This week In One-Off Collaborations 03/52

1 . Roger Waters & Eric Clapton . Wish You Were Here

The 2005 acoustic rendition of Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here,” performed by Roger Waters and Eric Clapton, marries gravitas with nostalgia, an alchemy perfect for a fundraising spectacle like “Tsunami Aid: A Concert of Hope.”

Originally a melancholic love letter to estranged bandmate Syd Barrett, the song’s haunting melody and Gilmour-Waters lyrical craftsmanship gained a fresh poignancy here, repurposed to honor victims of an unimaginable tragedy.

Clapton, known for his fretboard finesse, lends a restrained elegance rather than stealing the show, letting the song’s bittersweet sentiment shine through quietly reflective guitar lines.

Meanwhile, Waters—often accused of excess—delivers a minimalist vocal performance, channeling sincerity over showmanship.

The studio backdrop, sterile compared to a roaring stadium, forces intimacy that works to the song’s favor, stripping it of grandeur but amplifying its emotional resonance.

Backup singers hover in the mix, a controversial addition for purists, yet they enrich the arrangement’s sense of community—perhaps emblematic of the cause.

Culturally, collaborations like these transcend music fandoms, bridging classic rock puritans and mainstream audiences, and even for skeptics, there’s undeniable potency in two icons using art as a balm for collective wounds.

Lifted from : Eric, Roger, Gloria et al perform for the Tsunami victims (2005)

2 . Tommy Emmanuel & John Knowles . I Can’t Stop Loving You

“I Can’t Stop Loving You” by Tommy Emmanuel and John Knowles finds itself wedged between sentimentality and technical mastery, a hallmark of their 2019 album “Heart Songs.”

Originally penned by Don Gibson in 1958, the song carries a nostalgia that’s difficult to escape; you can almost hear the longing across decades of reinterpretations, from Ray Charles to now this instrumental rendition. But instead of leaning into pathos, Emmanuel and Knowles wield their fingerstyle guitars to pull the track into a precise, almost austere celebration of craftsmanship.

The setting of EastWest Studios in Los Angeles—musical Valhalla for many artists—injects an air of sophistication, as if the spirits of past recordings guide each note. Yet, somehow, their live version at The Franklin Theatre on February 23, 2019, elevates the experience. The unfussy interplay between their guitars feels more alive, less polished, more humanly flawed—in a good way. Call it less of a performance, more of a communal sigh.

The Paste Studios session on January 15, 2019, strips the song to its essence: two men sitting with guitars, unraveling decades of shared musical DNA. It’s intimate, though never casual. They treat the material with reverence, yet avoid drowning it in saccharine indulgence. It’s neither a reinvention nor a mere replication—it’s a meditation on the bonds of love and music themselves.

Lifted from : Tommy Emmanuel . John Knowles meet at Paste Studios (2019)

3 . Ryuichi Sakamoto & Caetano Veloso . Lindeza (w/ Jaques Morelenbaum)

“Lindeza” finds itself suspended delicately between continents and cultures, a musical postcard penned by Ryuichi Sakamoto and Caetano Veloso, with a poignant flourish from Jaques Morelenbaum’s cello.

The track sits quietly on Veloso’s 1992 album, “Circuladô,” refusing to clamor for attention but effortlessly drawing notice with its understated charm.

Sakamoto’s piano-lines unravel like measured breaths, weaving seamlessly with Veloso’s characteristically melodic softness, while Morelenbaum’s cello adds a wistful ache—almost like a third voice in the conversation.

The song sidesteps grand gestures, nestling into a space where Brazilian saudade subtly converses with Japanese minimalism.

It’s a song that doesn’t build to a climax or vie for a memorable hook, instead offering a steady hum of intimacy and restraint.

Listeners expecting fireworks may feel shortchanged, but those attuned to its quiet precision might discover its muted beauty.

There’s a quiet rebellion in its refusal to fit neatly into a genre or to over-explain its own existence—fitting, perhaps, for collaborators from such different musical spheres.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Ryuichi Sakamoto. ‘Yellow Magic Solo’

4 . Junior Walker & Buddy Miles . Mystery Train

“Mystery Train” stands as a blues cornerstone, first etched into history by Junior Parker in 1953.

The song’s opening verse shifts a well-trodden folk sentiment into new territory, transforming “The train arrived sixteen coaches long” into the more personal, “The train I ride sixteen coaches long.”

This clever reworking hints at Parker’s knack for bending tradition to suit his vision, yet the track failed to chart during its initial run.

Elvis Presley’s 1955 rendition strips the original down to raw urgency, propelled by Scotty Moore’s blending of riffs borrowed from both Parker’s “Love My Baby” and Merle Travis’ “Sixteen Tons.”

