Berry, Diana Krall, Grateful Dead, John Hiatt, Little Feat, originals, Shawn Colvin

    Covered in Folk: The Dixie Chicks do Patty Griffin

    October 7th, 2007 — 08:10 pm

    You may not have heard of Patty Griffin. But if you’ve had your ear to the radio over the past decade, you’ve heard her songwriting: Griffin is one of those rare singer-songwriters whose songs are bigger than she is, and in her case, it’s a shame and a blessing. Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the bittersweet lot of the oft-covered and not-yet-famous. We call it Covered in Folk.

    According to legend, the production on Patty Griffin‘s first album obscured her authentic sound so much that her label buried the studio tracks, remastered her demo, and released it pretty much as-is. The result, 1996 release Living With Ghosts, is a comprehensive masterpiece of raw folk power. The siren sounds of the city through her open apartment window only reinforce the realism inherent in the languid grit of her hard-driving guitar, and her hallmark seen-it-all wail.

    But we’re not here today to talk about Patty’s breathy voice, or her rough, busker’s streetcorner sound. We’re here to talk about her songs.

    Those who have seen Patty in concert agree: there’s nothing quite like the powerhouse Maine woods twang-and-wail to lay bare the bones of her earlier, darker lyrics of battered women and lost rural souls. But I’d rather have her songs channeled through other voices than let them languish in the A&M vault. And luckily, Griffin’s songs are so powerful as written, it’s a genuine joy to hear them handled well by others.

    No performer in today’s market has benefitted more from Griffin’s songwriting than country sensations and anti-Bush badgirls the Dixie Chicks, whose three-part harmony and careful handling make the songs their own while retaining all the original power of lyric and melody. Today we offer three Patty Griffin covers, one from each of three different Chicks albums.

    • Let Him Fly, off Dixie Chicks Fly
    • Truth No. 2, off the Dixie Chicks Home
    • Top Of The World, off the Dixie Chicks live album of the same name

    The Dixie Chicks are great musicians in their own right, but now that you know the pen behind the music, put your credit where credit is due: pick up Patty Griffin’s Living with Ghosts, her stellar opus of smalltown loners 1000 Kisses, and the rest of the Griffin catalog at ecotunes, her preferred sales source.

    Today’s bonus coversong bonanza:

    • New folkfemme combo Red Molly covers Griffin’s Long Ride Home
    • Alt-countrified Emmylou Harris covers Griffin’s One Big Love
    • Covergirl chanteuse Maura O’Connell covers Griffins Poor Man’s House
    • Patty Griffin covers Springsteen’s Stolen Car
    • Patty Griffin covers John Hiatt’s Take It Down

    340 comments » | Covered in Folk, Dixie Chicks, Emmylou Harris, John Hiatt, Maura O'Connell, Patty Griffin, Red Molly, Springsteen