100 years of cover songs: Fred Astaire to Nina Simone, Bob Dylan and beyond

In the movie "A Complete Unknown," Timothée Chalamet, playing Bob Dylan, explains that his first album was mostly "covers," which is perhaps the most untrue line in the film. The real Dylan wouldn't have said that, as he understood the nuances of musical interpretation.

Most of the tracks on that album were traditional folk songs, some even centuries old. These kinds of songs shouldn't be called "covers," but rather "performances." The term "cover version" seems to have emerged from the 1930s, and it relies on the existence of an original version. But for listeners, identifying the original version isn't always easy, especially with the evolution of musical styles.

Fred Astaire sang "The Way You Look Tonight," written by Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields, for Ginger Rogers in the 1936 film "Swing Time," and recorded it the same year with Johnny Green and his band. A few weeks later, Bing Crosby also recorded the song; bandleader Teddy Wilson with Billie Holiday also recorded it; and so did many others. In fact, there were at least 12 recorded versions within five months. This was not a rare phenomenon, highlighting the collaborative nature of music at the time.

What we understand today as a cover version only became more clearly defined from the 1950s onward, thanks to the closer connection between songs and singers, especially with the emergence of singer-songwriters. When the Beatles recorded "Roll Over Beethoven" in 1963, there was no doubt that it was a cover of a Chuck Berry song. Even when Electric Light Orchestra created their bombastic, eight-minute fantasy cover version in 1973, it was still a Chuck Berry song, showcasing the enduring influence of the original.

That's what a cover is all about. Using the original version as a reference point, you can take the song in new directions, slowing it down, speeding it up, changing the chords, and finding new emphasis in the lyrics. It actually helps when the original singer puts a personal stamp on the song—as Chuck Berry did with all of his songs—and this often comes down to timbre. It's hard to separate the sonic qualities of Joni Mitchell or Tom Waits from their songs. Any cover is necessarily a reinterpretation, offering a fresh perspective on familiar material.

Dylan's early songs were frequently covered upon their new release, giving Peter, Paul and Mary ("Blowin' in the Wind"), the Byrds ("Mr. Tambourine Man"), Jimi Hendrix ("All Along the Watchtower"), Julie Driscoll ("This Wheel's On Fire"), Manfred Mann ("Just Like a Woman" and "The Mighty Quinn"), and a 21-year-old Olivia Newton-John ("If Not for You") hit songs. Dylan himself didn't have hit songs, so most people heard the covers first. When these covers led you to dig up Dylan's originals, it was like discovering an ancient manuscript, revealing the source of the inspiration.

Joni Mitchell's most famous song is a more extreme example of the same phenomenon. "Both Sides, Now" became a hit for Judy Collins in 1968, and won her a Grammy Award. But it was actually a cover, not of Mitchell herself, but of a single released the year before by Dave Van Ronk (who called it "Clouds"). Eventually, Mitchell herself recorded the song for an album (also titled "Clouds") in 1969, which was revelatory. Collins' hit was sweet, nostalgic, and conventionally diatonic. Mitchell's, with its buzzing, open-tuned guitar, was full of feeling—anything but sweet—a rare example of a songwriter covering another singer's recording of the songwriter's own song, adding another layer of interpretation.

Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," one of the most covered songs of the last 25 years, is similarly curious because when Jeff Buckley's version appeared in 1994, Cohen's original, though a decade old, was little known. It appeared on his album "Various Positions," and the song seems to have mainly impressed Bob Dylan, who sang it a few times in concert. John Cale recorded the song in 1991, and Buckley's album "Grace" brought it to a wider audience. Then came "Shrek," with Cale on the film soundtrack, but Rufus Wainwright on the soundtrack album. Subsequent covers followed in droves—k.d. lang included the song on her collection of Canadian songs, "Hymns of the 49th Parallel," which included works by Mitchell, Neil Young, Jane Siberry, and other compatriots, showcasing the song's enduring appeal.

Eventually, in his 70s, Cohen himself began performing the song on his world tours. It always drew the biggest reaction from the audience, and given its ubiquity, you might think we would be able to agree on its meaning. But there are reportedly 80 verses, with at least seven in circulation. Few people sing more than four, and they are rarely the same. It's a mix-and-match song, arguably the perfect cover, allowing for endless interpretations and personal connections.

Even when most songs have fixed lyrics, they can still be changed in cover versions. Sometimes, it's a complete rewrite (Angie McMahon reworked the Australian band the Church's "Reckless" into a song about the climate emergency), and sometimes, it's just a word or two, showcasing the creative freedom that covers allow.

This may be because the new singer thinks they know better; sometimes it's just a mistake. One of the best examples of this appears in Nina Simone's famous and lacerating cover of Billie Holiday's "Strange Fruit." Right at the end, the songwriter Abel Meeropol's lyric is: "Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck / . . . / For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop."

Simone sings "leaves" instead of "trees." You can see how it happened. After all, leaves do drop. But they don't drop fruit. As it happens, the wrong word comes on the climactic note of the entire song. Simone kept it in, until we were convinced it was the right word. That's a powerful cover, demonstrating how a small change can create a lasting impact.