Covers By Beth Hart

1 . I Don’t Need No Doctor

Released in August 1966 by Nick Ashford, “I Don’t Need No Doctor” initially went unnoticed, a fact that would’ve been comical if it weren’t so tragic given its later trajectory.

Ray Charles’s version, which landed two months later, managed to carve out modest chart success—#45 on the R&B charts and #72 on Billboard’s Hot 100.

The song itself is a quintessential R&B storm, with its defiant lyrical insistence paired perfectly with rhythm-heavy instrumentation.

Ray Charles infuses it with his signature grit, a touch that pulls the track firmly into his wheelhouse, though it arguably lacks the electric passion of later renditions.

Enter Humble Pie’s 1971 cover, a reckless live performance etched into their “Performance Rockin’ the Fillmore” album.

Here, the song morphs into a swaggering rock anthem, drenched in raw energy that feels both primal and overindulgent in the best way possible.

Surprisingly, despite its unpolished nature, it climbed to #73 on the Billboard Hot 100, proving the value of unfiltered chaos.

Other interpretations by The Chocolate Watchband inject a touch of garage rock irreverence, while bands like W.A.S.P. and Great White revive it with louder guitars and a certain ’80s bombast that can feel both nostalgic and exhausting.

Styx’s rendition, on the other hand, leans predictably overproduced, sandpapering the original’s gritty charm in favor of slickness.

Then there’s Beth Hart, who treats the song like emotional CPR, her blues-soaked vocals turning the track into a raw confessional.

Each cover highlights the flexible DNA of the track, but there’s a recurring paradox—no one iteration fully captures everything that makes the song enduring; they’re all fragments of its broader identity.

Decades later, “I Don’t Need No Doctor” reveals itself as less of a finished statement and more of a conversation—its themes of defiance lending themselves to reinvention.

Performed at : Paradiso, Amsterdam, Holland

2 . Chocolate Jesus

“Chocolate Jesus,” reimagined by Beth Hart during her Rockpalast 2011 performance, captures the offbeat spirituality of Tom Waits’s original while layering it with her own explosive stage presence.

Waits’s 1999 version, rooted in his gravelly voice and minimalist arrangement, turns a sly discovery—the novelty candy Testamints—into a provocatively sacred metaphor, with lyrics steeped in satire and devotion.

Hart’s live interpretation trades the murky mysticism of the original for raw emotional intensity, blending blues and gospel influences to create a version that’s both reverent and irreverent.

The song itself offers biting commentary on consumer fetishization of religion, with its Sunday candy-store ritual becoming a stand-in for deeper existential cravings.

Performed in Bonn on March 24, 2011, Hart wraps the track in her signature raspy vocals and gut-punch delivery, giving it a visceral edge that’s more confession booth than altar.

While some may argue her theatricality overshadows the cryptic nuances of Waits’s composition, her ability to command the stage and render the banal divine is unmistakable.

It’s a performance that teeters between parody and homage, uniting lyrical absurdity with musical reverence in a way that’s gritty, unfiltered, and strikingly human.

Performed at : Rockpalast 2011

3 . A Change Is Gonna Come

“A Change Is Gonna Come,” as reinterpreted by Beth Hart during her 2011 Rockpalast performance, takes on the weight of a legacy while infusing it with her raw, bluesy intensity.

The song, originally penned by Sam Cooke and released in 1964 on *Ain’t That Good News*, is steeped in Cooke’s lived experiences and the sociopolitical tensions of the Civil Rights era.

The arrangement, iconic for its orchestral sweep of strings, horns, timpani, and a mournful French horn, pulls the listener into its emotional gravity.

The original track achieved moderate commercial success, charting modestly on the US Billboard Hot 100 and R&B Singles Chart, but its cultural resonance quickly outgrew its initial reception.

Now enshrined in the Library of Congress and perched at number 3 on *Rolling Stone*’s 2021 “500 Greatest Songs of All Time,” the piece has become a definitive protest anthem.

