The Connecticut based duo have apparently been “talking about doing a covers record for a long time.”  I am personally glad that all the talking paid off and that this album has finally come to fruition.  The few tracks that I have heard so far are very different from the original, but they stay within Mates of State’s unique indie-pop style.  I am very excited to hear the rest of the record.

Despite the obvious fact that he was new to the instrument, a stranger thought irked me. Something about the clumsy beats was disarming, even appealing. The drummer’s mistakes lent the entire affair a very natural, very human quality (much to the annoyance of the eight other musicians on stage) that illuminated one of the purposes of religious music: to blur the division between musician and spectator, creating a larger group of participants.

“American Idol” ratings are near their highest at the beginning of each season, when one poor sucker after another sings a wretched rendition of some pop standard and then gets verbally berated. Why do people love to watch this? Well, we’re a sadistic bunch, for starters, but also because an inept musician is just another schmuck. We savor the commonality.

More importantly, the inept musician is an icon, a frozen point in the lifetime of all musicians, who constantly struggle to reinvent themselves by mastering their instrument.

In 1962, John Lennon begged the postman for a letter from his sweetheart to the tune of four chords and the most tired drumbeat of the era. The Beatles’ “Please Mister Postman” wasn’t even written by the band. Four years later, he sung lines about ego death adapted from the “Tibetan Book of the Dead” over backwards guitars and one of the most important drumbeats of all time.

Of course, Lennon and his Liverpool pals were no hacks in the mop-top years, but their relatively derivative songs certainly weren’t pushing technical boundaries. Yet the early, rudimentary songs are the ones fans remember with fondness, the ones that granted the Beatles the funds and popularity to experiment. Ironic how the archetypal experimental rock band are so branded by their inexperienced beginnings.

Unsurprisingly, the artists that top today’s charts are largely inept. The only new aspect of Auto-Tune is that its use is more blatant than before, and popular singers were lip-synching long before Ashlee Simpson. These technologies have abolished the former standard and blurred yet another line: the one between a musician and a pretty face.

You can wince when the guitarist who fumbles around on the fret board or the singer who searches, without success, for the right pitch. But you shouldn’t laugh because, hey, at least those schmucks are trying.