This week In One-Off Collaborations 06/52

1 . Angélique Kidjo & Buddy Guy – Voodoo Child

Angélique Kidjo and Buddy Guy’s performance of “Voodoo Child” during the 2003 event “The Blues spends the night at Radio City” marries disparate musical traditions while tethering itself firmly to the ethos of Hendrix’s original.

Kidjo, celebrated for blending Beninese Zilin vocals with global pop aesthetics, approaches the song not as a straightforward cover but as a translation. Her delivery straddles reverence for the source material and the impulse to reshape it through her own cultural lens. Yet, there’s an edge of tension; her intricate vocal phrasing occasionally collides with the song’s raw, blues-rock core, which under Hendrix’s reign was unapologetically muscular.

Buddy Guy, the evening’s blues patriarch, leans on the electric guitar to both anchor and elevate the performance. His playing is as emotive as ever, carrying both homage to Hendrix’s iconic riffs and his own distinctive sharpness. However, the interplay between Guy’s solos and Kidjo’s vocals sometimes stumbles into uneven terrain, with both vying for dominance in the sonic landscape.

In the song’s larger context—bookending Hendrix’s “Electric Ladyland” as its final track—this performance is ambitious but not always cohesive. The shimmering fusion of cultures is admirable, but it occasionally muddies the clarity of the original’s primal force. What remains, however, is a spirited reminder of the blues’ omnivorous adaptability, even if the seams of this patchwork show in places.

Lifted from : The Blues spends the night at Radio City (2003)

2 . Paul Simon & Chris Thile – Wristband (w/ Sarah Jarosz , Andrew Bird, Richard Dworsky , Punch Brothers, Ted Poor)

“Wristband,” the lead single from Paul Simon’s 2016 album “Stranger to Stranger,” may appear, at first blush, to hinge on an amusing anecdote—a rock musician denied entry to his own concert for lack of that flimsy yet essential accessory. But Simon, true to form, doesn’t let the humor rest at the surface. The titular wristband morphs into a sharp metaphor for societal barriers, quietly underscoring themes of exclusion and inequality with the deceptively light hand of a seasoned songwriter.

Premiering on NPR’s “Live from Here” with Chris Thile, the performance assembled a striking ensemble: Simon shared the stage with not only Thile and his Punch Brothers cohorts (Chris Eldridge, Paul Kowert, and Gabe Witcher) but also Sarah Jarosz, Andrew Bird, Richard Dworsky, and drummer Ted Poor. The arrangement was texturally rich, blending traditional acoustic instruments with a subtle electronic edge, a nod to Simon’s collaboration with Italian EDM artist Clap Clap!, whose synthetic beats and samples provide some buoyancy to the track.

Set in E♭ major in Mixolydian mode, the composition exudes a restless energy, with the melody teetering between casual charm and nagging unease. This tension mirrors the lyrical conceit—a small, absurd inconvenience that reflects larger societal fractures. The live version, however, gains an edge missing from the recorded track, as the ensemble injects intricate interplay into the grooves.

Notably, the song’s live rollout predated its studio release, including the February 2016 debut on “A Prairie Home Companion” and a later rendition on “Austin City Limits.” By the time “Wristband” climbed to #14 on the Adult Alternative Songs chart in May, it had evolved into a spirited commentary both musically infectious and thematically biting. Yet this isn’t a track of sweeping profundity—it plays within a tight lane, leaving space for humor and nuance but occasionally leaning too heavily on its playful premise. The contribution of handclaps and varied percussion (Jamey Haddad and the de los Reyes brothers deserve credit here) adds a tactile layer, but the real weight lands in Simon’s understated vocal phrasing, accentuated by Andy Snitzer’s saxophone and C.J. Camerieri’s subtle trumpet lines.

“Wristband” is less a manifesto than a well-crafted vignette—an amusing yet incisive commentary that thrives in live performance, even if its metaphor doesn’t always hit the intended depth. Smart, sly, and rhythmically compelling, it situates Simon in his familiar role: artist-as-observer, lightly jabbing at life’s ironies with a masterful flick of the wrist.

Lifted from : On TV today , Paul Simon at ‘A Prairie Home Companion’ (2016)

3 . Post Malone & Red Hot Chili Peppers – Stay, Rockstar, Dark Necessities

Post Malone and the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ performance at the 61st Grammy Awards feels like a deliberate juxtaposition of contemporary and classic—a sonic Venn diagram playing out onstage.