Hart’s rendition amplifies the song’s anguish with an unpolished vigor, showcasing her knack for digging into emotional truths rather than imitating Cooke’s meticulous elegance.

It’s less restraint, more combustion—an interpretation that, while respectful, thrives on imperfection and spontaneity.

Her performance feels almost chaotic, skirting the edges of control, yet this tension breeds something impactful, though it might polarize purists.

If Cooke’s voice embodied resilience, Hart wields hers like a battle cry, leaning into the unvarnished textures of her vocal strength to channel the song’s enduring relevance.

By choosing to let the track breathe with improvisational flair, she sidesteps reverence in favor of immediacy, turning a 20th-century artifact into a surprisingly contemporary lament.

Performed at : Rockpalast 2011

4 . Your Heart Is As Black As Night

It’s not every day a song lives multiple lives, and “Your Heart Is As Black As Night” fully embodies this rare feat. Originally performed by Melody Gardot on her 2009 album *My One and Only Thrill*, the track oozes a vintage jazz allure—a smoky piano melody paired with Gardot’s sensual, whispery vocals that feel like an intimate conversation in a darkened lounge.

Fast-forward two years, and Beth Hart, paired with blues-rock virtuoso Joe Bonamassa, injects the track with a grittier undercurrent on their 2011 collaboration *Don’t Explain*. In this version, Hart’s raspy delivery burns with palpable frustration, giving the song a visceral edge. Buried in its polished production, one can’t help but notice a tension between Hart’s raw energy and the album’s glossy aesthetic, which teeters on over-sanitizing the blues.

Then there’s Hart’s May 4, 2018, performance at London’s Royal Albert Hall, immortalized in the *Live at Royal Albert Hall* release later that year. Here, the song finds its most impulsive form, her voice cracking with the weight of lived experience. It’s a cathartic, electric moment that transforms the historic venue into a pressure cooker of heartbreak and defiance. While the live orchestration gives more room for Hart’s improvisational flair, the track doesn’t entirely escape the shadow of its studio predecessor—it plays like a familiar script with just enough ad-libbing to keep it engaging.

What’s fascinating is how “Your Heart Is As Black As Night” morphs with each artist and setting. Gardot’s version is candlelight; Hart’s iterations are wildfires threatening to rage out of control. While Bonamassa’s production almost anchors the track too much, the live performance breathes some unpredictability into the mix—a small redemption for a song that risks becoming overly rehearsed with time. Each version adds another layer, proving a well-written melody can transcend genre, space, and personality.

Performed at : The Royal Albert Hall, London

5 . All Right Now

“All Right Now” by Free stands as the kind of rock anthem that feels simultaneously raw and polished, a duality that encapsulates its enduring appeal.

The track emerged from a particularly lackluster gig in Durham—an unremarkable moment that ironically birthed the band’s most remarkable hit.

Co-written by bassist Andy Fraser and vocalist Paul Rodgers, the song radiates a casual cool, driven by its infectious riff and sharp, bluesy swagger.

Recorded for the 1970 album *Fire and Water*, the band produced the track themselves, capturing a stripped-down authenticity that defied overproduction trends of the era.

Its success was immediate and widespread, climbing to number two on the UK Singles Chart and number four on the US Billboard Hot 100, carving its path as a global chart-topper in over 20 countries.

The track’s commercial resurgence in 1973 and later in 1991 via a Bob Clearmountain remix only underscores its staying power—though some purists might balk at the latter.

With over one million airplays in the U.S. recognized as early as 1990—and three million by 2006—it’s no wonder “All Right Now” has become a classic rock radio staple.

Even as countless artists from Mike Oldfield to Guns N’ Roses have tackled the song, its essence remains untouchable—a mix of brash confidence and unshakable hooks.

Beth Hart’s impassioned interpretation at Giel’s 3FM in Holland only adds to the track’s legacy, proving once again its adaptability across voices and generations.

For all its accolades and accolades-to-come, the song’s brilliance lies in its simplicity: sometimes, a great riff and a great hook are *all right* now and forever.