Ironically, a B-side to the more forgettable “I Forgot to Remember to Forget,” this version barreled its way into cultural significance, ultimately climbing Rolling Stone’s illustrious list of the 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.

In later decades, The Band rendered their interpretation on “Moondog Matinee,” injecting robust, rootsy textures into a track already thick with history.

Their allegiance to the song culminated in a live collaboration with Paul Butterfield on “The Last Waltz,” a performance that fused blues reverence with rock ‘n’ roll swagger.

Junior Walker and Buddy Miles, through their saxophone-and-drum-laden tribute to Junior Wells, imbue the song with a rugged charm, serving as a nod to the era of blues when music felt more like a lifeline than an industry.

“Mystery Train” has had many conductors, but its cargo—a blend of longing, folklore, and invention—remains firmly on track.

Lifted from : We remember Junior Wells. ‘Blowing In The Harp’

5 . Etta James & Chuck Berry . Rock N’ Roll Music

Chuck Berry’s “Rock and Roll Music” is the raw emblem of 1950s energy, a two-minute and thirty-five-second manifesto for anyone who ever thought rhythm should come with a bite.

Berry’s original recording, propelled by Lafayette Leake’s piano and Willie Dixon’s bass, is a deliberate chaos of riffs and growls designed to make jukeboxes sweat.

But the narrative doesn’t end in 1957; the song lives multiple lives. The Beatles’ 1964 version polishes the edges without dulling the mood, their harmonization tugging it closer to clean-cut pop.

By the time The Beach Boys landed it on *15 Big Ones* in 1976, the song became a more theatrical throwback, better suited for nostalgia than rebellion, though it hit No. 5 on the charts as if to laugh at rock purists wincing in the background.

Then there’s the 1987 performance: Berry calling and Etta James answering like two forces magnetized by rhythm and a bit of mischief at the Fox Theatre.

Here, James injects vocal swagger into Berry’s familiar lines, reminding everyone that rock and roll doesn’t belong to one voice, one chart position, or one decade.

The stage is shared with Keith Richards’ guitar riffs, an understated homage to the wild ancestry of the genre, and Steve Jordan’s tight drumming that feels like a spiked heartbeat.

The true magic lies in its simplicity—two chords, barely fussed over, and words that don’t mince themselves. It’s a song that understands its own restlessness and asks only one thing in return: play it loud.

Lifted from : We remember Etta James. Etta Lasts

6 . Beth Hart & Joe Bonamassa . I’d Rather Go Blind

“I’d Rather Go Blind,” as reimagined by Beth Hart and Joe Bonamassa, is less of a cover and more of a recalibration of emotional intensity. Originally penned by Ellington Jordan and Billy Foster, and immortalized by Etta James, this rendition finds its footing in a live 2012 performance etched into collective memory through the duo’s release, “Live in Amsterdam.” With exquisite timing and theatrics, Hart’s raw, heart-on-her-sleeve delivery clashes beautifully with Bonamassa’s incisive guitar work, creating a friction that crackles with unfiltered emotion.

The setting—a grand stage steeped in history at Amsterdam’s Koninklijk Theater Carré—provides the perfect backdrop for a performance soaked in longing and vulnerability. Backed by seasoned pros like Anton Fig and Carmine Rojas, the song doesn’t just aim to replicate its iconic origins; it reconstructs them. The swelling horn section underscores moments of ache, while Bonamassa’s guitar adds jagged edges to the track’s dusky elegance.

But what sets this iteration apart is Hart’s unabashed vocal gymnastics, moving effortlessly from hushed croons to growls that sound like they could unravel the heavens. If anything, the chemistry between Hart and Bonamassa teeters on unspoken tension—a slow burn that builds but never bursts, leaving audiences suspended in that space between heartache and connection. Whether an homage or an experiment in reinterpretation, this live rendition amplifies what was a gem in the blues canon into a theatrical, almost operatic spectacle.

Lifted from : Beth Hart sits in with Joe Bonamassa and RCFP (2012)

7 . Ray Charles, Andy Williams, Cass Elliot & Elton John . Heaven Help Us All

In 1971, the televised performance of “Heaven Help Us All” delivered a curious convergence of talents: Ray Charles, Andy Williams, Cass Elliot, and Elton John, none of whom are traditionally tied to the original recording by Stevie Wonder.

This collaboration is a patchwork of artistic temperaments, blending Charles’ raw, emotive delivery, Williams’ crooner suaveness, Elliot’s rich timbre, and John’s theatrical edge. Whether this melange succeeds is debatable, but it is undeniably intriguing.

