The 80 Best Bob Dylan Covers

If there’s one subject guaranteed to start a fistfight, it’s “the most important Bob Dylan cover” — but if we have to narrow it down to one, it’s this. Not only did “Mr. Tambourine Man” birth folk-rock and change the sound of the Beatles and virtually every rock band on the planet, it spawned rock-reinterpretations of countless Dylan, folk and traditional songs (and probably played at least some role in the man himself “going electric”). The Byrds’ version — which features just three of the five band members, accompanied by ace studio musicians from the Wrecking Crew — takes the framework of Dylan’s bare-bones original, slows down the tempo and embellishes it with celestial harmonies by Gene Clark and David Crosby over Roger McGuinn’s lead vocal and chiming electric 12-string guitar. Few songs, and interpretations, of the past 75 years can claim the legacy that this one has.  —Aswad

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If the Byrds’ “Mr. Tambourine Man” showed a generation how to reinterpret a song, Hendrix showed them how to transform one. Aided by Traffic’s Dave Mason (on 12-string) and Rolling Stone Brian Jones (percussion), Hendrix labored over his dramatic reinvention of “Watchtower” for months, adding and erasing multiple layers of guitars before emerging with one of his best-known songs — and an arrangement that Dylan subsequently followed. “When I sing it, I always feel it’s a tribute to him in some kind of way,” Dylan said in 1985. —Aswad

Long before any of Dylan’s own recordings of this classic were released, the Band came out with theirs in 1968 to round out the group’s debut album, “Music From Big Pink.” The Band had already recorded it with Dylan himself singing during the legendary Basement Tapes sessions of ’67, but the songwriter would not see fit to put that version out in a non-bootleg form until 1991, or even to release any version at all till ’71. That left the Band with at least three years to claim it as their own signature song, and what an all-timer of an anthem it was. Vocalist Richard Manuel sounded both sweet and tortured, and both bedraggled and vaguely threatening, as he vowed to be delivered from prison walls that are either figurative or (if you’re a prison reform advocate) literal. It’s the ultimate secular-gospel song, brought out at untold thousands of rallies as well as concerts over the years, full of defiance and joy deferred. —Willman

On paper, the voice of Joan Baez would seem to be the worst possible match for the songs of Bob Dylan. Dylan’s grainy, grating anti-establishment vocals were a huge influence on everyone in rock, but they were also the antithesis of Baez’s gorgeous, pristine take on America’s classic folk ballads. Baez did clean, Bob did dirty. So why does she remain one of the greatest interpreters of Dylan’s songbook? The answer is simple: he wrote great songs for great singers of all stripes. Baez opens her 1965 album, “Farewell Angelina,” with three then brand-new Dylan songs, none of them from his folk and protest repertoire. Adding electric instruments on one of her albums for the first time, Baez’s “Angelina” is the gold standard for simple, elegant, early Dylan love songs. —Gaydos

One of the early Dylan adopters from the world of rhythm and blues, in 1965 Stevie Wonder infused Dylan’s Civil Rights anthem “Blowin’ in the Wind” with a joyfulness largely absent from the earnest folk hit recorded by Peter, Paul and Mary in 1963. Wonder’s version is also boosted by Motown’s Funk Brothers, who help propel the mood of hopefulness that is all the most surprising given the song’s African American roots in the almost funereal “No More Auction Block,” a 19th century spiritual popularized by Paul Robeson and others. But just one year after the signing of the Civil Rights Act, Wonder’s “Wind” was truly “The Sound of Young America,” as Motown advertised. —Gaydos

The ex-Beatle was present when Dylan a stab at recording this blissful love song in May 1970, and released his own incomparably lovely version of it on his solo debut “All Things Must Pass” that November, only a month after Dylan issued his own on “New Morning.” (The duo’s original recording date was part of a three-CD package devoted to ’70 Dylan outtakes released early this year.) Data on the number of times it has been played at weddings is still being compiled. —Morris