Performed at : Giel’s 3FM in Holland

6 . Soulshine (w/ Gov’t Mule)

“Soulshine” is a track that wanders through bluesy nostalgia and Southern rock sensibilities, penned by Warren Haynes in a late-’80s Nashville haze.

The song first found its voice with Larry McCray, whose 1993 album *Delta Hurricane* gave it a swampy, electric groove that’s hard to ignore.

But it’s the Allman Brothers Band’s 1994 rendition on *Where It All Begins* that cemented its place in classic rock lore, with Gregg Allman’s smoky vocals and Tom Dowd’s polished production creating a version that feels simultaneously intimate and anthemic.

Gov’t Mule, Haynes’ own stomping ground, keeps “Soulshine” alive on albums like *The Deep End, Volume 1* and various live releases, making it their unofficial anthem of perseverance.

Beth Hart and David Allan Coe have also tried their hand at it, each adding their own flavor—Hart’s soulful grit and Coe’s outlaw-country bravado.

And just when you think its journey is complete, Haynes steers the song into the global *Playing for Change* series, weaving a tapestry of voices from Shemekia Copeland to Ivan Neville, proving that “Soulshine” is less a song and more a musical passport.

Performed at : Festival The Roots in the park, Utrecht, Holland

7 . Baby I Love You

“Baby, I Love You” by The Ronettes sums up the blissful agony of 1960s teenage infatuation with a wall of sound dense enough to drown out even the most stubborn parental objection.

Released in November 1963, the track finds its roots both in the girl group heyday and the fingerprints of producer Phil Spector’s overachieving ego, layering strings and percussion until the weight of the song feels as monumental as young love supposedly is.

The chart performance, peaking at 24 on the US Billboard Hot 100 and 11 in the UK, doesn’t quite match the song’s ambition, but it carved enough space in pop’s collective memory to later rank 56 on Billboard’s “100 Greatest Girl Group Songs of All Time.”

As for The Ronettes—Veronica Bennett’s yearning lead, supported by the harmonies of sister Estelle and cousin Nedra—this track sits comfortably among other Spector-led triumphs like “Be My Baby.”

Phil Spector’s presence both elevates and shadows the song’s history; his production overpowers yet captivates, leaving lingering questions about whose artistry truly shines through.

Fast forward to 1980, and punk pioneers the Ramones take a turn at “Baby, I Love You,” slathering their leather jackets with Spector’s unrelenting orchestration for their album “End of the Century.”

Critics and fans of rawer punk remain divided, but the cover secures the Ramones’ highest UK Singles Chart spot at number 8, proving the song’s inherent adaptability—whether steeped in 1960s romance or punk’s sneer, it remains a curious mix of innocence and ambition.

Performed at : The Roxy in Hollywood, Ca

8 . Wild Horses (w/ Ronnie Atkins)

“Wild Horses,” birthed in 1971 from the legendary partnership of Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, occupies a quiet yet insistent corner of The Rolling Stones’ “Sticky Fingers.”

The song, with its unhurried acoustic guitar and wistful lyrics, stakes its claim as one of their more pensive moments, offering introspection amidst an album otherwise laced with swagger.

Its legacy extends well beyond its original incarnation; countless covers have peppered its journey across the decades, stretching its sinewy melancholy into new forms.

Among these, Beth Hart’s rendition at Horsens Ny Teater in Denmark adds a layer of vocal ferocity that veers toward the theatrical.

But it’s a performance that polarizes—her vocal grit might either deepen the song’s poignancy or strain its delicate emotional tone, depending on whom you ask.

Contrast that with the original, which reached a respectable No. 28 on the US Billboard Hot 100, despite hardly being a hit by Rolling Stones standards.

“Wild Horses” has comfortably nestled itself into pop culture, its aching refrain punctuating TV series like *Cold Case* and films like *Almost Famous.*

Its adaptability is beguiling, though not without irony; what begins as a deeply personal lament becomes a soundtrack to someone else’s emotions onscreen, detached from its original creators.