The set began with Post Malone’s “Stay,” where he perched with an acoustic guitar, channeling a stripped-down vulnerability reminiscent of a late-night busker’s heartfelt plea rather than the platinum-hit-machine persona found on “Beerbongs & Bentleys.” The track’s aching simplicity worked here, though its repetition called attention to the limited lyrical range, placing all the weight on Post’s raspy earnestness—an approach that teeters between raw and undercooked.

From there, “Rockstar” rolled in, shifting gears in both tempo and tone. If “Stay” was intimate, “Rockstar” was the roaring afterparty. Post went from contemplative troubadour to swaggering hitmaker with relative ease, though his live delivery of this megahit lacked the visceral sharpness of the record’s studio sheen. The abrupt jump in energy worked, but the transition felt like ripping a page out of two different books and shoving them into a scrapbook—visually arresting, yet thematically disjointed.

Then came the Red Hot Chili Peppers, bringing their distinctive splash of funk-rock to “Dark Necessities.” Off their 2016 album “The Getaway,” it’s a song preloaded with the Chili Peppers’ signature propulsion: Flea’s elastic basslines and Chad Smith’s no-nonsense rhythms anchored Anthony Kiedis’ sing-talk vocal delivery. While the pairing with Post Malone’s more static vocal style didn’t necessarily clash, it felt like the kind of experiment more apt for rehearsal than primetime. The band’s infectious energy, embodied in Flea’s boundless enthusiasm, kept things from veering into awkward territory, though Josh Klinghoffer’s restrained guitar presence underlined just how much of the improvisational spirit the Peppers have lost in recent years.

What this performance undoubtedly accomplished was to underscore Post Malone’s adaptability. Moving from acoustic folk-pop to trap-infused rap and then into funk-laced rock, he proved himself a genre chameleon—if not always convincingly. For the Chili Peppers, it was less a revelation and more a reminder that their consistency is both a blessing and a crutch, as their contributions here felt both vibrant and overly familiar.

The audience’s 15-million-strong reaction online signals clear enthusiasm for this musical odd couple, but the collaboration ultimately felt more like a Grammy experiment than a transformative moment. Both artists stayed true to their niches without fully meeting in the middle, which is where a true collaboration might have lived.

Lifted from : Post Malone sits in with Red Hot Chili Peppers at the Grammys (2019)

4 . Sharon Stone & Aerosmith – Walk This Way

The 2019 performance of “Walk This Way” at Steven Tyler’s Second Annual GRAMMY Awards Viewing Party offers a curious mashup of nostalgia, spectacle, and charity.

Originally penned by Tyler and Joe Perry for Aerosmith’s 1975 album “Toys in the Attic,” the track carved its legacy with a swaggering blend of hard rock and funk-laced riffs, peaking at number 10 on the Billboard Hot 100 by 1977.

Its second life arrived via the now-iconic 1986 collaboration with Run-DMC, vaulting into the Billboard Top 5 and bridging the gap between rock and hip-hop in a way that felt both seismic and slyly inevitable, a collision of genres that reshaped pop landscapes.

In this live iteration, the inclusion of Sharon Stone on harmonica and impromptu dance duty is both eyebrow-raising and oddly fitting—a glammed-up side act in a performance already banking heavily on its heritage status.

Whatever Stone’s musical contributions lack in polish, they play second fiddle to the undeniable charisma that she and Tyler bring to the stage, making up for technical lapses with sheer audacity.

The setting itself—a lavish benefit for Janie’s Fund, Tyler’s initiative supporting girls affected by abuse—adds an air of gravitas, with the $2.8 million raised providing a stark counterpoint to the raucous theatrics.

Still, there’s a sense that “Walk This Way” now walks a fine line between ageless classic and over-idealized emblem of its genre-blurring glory days.

This 2019 rendition succeeds as a fundraiser and campy one-off rather than as a musical statement in its own right, embodying both the enduring strengths and faint cracks in the song’s lengthy legacy.

Lifted from : Aerosmith rock and Sharon Stone walks in (2019)

5 . Slash & Carole King – Locomotion

The pairing of Carole King’s classic songwriting with Slash’s undeniable guitar swagger creates an intriguing entry in the long legacy of “The Loco-Motion.”

Originally penned in 1962 by Gerry Goffin and King herself, the track first launched Little Eva, King’s then-teenage babysitter turned singer, onto the Billboard Hot 100 summit, where it reigned triumphantly before hanging in the Top 40 for a formidable 12 weeks. A million-seller back then, the song’s train metaphor was already a powerhouse engine chugging across American airwaves.