Simone transforms “Just Like a Woman” into a haunting, jazz/soul standard, with piano and organ arrangements in the spirit of Sunday morning gospel. Her distinct and powerful voice, dense with pathos, translates of Dylan’s lyrical narrative into something like a feminist manifesto. In the final verses she switches to first person, ending with lingering poignancy on one of the Dylan’s most beautifully poetic moments. “I ache,” she sings softly, “just like a little girl.” —Hundley

Perhaps the only rock and roll artist of the ’60s who can match Bob Dylan in the fields of longevity, complexity, soulfulness and songwriting productivity, Van Morrison the singer also has a way of uncapping Dylan’s frantic, vulnerable, fearfulness that no other interpreter has ever done. When Van does Bob, all the human tragedy of vanquished dreams, unfulfilled desires and bitter disappointments come to life. Perhaps it’s because Van himself is so adept at wordplay that reaches into the mystic, to coin a phrase, but when Van sings “Blue” the song’s urgency is vibrant, the desire to move on clearly a life or death proposition. —Gaydos

In 1964, Johnny Cash recorded three Dylan songs, “It Ain’t Me, Babe,” “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright,” and “Mama You Been on My Mind” for his 1965 album “Orange Blossom Special.” Both the title track and “Babe,” recorded as a duet with June Carter, reached the Top Five of the country singles charts, a potent reminder of how closely aligned the worlds of folk and country music were in the mid-60s. Cash’s and Carter’s lively rendition was recorded only weeks after Dylan and Joan Baez performed the tune together at the Newport Folk Festival, where Cash also appeared and preceded the hit version of the song released by The Turtles in the summer of 1965 and of course Dylan’s first “official” country album, “Nashville Skyline” in 1969. —Gaydos

The Detroit “brother and sister” duo of Jack and Meg White announced themselves with an eponymous 1999 album that included raw-power originals and rootsy covers. Their slamming stop-time bash at this track from “Desire” (1976) blows away the gnomic fog that enveloped the original in favor of pure punked-out excitement. —Morris

If “Mr. Tambourine Man” is the definitive Byrds-Dylan song, this one might be the most beautiful. And it was born from a fight: the group’s David Crosby refused to sing on the song, leading manager Jim Dickson to pin the famously cantankerous musician to the floor and say he’d leave the session “over my dead body” — Crosby burst into tears and then “sang like an angel.” The group soars through the song’s knotty lyrics and melody, and speak for their generation in its closing line: “And for every hung-up person in the whole wide universe / We gaze upon the chimes of freedom flashing.”  —Aswad

Reappropriating Dylan’s brief and indelible “Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid” track, Warren Zevon performed this gunslinging ballad with his own death in mind, as “The Wind” was his last record in the wake of an inoperable cancer diagnosis. Zevon’s vocals are weary and curious, perhaps eager to find the next phase of his life, ushered along as his band backed him with flying guitar riffs. —Earl

As the Hawks, the Band learned Dylan’s concert repertoire first-hand during the hectic first electric tour of 1965-66. After they stepped out on their own and attained stardom, they saluted their former boss with their rendition of his droll tale of a rock star on the loose in Rome, brought to sparkling life on 1971’s “Cahoots” by Levon Helm’s lead vocal and mandolin and Garth Hudson’s accordion. —Morris

Soul-meister Burke didn’t spend a lot of time making his exit from the farm — he got it on and got the hell out of there in a brisk 2 minutes and 15 seconds. It’s as friskily toe-tapping a cover as has ever been done of a Dylan song, yet its undertones of escaping oppression come much further into the fore because of the fact that it’s a Black man singing it during the civil rights movement. What was Dylan rebelling against when he first did it — the matriarchy? Burke ca’t help but bring a more palpable sense of liberation, as well as bring the dance party. —Willman