Still, the song’s essence—a stubborn refusal to let go, wrapped in tender resignation—remains intact, no matter whose hands or voice attempt to harness it.

Performed at : Horsens Ny Teater, Denmark

9 . Purple Rain (w/ Jeff Beck)

The 2017 rendition of “Purple Rain” at the Hollywood Bowl transforms Prince’s magnum opus into a collaborative, nostalgia-heavy celebration, featuring Jeff Beck’s legendary guitar work, Beth Hart’s raw vocals, and Steven Tyler’s unmistakable swagger.

This performance pays homage to a song that originally found its place in the cultural zeitgeist during a live recording at First Avenue in 1983, later finalized in the gilded halls of Sunset Sound in Los Angeles.

Prince himself initially conceived “Purple Rain” as a country piece—a detail that feels almost laughably bizarre in hindsight—but the involvement of Wendy Melvoin, whose opening guitar chords redirected the track, pushed it toward its haunting, genre-agnostic final form.

For all its melodrama, “Purple Rain” wears the apocalypse on its sleeve, swaddling its themes of love and divine faith in metaphorical purple hues.

In 2017, Beck’s guitar howls with poignancy, evoking Prince’s original, yet allowing itself to breathe with the kind of smoky phrasing only Beck could conjure.

Beth Hart’s performance is bluesy and visceral, bordering on theatrical, while Steven Tyler struts through the guest spot without straying too far into caricature—a mercy, considering his usual predilection for overkill.

The performance taps into the sentimental reverence the song demands, though it stops short of breaking any new ground musically.

If anything, the choice to revisit this timeless piece at a commemoration of Beck’s career feels both fitting and curious—a nod to the era of iconic guitar gods, tempered by the acknowledgment that no one ever truly tames “Purple Rain.”

At best, this rendition underscores the song’s stature as more than just a performance; it’s a communal experience that hovers persistently between tribute and transcendence.

Performed at : The Hollywood Bowl 2017

10 . Can’t Let Go

Beth Hart delivers a commanding rendition of “Can’t Let Go” during her performance at the Ryman, making old wounds sound fresh with her electrifying swagger and searing vocals.

This track, first penned by Randy Weeks and immortalized by Lucinda Williams on her 1998 “Car Wheels On A Gravel Road” album, feels naturally at home in Hart’s gritty wheelhouse.

Originally a smoldering blend of country and blues, Hart’s version retains the raw edge but amps up the urgency, layered with a sharp, almost reckless energy.

The 2013 collaboration between Beth Hart and Joe Bonamassa for their Grammy-nominated album “Seesaw” gives the track a polished muscle without losing its heart, thanks to Kevin Shirley’s deft production.

Recorded in California, the album stays true to its blues roots, but its meticulous craftsmanship doesn’t shy away from putting bold, dynamic flair front and center, peaking the interest of genre enthusiasts.

Hart’s vocal delivery masterfully toys with the tensions between vulnerability and power, teetering between control and chaos in a way that feels intimate yet unrelenting.

The cover itself winds through its influences but claims its own identity, bridging Southern nostalgia with Hart’s brassy charisma.

By the time she belts out the final bars, her take isn’t merely an imitation or homage—it’s a reclamation of sorts, infused with her own fire while nodding respectfully to where the track came from.

Less a reinterpretation and more like an energetic conversation between past and present, the song thrives under Hart’s raw but deliberate hand, proving that tradition and reinvention often collide in the most exhilarating ways.

Ultimately, what anchors the performance is Hart herself, braiding decades of blues tradition with her untamed vocal dynamism into something that, at least for those brief prophetic moments, defies being neatly categorized.

Performed at : The Ryman, Nashville, Tennessee

11 . Something’s Got . Hold On Me

There’s an undeniable electric charge running through Etta James’s 1962 track “Something’s Got a Hold on Me,” a song that demands your attention with its mix of R&B grit, bluesy depth, and gospel exuberance.

Etta’s voice moves with a feral kind of intensity, evoking a spiritual takeover that feels euphoric and a little dangerous, like a hymn brawling in a juke joint.