Carole King’s own 1980 version, found on her “Pearls: Songs of Goffin and King” album, offers a meditative detour through its slowed-down piano intro. It’s less about the sock-hop energy of Little Eva or later renditions and more about King reclaiming the tune as a mature reflection on its roots. The traditional ending, true to form, keeps the ride smooth even when the pacing shifts gears.

Fast forward to 1994, King revisits the song live with Slash, the quintessential rock counterweight, bringing a fiery, high-energy rebranding. His guitar tears through the familiar melody like a freight train barreling past stale nostalgia, reconfirming the song’s enduring flexibility.

With its many covers—like Grand Funk Railroad’s funk-infused Billboard-topping turn in the mid-‘70s and Kylie Minogue’s slick synth-pop reboot that dominated Australian charts in the ‘80s—this rhythmic juggernaut has proven uncannily adaptable. Few tracks earn the rare honor of U.S. #1 hits for two artists or top-three appearances across three distinct decades.

In all iterations—whether piano introspecting, guitar roaring, or Minogue’s electronic polish—“The Loco-Motion” keeps its dance-song pedigree while continually reinventing which passengers it lets on board.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Carole King

6 . Marianne Faithfull & Bill Frisell – Broken English

“Broken English,” the title track of Marianne Faithfull’s 1979 album, is a sharp, unapologetic commentary on terrorism in Europe, explicitly dedicated to Ulrike Meinhof, a name synonymous with Red Army Faction militancy.

Originally steeped in the punk-pop aesthetic of the late ’70s, the song confronts its weighty themes with a rawness reflective of the era’s cultural upheaval. It was released as a single in January 1980, accompanying its parent album’s unforgiving sonic landscape.

By 2013, Faithfull revisits this chilling opus, performing it live with Bill Frisell during Yoko Ono’s Meltdown Festival at Queen Elizabeth Hall, stripping it bare of its punk dynamism in exchange for Frisell’s understated, atmospheric touch. The live rendition becomes an exercise in contrast, where Faithfull’s weathered voice interprets the original’s urgency through a lens of retrospective detachment, underscored by Frisell’s delicate guitar work.

This later version eschews the overt angst of its initial incarnation, favoring an approach quieter but no less haunting. While the 1979 remix and even the 2008 unofficial remix by Baron von Luxxury aimed to keep the track club-friendly, this 2013 arrangement is far removed from dancefloors, residing instead in the realm of introspective performance art, drained of immediacy but heavy with gravitas.

That said, the live iteration raises questions about what is sacrificed in the transition. The punk-pop edge of the original—a product steeped in its time—finds itself replaced with a reflective melancholy, welcome though it may be for some, perhaps lacking for others who long for its original bite.

Lifted from : Bill Frisell backs Marianne Faithfull (2013)

7 . Candy Dulfer & Trijntje Oosterhuis – If I Had A Hammer (w/ Jan Van Duikeren, Hans Dulfer)

“If I Had A Hammer (The Hammer Song),” as reinterpreted by Candy Dulfer and Trijntje Oosterhuis during a 2017 concert at a Dutch club, lands somewhere between homage and reinvention.

Candy Dulfer, a Grammy-nominated saxophonist with a résumé glittering from collaborations with the likes of Prince and Van Morrison, adds her unmistakable touch to Pete Seeger and Lee Hays’ civil rights-era classic. Her saxophone smolders and swirls around the familiar melody, bridging protest-era folk with a contemporary jazz sensibility. Alongside her, Trijntje Oosterhuis—who balances her pop credentials from Total Touch with solo ventures like representing the Netherlands at Eurovision 2015—provides her vocal take on the classic. Her delivery teeters on the edge of power and restraint, a balancing act that doesn’t always feel wholly convincing.

The live context adds layers of charm. Jan Van Duikeren’s trumpet occasionally elbows for space, a sharp and spirited counterpart to Dulfer’s saxophone. Hans Dulfer, Candy’s father and a veteran jazz saxophonist, makes his presence felt too, though the familial synergy at times leans into indulgence rather than cohesion. The chemistry is there, but it’s occasionally unguarded to the point of resembling artists conversing past one another instead of harmonizing.

What stands out most is the inherent versatility—whether by intention or instinct, these musicians seem aware of the song’s malleability. Yet, the performance sometimes struggles under the weight of its own ambitions, as though unsure if it’s reaching for social nostalgia or sonic experimentation. It’s neither flawless nor forgettable—a rendition that thrives in its messiness more than its polish.

