1. Wilson Pickett had the first official version of the song, and here, as elsewhere, he is the ultimate bandleader. The band here is remade in his authoritative, energetic image: bouncing bass, driving rhythm, overlaid by calls and cackles and shrieks. You can imagine Pickett's bus pulling into the parking lot. He strides to the dressing room. He tugs at his cufflinks. He looks at his reflection in the mirror. Then he takes the stage and gives them hell, in a heavenly way.

2. Sam and Dave got to the song a few years later, Stax-style, and while this version is my least favorite, it is instructive for illustrating the duo's talent at linking crossover soul, Neville Brothers funk, blues rock, and even classic rock. Sam and Dave aren't the best singers, either together or apart, but Jimmy Johnson's guitar is outstanding. It's commanding and playful, with a lean and muscular tone--until I looked it up, I fantasized that it was Robbie Robertson, doing something like he did on Dylan's "Baby, Let Me Follow You Down" at Royal Albert Hall. It has a sharp plow, and it moves forward with or without you.

3. Smooth but not silky, Barbara Lynn's take is precise and clear, with a backing group that sounds like it was airlifted in from Sam Cooke's "Cupid." I love the subtlety in all the playing, especially the drumming: there are fills that trip just a bit behind the beat, whispering the rhythm with brushes. With that said, there's a problem: Lynn doesn't connect with the lyrics, and she seems entirely directed by the producer. But if swing is your thing, this will be your thing, too.

4. Dan Penn wrote the song, and with Spooner Oldham backing him in a late-nineties concert, he turns in a performance that trumps anything in "Crazy Heart." The acoustic guitars sound fantastic, and it's proof that country rock and soul are next-door neighbors with a low fence between the properties. What would Gram Parsons, Gene Clark, or Buck Owens have done with the song? This gives us some indication.

5. If Barbara Lynn doesn't get to the heart of the lyrics, Otis Redding gets there and stays there. Originally recorded with Redding on a slightly out-of-tune guitar and, legend has it, accompanied by the most rudimentary percussion -- a hand drumming on a chair) his performance is stunning. Of all the versions I've heard, this is the only one that makes me believe in the "you" of the title, the only one that makes me see that the singer is singing to someone. Rhythmically, it's slower than many other versions, but not easier to hear. This past year, I was driving in Connecticut by myself, and this came on the radio, and I had to pull over. I knew what would happen before it happened, which was that I burst into tears. I almost wish there wasn't a horn section in the arrangement, because it would be even more spartan and powerful.

6. Otis may pour his life into the song, but Eddie Hinton uses it as life support. He's hoarse and spent; during the count-off, he can barely even utter the "three." He fills the spaces in the song not just with moans, but with explicit protests, and the rhythm section could be Keith and Charlie during the Sticky Fingers sessions. More desperate than urgent, this is my favorite.

Labels: ben, soul, tim, water