Written by James, Leroy Kirkland, and Pearl Woods, and brought to life by Leonard and Phil Chess on production, the track stands at the intersection of genres, refusing to settle comfortably into any one category, much like the artist herself.

Charting at number four on Billboard’s R&B list and making a modest appearance at number 37 on the Hot 100, it’s a success story that reflects the era’s limited embrace of black artistry in the mainstream despite an undeniable brilliance.

It’s been endlessly revisited—by Christina Aguilera in *Burlesque,* where it teeters toward glitzy karaoke, by Beth Hart and Joe Bonamassa on *Don’t Explain,* offering a gritty homage, and even sampled to glossy perfection in Avicii’s anthem “Levels” and Flo Rida’s inescapable “Good Feeling.”

The song’s enduring appeal lies in its adaptability while retaining that raw, almost holy sense of something bigger than itself—a quality best witnessed in James’s live 1963 performance at Nashville’s New Era Club, where the intimacy of her delivery lent it an urgency that transcended its studio origins.

Jumping a few decades ahead, Beth Hart’s live rendition at Bluesfest in Byron Bay is rougher, messier, and smeared with the sweat and grit of festival energy, further solidifying the track as music meant to be *felt,* not just heard.

The evolution of the song—from smoky bars and polished recording studios to massive pop hits and arena-festival renditions—captures both its timelessness and its occasional stumble into overexposure when removed too far from its raw, original form.

“Something’s Got a Hold on Me” remains a study in contrasts: a spiritually charged outcry that’s found a second life as a party anthem and sample fodder without losing the echoes of James’s indomitable spirit, still howling through all its iterations.

Performed at : Nocturnes RTL présentées par Georges Lang

12 . Catfish Blues (w/ Eric Gales)

There’s something peculiar about blues on a cruise ship—it feels like the genre’s raw grit washed clean by ocean breeze. Enter Eric Gales and Beth Hart, who performed “Catfish Blues” aboard the 2017 *Keeping The Blues Alive At Sea III* cruise, a setting as far removed as one might imagine from the Mississippi Delta’s traditions.

Eric Gales, often tagged as a modern Hendrix reincarnation, shares the stage here with Beth Hart, a vocalist whose growl can knock the salt right out of seawater. Gales, ever the prodigious showman, wrings every possible emotion from his guitar, pulling searing notes that seem to hang suspended before they hit. Hart’s vocals, meanwhile, sound as if conjured from a late-night speakeasy—the perfect foil for Gales’ mercurial playing.

For blues purists, this collaboration might spark a moment of cognitive dissonance. Gales’ tendency to sidle into rock-adjacent guitar histrionics contrasts with Hart’s fervent adherence to blues-inflected gospel stylings. Yet, that friction is precisely where the magic lies. Their performance pushes and pulls, never quite settling into one groove but instead simmering with electric unpredictability.

Though “Catfish Blues” is hardly a revolutionary choice—a staple for anyone from Muddy Waters to Hendrix—the song serves as a vehicle for the duo’s unique chemistry. Gales leads with riff-driven artistry, while Hart roars over the groove, her voice both commanding and unpretentious. By the closing bars, theirs is not a duet; it’s a conversation, punctuated by the audience’s palpable energy.

Context matters here, and the ocean liner itself creates an interesting juxtaposition. The blues, steeped in history and hardship, finds itself afloat on a luxury vessel, performing for fans sipping martinis and reclining in deck chairs. Yet, that odd incongruity doesn’t detract from the musicians’ commitment. If anything, the setting highlights blues’ strange versatility—a genre that refuses to stay stuck in place.

This performance leaves no lasting blueprint in Gales’ or Hart’s careers, nor does it reshape blues as a genre. What it does offer, though, is proof that the blues’ enduring appeal lies in its adaptability. This wasn’t a groundbreaking moment, but it didn’t need to be. Sometimes, it’s enough to witness two artists cut loose with a classic tune, even if it’s miles from the muddy waters it glorifies.

Performed at : “Keeping The Blues Alive At Sea III” Cruise