With his folk world primacy swirling around the world thanks to hit covers of his songs such as “Blowing in the Wind” and television pundits scouring the lyrics of his bracing, provocative social protest anthems like “The Times They Are a Changin’” and “A Hard Rain’s A Gonna Fall,” Dylan turned 23 in Europe, setting down in Paris and briefly trysting with aspiring model, actress and singer Nico while there. Only three winters earlier, Dylan blew into New York as an unknown Midwest waif with talent and dreams. His increasing sophistication and personal complexity were changing exponentially virtually every day. Nico’s connection to Euro culture and the Warhol scene deepened Dylan the Artist and burnished the growing legend, which includes her inspiring “I’ll Keep It With Mine,” a song covered memorably by others but owned by the original Goth chanteuse.  —Gaydos

This hair-raising anti-war song first appeared in a version Dylan cut for a 1963 anthology produced by the folk magazine Broadside, under the nom de disque “Blind Boy Grunt.” Its novelistic depiction of a mother’s misguided patriotism and her disillusioned son’s appalling fate got a restrained, haunting treatment by the gospel group on their 1967 LP “Pray On.” —Morris

Dylan is still writing songs that others want to sing. Just last month, on a compilation of new covers released as a premium with the U.K. magazine Uncut, the durable Canadian band fronted by singer Margo Timmins applied their slow-burning talents to the gorgeous (romantic? religious?) devotional ballad heard on last year’s mid-pandemic gift “Rough and Rowdy Ways.” (This hot-off-the-presses cover is not yet available on Spotify, but can easily be found on YouTube and elsewhere.) —Morris

If Marianne Faithfull didn’t exist, she might have been invented as a character in a Bob Dylan song. She’s the original innocent 60s pop waif, her flower power plucked by Mick Jagger and discarded onto a Soho Street, only to come back in the late 70s with a voice every bit the equal of Dylan’s in everything from gravel to gravity and an artistic mission that remains woefully underestimated. Dylan’s masterful vignette from “Blonde on Blonde,” “Visions of Johanna” is a surprisingly mature slice of Faithfull from 1971, unreleased until the 80s when Faithfull’s star was again ascendant. Can anyone sing “the ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her face” better than Marianne then and now? Only Bob. Maybe. —Gaydos

As the “folk rock” boom of the mid-60s morphed into the “country rock” movement of the late-60s, propelling bands like The Eagles into the stratosphere of success, Dylan’s songs were the fuel that ignited both musical adventures. What started on “Sweetheart of the Rodeo,” the monumentally influential Byrds album of 1968 with two key Dylan tracks, continued with Burrito Brothers in 1971. Even without founding member Gram Parsons, the Burritos were making appealing records that may have missed out on the big paydays and chart-toppers to come via the Eagles a year later, but their version of “To Ramona” contains all the romantic longing, melodic magic and poetic lyrics that the country rock bonanza was built on.  —Gaydos

Most of the most-covered Dylan material — the stuff that earns not just dozens but hundreds of reinterpretations — comes from the 1960s, along with ’70s outliers in the form of “Forever Young” or “Gotta Serve Somebody.” But in the ’90s, he came up with something that was as much catnip to contemporary balladeers as anything he ever wrote. Dylan let Billy Joel release a single of “Make You Feel My Love” a few weeks before he put out his own in 1997, off the otherwise far less hopeful “Time Out of Mind”; Garth Brooks was among the 400-plus artists to record it later. But it was Adele, in 2008, who was better fit than any of them to do a version that found the aching doubt embedded within the tune’s wedding-song romanticism. Because, Adele! —Willman

Leave it to Roky Erickson, lead shaman, uh, vocalist of the chemically altered Texas band, to come up with the most rad reading of this durable ballad. As heard on the group’s 1967 psych-rock masterwork “Easter Everywhere,” it’s been tailored with hitherto unimagined Middle Eastern wrinkles. You can almost smell the incense burning. —Morris