Lifted from : Candy, Trijntje et al swing at the Dutch club (2017)

8 . Dionne Warwick & Chuck Jackson – If I Let Myself Go

Dionne Warwick and Chuck Jackson’s 1998 rendition of “If I Let Myself Go,” arranged by Charles Wallert, carries the weight of history while attempting to modernize its roots.

Originally released by Evelyn “Champagne” King in 1985 on her album “A Long Time Coming,” the song finds itself reimagined in the hands of two seasoned vocalists. Featured on Chuck Jackson’s 1997 album “I’ll Never Get Over You,” the track enters a sonic space both polished and restrained, with Wallert’s arrangement keeping it firmly in the adult contemporary lane—an approach that likely contributed to its climb to number 19 on the Gavin Adult Contemporary Charts. Yet, in this careful curation, some of the original vibrancy feels distilled, leaving the duet textured but subdued.

Performed live on Comedy Central’s “Viva Variety” in 1998, their televised interpretation underscores the duet’s blend of nostalgia and professionalism. Sharing an episode with comedian Mark Faje and actor Chester Cable is an unlikely juxtaposition for such a melodically earnest piece, and one wonders if the song’s emotional resonance might have found better footing elsewhere.

Contextually, the pairing of Warwick, a five-time Grammy winner entrenched in pop and soul traditions, with Jackson, an early architect of Burt Bacharach and Hal David material, is a deliberate nod to their legacy. While Warwick brings her characteristic finesse, Jackson’s delivery leans towards familiarity rather than risk, creating a dynamic that feels comfortable but rarely electrifying.

Functioning as both homage and showcase, “If I Let Myself Go” walks a fine line between reverence for its origins and an unwillingness to break new ground. It’s music for reflective moments, if not necessarily a bold statement from two storied careers.

Lifted from : On TV today , Dionne Warwick with Chuck Jackson (1998)

9 . Norah Jones , Willie Nelson & Wynton Marsalis – You Are My Sunshine

“You Are My Sunshine,” as performed by Norah Jones, Willie Nelson, and Wynton Marsalis, takes a well-worn classic and filters it through the dual lens of jazz and country, echoing the guiding spirit of their live album, “Here We Go Again: Celebrating the Genius of Ray Charles.”

Recorded at the Rose Theater in New York City during February 2009 concerts, this version occupies a peculiar space between reverence and reimagining, rendered with the unmistakable warmth of live performance and framed as a Barnes & Noble-exclusive bonus track upon the album’s 2011 release.

Jones, whose serene vocal delivery is nothing if not distinct, imbues the piece with her signature restraint—so much that its emotional resonance appears deliberately undercut, like sunlight filtered through thick curtains. Willie Nelson, often a master of conversational phrasing, arguably veers toward the languid, his delivery blending into the mix like smoke dispersing in the humid air of a Southern evening.

Wynton Marsalis’s trumpet, though undoubtedly technical, risks feeling like the over-sculpted ornamentation of an already simple melody. Yet, the arrangement itself neatly aligns with the tribute’s mission—acknowledging Ray Charles’ ability to blur genre lines—offering a composition that balances its jazz and country roots without quite thriving in either.

This rendition might lack the grit or fervor of Ray Charles’ standards like “What’d I Say” or “Hit the Road Jack,” but its inclusion alongside tracks such as “Hallelujah I Love Her So” reminds us of the team’s ambition to traverse the Charles repertoire as widely as possible. Recorded in high definition and later released as part of a documentary on Blu-Ray and DVD, their collective aim is clear, even when the results can feel more like a soft homage than a bold statement.

Lifted from : Norah, Wynton & Willie pay tribute to Ray Charles (2009)

10 . Gregory Porter & Laura Mvula – Water Under Bridges

“Water Under Bridges,” from the deluxe edition of Gregory Porter’s Grammy-winning album “Liquid Spirit,” walks a fine line between revisiting classic influences and aiming for contemporary relevance. Recorded in Paris under the careful ear of Troy Miller, Laura Mvula’s producer, the track exudes an air of restraint, as if unsure whether to bask in its emotional weight or play it safe.

The opening—a delicate blend of acoustic guitar and Rhodes/Wurlitzer piano—leans heavily on the shadow of Bill Withers, evoking a sense of nostalgia that feels both deliberate and somewhat derivative. The progression into swirling organ and brushed drums pushes the arrangement into a 90s RnB territory, but rather than standing out, it tiptoes within the boundaries of genre conventions, offering familiarity over daring exploration.