The song itself, composed by Ron Miller, carries a gospel-flavored urgency that thrives on impassioned delivery and communal fervor. Matching Wonder’s devotional intensity is hardly a straightforward task.

The broadcast walks a fine line between inspired experiment and unwieldy spectacle. Each artist attempts to leave their imprint, yet the unified delivery arguably falters. Williams and John seem slightly out of their depth; Elliot provides warmth, while Charles channels the weight of the song’s themes most effectively.

Though uneven in execution, the performance underscores the elasticity of music’s intersections—a moment suspended between reverence and showbiz eccentricity. Whether this blend enriches or dilutes the song depends on how one values audacious, if imperfect, reinterpretations.

Lifted from : On TV today, Ray, Andy, Cass . Elton share . gospel (1971)

8 . Mick Taylor & Jack Bruce . Keep It Down

Originating from Jack Bruce’s 1974 album “Out Of The Storm,” “Keep It Down” pairs the musical dexterity of a post-Cream Jack Bruce with the fluid guitar lines of Mick Taylor, fresh from his tenure with The Rolling Stones.

The song itself sits firmly in the blues-rock territory but comes laced with a layer of jazzy intricacy that’s both compelling and oddly understated. Jack Bruce’s vocal delivery is raw yet melodic, skirting the line between vulnerability and command, while Taylor’s guitar work weaves between languid phrasing and staccato bursts of energy.

Performed live on BBC’s “The Old Grey Whistle Test” in 1975, it offers viewers a rare glimpse into a fleeting collaboration that never quite got its studio due. Carla Bley’s understated keyboard runs and Bruce Gary’s no-fuss drumming round out a sound both cohesive and exploratory, though its rough edges suggest the short-lived nature of this band’s cohesion.

Though not widely heralded, this track encapsulates a specific moment in mid-’70s rock where boundary-pushing was still an instinct, not a marketing gimmick. It’s not perfect by any means—moments feel meandering—but the overall effect is that of musicians piecing together something precariously caught between brilliance and disarray.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Mick Taylor. ‘My Taylor Is Mick’

9 . Joe Perry, Slash & Johnny Depp . Train Kept . Rollin’

Joe Perry, Slash, and Johnny Depp’s rendition of “Train Kept A Rollin’” pulls a 1951 blues-jump classic straight off the tracks and tosses it into the rumble of rock spectacle. Originally a bouncy number carried by Tiny Bradshaw’s smooth scat lines and Red Prysock’s saxophone swagger, the song has evolved through the decades into a distortion-soaked rite of passage for shredders everywhere. By the time it reached Johnny Burnette and the Rock and Roll Trio in 1956, the guitar was king, sparking a rework that leaned heavy on grit and groove. The Yardbirds hammered it further into the annals of rock history in 1965, creating a frenzied anthem of British rebellion against its American roots.

Fast-forward to 2018, where Perry, Slash, and Depp bring their swaggering personas to this well-hooned relic during a live set at The Roxy. Perry drives the locomotive, wielding his wah-laden riffs, while Slash layers his signature melodic grit over the chaos, all accented by Depp’s cinematic cool. This performance isn’t so much a reinvention as it is a celebration of excess, with three larger-than-life figures taking a turn at the wheel of a track more traveled than they’d care to admit. Whatever venom these three inject is less about authenticity and more about spirit—a rock extravaganza with an oversized dose of nostalgia for anyone willing to board the train. Sure, it’s indulgent, but at least it wears its indulgence unapologetically.

Lifted from : Slash . Johnny Depp et al sit in with Joe Perry (2018)

10 . Bono & Johnny Depp . Rainy Night In Soho

Bono and Johnny Depp’s rendition of “A Rainy Night in Soho” at Shane MacGowan’s 60th birthday bash is anything but ordinary.

Performed at Dublin’s National Concert Hall in January 2018, this version of the Pogues’ cult classic transformed the night into a unique blend of reverence and spectacle.

The collaboration is a notable spectacle in itself—Bono, the diplomatic rockstar voice of U2, and Johnny Depp, Hollywood’s long-time bohemian, sharing the same stage.

Depp handles the guitar, though calling him a virtuoso might be stretching it, while Bono predictably leans into his soaring presence, giving the Pogues’ melancholic gem an unexpected dose of stadium bravado.

Surrounding acts like Sinéad O’Connor and Nick Cave lent the star-studded event a jagged, emotive edge, yet this particular performance felt like a deliberate shift in tone—a well-lit moment in an otherwise smoky celebration of MacGowan’s raw artistry.

The song itself is a masterclass in contradictions: both tender and defiant, capable of evoking joy even as its lyrics mourn lost love and moments.