How a 20-year-old kid from Hibbing could pen the most powerful new song of America’s epic battle for centuries-delayed civil rights against the protestations of bigots and their enablers remains one of the great miracles of 20th century songcraft, but somehow Bob Dylan wrote “Blowin’ in the Wind” before he had the right to vote and his shrewd manager, who he shared with a fast-rising folk trio called “Peter, Paul and Mary” helped sculpt the Dylan Myth as sure-handedly as Michelangelo carved his Pieta. Hundreds of cover versions later, the 1963 PPM version remains the best-selling and the one most likely to get boomers misty at its mere mention. —Gaydos

Generally speaking, the alt-rock generation covered Dylan songs faithfully if not gingerly, as if they were borrowing dad’s car. Not Polly Jean Harvey, who, with her explosive early band, turns Dylan’s drawling original into a punked-up wail, reinventing the phrasing and rhythm and rendering it completely unrecognizable to anyone who doesn’t know the lyrics… in other words, the best kind of cover.  —Aswad

Dylan snagged an Oscar and a Golden Globe for his world-weary tune for Curtis Hanson’s 2000 feature “Wonder Boys,” and starred in an antic, self-mocking video that intercut him with footage of the film’s stars. The number serves as a deeply funky kickoff for the veteran R&B singer’s typically feisty recital of his songs, and serves up an also typical F-bomb of her own deployment. —Morris

The studio version is an overblown disgrace, but the 1987 live take of this staple of GNR’s early concerts is another story, a showcase of the group’s instrumental dynamics and Axl Rose’s ability to dial it back on the rare occasions that he wanted to. It was also probably the first Dylan song many of the band’s fans ever paid attention to, and is a stellar example of how many different contexts the bard’s sturdy work can fit. —Aswad

The title of this song from Dylan’s 1997 “Time Out of Mind” is a slight misnomer… it’s pretty dark. “Every nerve in my body is so naked and numb… Don’t even hear the murmur of a prayer / It’s not dark yet but it’s gettin’ there.” Sisters Lynne and Moorer are not the types to take a song this despondent over to the sunny side of the street, and they played it for all the quiet despair it was worth on their 2007 joint album, which had this as its haunting title track. But there’s something doggedly hopeful in spite of itself in their blood harmonies. Their voices are just a microsecond off from one another as they head into the chorus, as if they’re holding each other up as the night comes falling from the sky. —Willman

Patti Smith brings the downtown art scene street poetry to Dylan’s “Changing of the Guards” – giving the original a slick punkabilly take imbued with more than a hint of Sam Shepard’s “True West.” The result is a mix of tattered Chelsea Hotel romance set to the spurred boot sway of a rider on horseback… somewhere beneath, there is the ghost of Rimbaud, head low, listening close. —Hundley

While still ensconced in his steady night club gig in Arizona, Waylon Jennings had already recorded “Twice” before Johnny Cash got to it, so two of the future “Highwaymen” were instrumental in paving the way for Dylan’s acceptance in the world of country music. When you consider that Jennings’ debut album in 1966 was titled “Folk Country,” it’s abundantly clear that “folk” and “country” may have been separated by the era’s substantial political divides created the Civil Rights Movement and Vietnam, but musically, the spirits were kindred, and the shared references and deep Americana roots were abundant and ebullient. —Gaydos

A live encore staple for the band since 1992, Dave growls through a dramatically reworked version of the song, starting with an ominous acoustic build, crescendoing with the full band, riffing and soloing until the explosive end. A dependable jam for the band to send audiences home with, it’s no wonder it is one of the most played songs in their roster. —Earl

The Dead make Dylan entirely their own with this live riff-ride rendition of “The Memphis Blues.” Carefree and as loose as Jerry’s greying ponytail, this is the Dead doing their thing with their usual mix of dedicated craftsmanship and wonky experimentation. —Hundley