Porter and Mvula’s vocal interplay is undoubtedly the focal point, their contrasting tones creating a textured, albeit predictable, sonic dialogue. The chemistry works, yet their delivery occasionally feels more like a polished exercise in technique than an unguarded emotional exchange. Both performers hold back just enough to keep the track from venturing into truly arresting territory.

Part of an album certified gold in the UK and adorned with a Grammy for Best Jazz Vocal Album, “Water Under Bridges” carried the promotional momentum of “Liquid Spirit” rather than carving out its own accolades—it remains a quiet addition to an already acclaimed collection. One wonders if its lack of chart traction stems from this very conservatism, as ambition and risk take a backseat to glossy competency.

The live history of this duet—originating from an impromptu iTunes Festival performance in 2014—speaks to its roots in spontaneity, ironically missing from the studio version’s calculated sheen. There’s no denying the effort behind the pairing, but much like the bonus live DVD with the Metropole Orchestra, it’s hard to escape the sense that “Water Under Bridges” is a decorative appendix rather than an indispensable chapter.

Lifted from : On English TV today,Gregory Porter meets Laura Mvula (2015)

11 . Paul McCartney , Joe Walsh & Diana Krall – My Valentine

“My Valentine,” from Paul McCartney’s 2012 album “Kisses on the Bottom,” is a subdued yet intricately crafted love song that leans heavily on atmosphere over melodic ambition.

Written for Nancy Shevell, his third wife, the track reflects a moment of introspection during a rainy day in Morocco, evoking a cinematic quality that feels both personal and universal. The piece owes its lush texture partly to Diana Krall’s gentle piano work and rhythm arrangements, which provide a steady backbone, while Eric Clapton’s understated guitar adds flashes of wistful brilliance. The orchestral arrangement by Alan Broadbent further drapes the song in a soft, sepia-toned glow that skirts just shy of sentimentality.

Production by Tommy LiPuma steers this effort into a jazz-inflected terrain, though the result feels more reverent than daring. Karriem Riggins’ drumming lends subtle structure without intruding, keeping the mood restrained yet polished. McCartney’s live performance at the 54th Annual Grammy Awards in 2012 with Diana Krall and Joe Walsh demonstrates the cohesiveness of the ensemble, though the song itself doesn’t entirely break free from its studio-bound elegance.

The music video, directed by McCartney and featuring Natalie Portman and Johnny Depp, amplifies the understated romanticism with its minimalistic aesthetic—a fitting complement to the song’s quiet intimacy. Charting modestly at number 20 on the *Billboard* Adult Contemporary Chart and other international lists, “My Valentine” finds an audience, though its unassuming nature limits its reach to broader listeners.

Though steeped in nostalgia and sincerity, the song treads a fine line between timeless and overly safe, its charms largely relying on the synergy of its high-profile collaborators. While its origins—a rainy Moroccan day and echoes of McCartney’s father’s era—enrich the song’s narrative, the final product, while pleasant, seldom ventures beyond its meticulously curated framework.

Lifted from : Diana Krall meets Paul McCartney (2012)

12 . Lou Rawls & Stanley Turrentine – Stormy Monday

“(They Call It) Stormy Monday” on Lou Rawls’ debut album, “Stormy Monday,” is a reminder that even classic reinterpretations can resist being mere imitations.

Recorded in February 1962 at Capitol Studios in Los Angeles, the track pairs Rawls’ luxurious baritone with the breezy precision of the Les McCann Trio, offering a cool jazz spin on T-Bone Walker’s 1947 original.

This version doesn’t veer far from the twelve-bar blues framework but exchanges some of its grit for a carefully tailored West Coast jazz polish, reflecting the LA music scene of the early ’60s.

McCann’s arrangements lean into clean piano lines and understated rhythm work that give Rawls enough room to stretch his vocal expressions. Still, this spaciousness is both a strength and a limitation.

While the relaxed tempo allows Rawls to showcase his interpretative control, it occasionally risks melting into a kind of sonic background, losing some of the immediacy that makes the blues compelling.

Produced by Nick Venet, the album itself feels like an early laboratory for Rawls, offering glimpses of the versatility that would later drive hits like 1966’s “Love Is a Hurtin’ Thing.”

And though this reissue gained attention in 1990 through Blue Note, including an alternate take of the track, this isn’t a reinvention of blues but an experiment in reshaping its atmosphere.

There’s care in updating the familiar, but for listeners seeking the raw tension of Walker’s rendition, this version carries a sense of restraint that feels more curious than cathartic.

Lifted from : Lou Rawls records his debut album : ‘Stormy Monday’ a.k.a. ‘I’d Rather Drink Muddy Water’ with the Les McCann trio (1962)