Ellington

Chances are that if you own an acoustic guitar, fate has at one time forced you to become "that guy"—the one standing with said instrument, inviting public criticism. Now, you may have had a perfectly good reason for lugging your instrument of choice into a crowded coffee shop or other population-packed place, but the immediate assumption is usually that you—reprehensible, guitar-owning you—have a sociopathic thirst for undivided attention.

That is, unless you can play a John Mayer song, in which case love and admiration abound.

I found myself in that unfortunate role several times while attending Mississippi College. A friend would ask me to bring my guitar to "jam" at the on-campus coffee shop called Jazzman's—though I found it sorely lacking in jazz and, many times, also lacking in "man"—as most students preferred to walk to the nearby Cups Espresso Cafe. Inevitably because my friends were either slower or less time-conscious than I was, I'd be left waiting for them outside for long enough that someone would ask me to play a John Mayer song.

When people learned that I didn't know or simply couldn't play their request, they'd shuffle away with all of the intrinsic sadness of a Charlie Brown special. And then, another person would ask me to play "Wagon Wheel" by Old Crow Medicine Show, which I did know but wasn't aware that it fell just shy of "Free Bird" in the inexplicable number of times folks demanded them.

Some musicians and music lovers say should always make it a point to know all current guitar-centric hits, like "Ho Hey" by The Lumineers or "Little Talks" by Of Monsters and Men. Apparently, with any song prominently featuring the word "Hey," it is likely that someone will request it.

I don't mind being asked to play a song, so long as the person asking doesn't mind if I can't.

The thing that I plainly dislike is the concept that a musician owes the world a cover song or is required to know a particular tune to appease others. But as dissatisfying as being "that guy" can feel for one person, it's often much, much worse for bands.

As you might guess from the terminology, "original" acts don't usually revel in the idea of spending valuable practice time to cover Katy Perry's "Hot N Cold." In terms of artistic expression, it's hard to deny the banality of that effort. Developing music takes time and a careful coordination of members' schedules, and I know that, personally, I'd much rather spend my dwindling free time to perfect a song that I can put my heart and soul into crafting.

I don't intend to belittle cover bands by any means; it takes plenty of talent to take requests and deliver faithful renditions of familiar songs. It is a great way to draw a crowd and can definitely be a good time. Performing "Don't Stop Believin'," "Wonderwall" and "Dream On" in such rapid succession that you cause crowd-wide whiplash is pretty impressive in its own right. But what about when the newness, significance or just unadulterated bizarreness of those covers your band spent hours painstakingly studying and rearranging wears off?

Instead, most groups prefer to insert covers as a treat near the end of the show, or spread sparingly throughout—a nod to say, "Thanks for at least slightly bobbing your head along to what we wrote." In fact, because covers have become such a staple of local bands and lesser-knowns, many audience members come expecting something that they can sing along with by the end of a set. And nothing's easier than belting out a song you already know.

Make no mistake about cover songs. They're gimmicks, albeit acceptable, enjoyable and even sometimes necessary ones to make the listeners happy. The purpose of a cover song is simply to surprise and excite the concertgoers, a goal that, in a perfect world, wouldn't require someone else's song to accomplish. But if the bands you're watching choose to focus on self-made material rather than pummeling through popular songs, don't be discouraged and don't discourage them. Consider it a chance to sing along with something new. It could be the cover song of the future.