Electrelane, I’m on Fire

First let me confess that I am weirdly fond of Springsteen; before he became rock and roll’s dad, young Bruce was weirdly hot as hell. And anyone whose songwriting shows that they know their girl groups gets a thumbs up from me. Lately I’ve been really into women covering Springsteen, and Electrelane’s aggressive and almost sinister cover of I’m on Fire is one of the best, a weird wash of thunderous guitar and brashly out of tune vocals.

Despite my soft spot for Bruce, I hate the original I’m on Fire. In it, I can only hear menace disguised as eroticism: Springsteen’s relentless murmur feels threatening rather than alluring, like the cajoling voice of a guy who won’t take no for an answer. But when Electrelane covers it, the menace feels like the point: it feels overtly uncomfortable, it flips the direction of the threat, it won’t be quiet or forgiving or still.