It’s worth noting that “A Rainy Night in Soho” exists in various forms—a point of contention between MacGowan and producer Elvis Costello, who quibbled so fiercely over instrumentation that multiple versions (cornet vs. oboe) were released.

The song’s cultural afterlife is equally layered: Nick Cave’s moody interpretation as a B-side in the ’90s gave it yet another lens, and he performed it again in 2023 at MacGowan’s funeral, adjusting some of the lyrics into a poignant goodbye.

As for Bono and Depp’s effort? It’s a curiosity rather than a revelation—a meeting of star power and heartfelt intention that never quite captures the song’s innate ache but still stands as a fitting salute to MacGowan’s chaotic brilliance.

Lifted from : Bono, Johnny, Nick et al celebrate Shane MacGowan’s 60th birtday (2018)

11 . Brandi Carlile & Audioslave . Like . Stone

“Like a Stone” is a track that catapults you into a meditative state with its somber tone and existential musings.

Originally crafted by Audioslave, the song pairs Chris Cornell’s distinctive vocal grit with the band’s heavy yet melodic precision.

The 2003 release proved to be a touchstone for modern rock, resonating with audiences enough to dominate rock charts and even find footing on the more mile-wide Billboard Hot 100.

Its lyrical focus on the afterlife, rather than celestial rewards, marks an introspection that feels uniquely human, sidestepping dogma for raw vulnerability.

The instrumental arrangement teeters between restraint and eruption, with the haunting verses leading to a guitar solo that feels less like showmanship and more like an unraveling cry from deep within.

Fast forward to 2019, Brandi Carlile’s rendition of the song during the “I Am the Highway” tribute concert does more than just reawaken the track—it stitches Cornell’s absence into the performance like an unspoken elegy.

Singing alongside Audioslave members, Carlile injects her own emotional honesty into the track, but never strays from the shadow of its creator, making her performance less about reinterpretation and more about preservation.

The cultural weight of a supergroup like Audioslave meeting Carlile’s folksy edge creates a tension that feels electric, especially in front of an audience gathered to honor a fallen icon.

And then there’s the music video, a peculiar artifact of its time, kaleidoscopic yet rooted, now a billion-viewed relic that grants the song its visual permanence.

Its subdued setting mirrors the solitude of the song’s themes, illustrating a point: not all rock is about rebellion—some of it humbles you with the inevitable.

Lifted from : They all pay tribute to Chris Cornell in LA (2019)

12 . Angelique Kidjo, Dianne Reeves & Lizz Wright . Sing The Truth

“Sing the Truth” is less a concert and more a vibrant meeting of musical minds, channeling the spirit of iconic female artists through uniquely personal interpretations.

Angelique Kidjo, Dianne Reeves, and Lizz Wright unite under this banner, their voices weaving effortlessly through decades of musical history.

Originating from an homage to Nina Simone, the project retains its roots in tradition but stretches boldly across genres like jazz, gospel, and funk.

Kidjo, a genre-defying powerhouse from Benin, injects the show with her unmistakable blend of ancestral storytelling and modern energy, reminding listeners that music, when wielded well, transcends borders.

Reeves, a masterful jazz technician, adds a richness to every note, her Grammy-studded career serving as a testament less to accolades than to tangible nuance and ability.

Wright, Georgia-born and gospel-nurtured, brings a raw emotionality that grounds the performances in humanity and warmth, her interpretations tethered by the spiritual undertones of her upbringing.

While the tour highlights the legacies of Makeba, Lincoln, Holiday, and more, it never descends into mere replication; instead, each song is a reimagining, refracted through the perspectives of the performers.

A particular standout is their rendering of Makeba’s works, brimming with an Afrocentric vitality that respects its origins while upending convention to meet the present day.

Backed by an all-star ensemble—Geri Allen’s restrained brilliance on piano and keyboards, Terri Lyne Carrington’s rhythmic intuition on drums, James Genus’s undulating basslines, and Romero Lubambo’s intricate guitar work—the performances feel grounded yet expansive.

In Sydney, 2013, this energy spilled into the crowd, transforming the room into a shared moment of collective admiration and rediscovery.

Rather than lingering in nostalgia, these artists breathe life into the music, ensuring it resonates as dynamically in 2013 as it might have decades ago.

It’s not a formal lesson in history, nor a perfect encapsulation of its forebears—it doesn’t try to be.

“Sing the Truth” thrives because it blends reverence and reinvention, striving to be both a tribute and a conversation with the past.

Lifted from : Angelique Kidjo . Dianne Reeves & Lizz Wright meet in Sydney (2013)