Yet another instance of Dylan letting another artist have a lead on covering a song he won’t get around to releasing himself till years later. (Crow’s came out on “The Globe Sessions” in 1997; his on “Love and Theft” in 2001.) She has a pretty good right to co-opt a song about having “stayed in Mississippi a day too long,” being from Missouri, herself — close enough. Her version vastly speeds up the tempo from Dylan’s, all the better to get all 13 sprawling verses or choruses in under five minutes and turn it into something deeply rollicking. If we prefer her version to that of the man himself, it’s partly because of the way her voice rises to a beautiful rasp in the pre-chorus; it was meant to be hers. —Willman

For those not around in the ’60s, it’s hard to explain the ubiquitous influence of Bob Dylan on virtually every aspect of culture and society. So, when Dylan tossed away songs and they wound up making their way up to the top of the charts, as “Mighty Quinn” did in 1968 for a running-out-of-gas Brit Invasion band called “Manfred Mann,” it only provided more proof of Dylan’s almost mystical hold on his fellow artists and fans. Like the Turtles’ take on “It Ain’t Me, Babe,” “Quinn” is a terrific rock record, an infectious earworm that led to countless dorm room debates on its meaning, which could be simply the tale of a drug dealer’s arrival, or The Second Coming. —Gaydos

This cover came out simultaneously with the first official recording of this “Basement Tapes” demo, and the Dylan version is also included on the soundtrack to the movie of the same name. Sonic Youth’s take bathes the lonely lyrics in a creepy soundscape reminiscent of their “A Thousand Leaves” era, and some welcome fuzz near the song’s end elevates the big finish. —Earl

The most influential American album of the ’60s to never crack the Top 50, “Sweetheart of the Rodeo” in 1968 paved the way for the country-rock boom that provided an alternative to the hard-rock hijacking of rock ‘n’ roll. “You Ain’t Going Nowhere” is often cited as the second-best Byrds cover of a Dylan song, but where the first-place “Mr. Tambourine Man” turned “folk rock” into a household term, “Nowhere” got nowhere close to the top of the charts, also failing to crack the Top 50 singles chart. Yet “Rodeo,” the Byrds, Dylan and “Nowhere” made it cool to take the country roots of rock ‘n’ roll seriously, and you can trace bands as disparate as the Grateful Dead and the Eagles back to this monumental breakthrough. —Gaydos

Dylan came out the other side of his Christian period with probably the most satisfying of his spiritually themed compositions, this masterful highlight of 1981’s “Shot of Love.” Country stylist Harris made the song the atmospheric pinnacle of her beloved 1995 album “Wrecking Ball”; two years later its producer Daniel Lanois recorded “Time Out of Mind,” the set that restored Dylan’s position in American music. —Morris

One of Dylan’s best ’90s compositions, Bonnie Raitt’s dreamy guitar haunts this minimalist heartbreak song. Everything here is aces, as pairing one of the best blues singers to walk the earth to cover a perfectly written song in her pocket is a no-brainer. But the unique production sounds like a lover’s response to Dylan’s “Time Out of Mind” take. — Earl

Bob Dylan had a song with the word “gospel” in its title on his first album, so Dylan’s “gospel” phase in the late 70s shouldn’t have proved so shocking to the masses of Dylan fans who couldn’t fathom yet “another side” of the artist. And being “born again” shouldn’t have turned off anyone who embraced the poet who once noted “He not busy being born is busy dying.” Thankfully, it ignited the believer in legendary gospel artist Shirley Caesar, who upped the ante on “Gotta Serve Somebody” and delivered a fervent, committed interpretation of the song that garnered Dylan his first solo Grammy Awards back in 1979. —Gaydos

Miller recorded an excellent gospel-rock album, “Universal United House of Prayer,” in 2004. “With God on Our Side” wouldn’t seem to have much to do with the rest of the record, other than that is has “God” in the title. It’s an eviscerating song about what happens when the gospel goes amiss and turns into Christian nationalism, or something like it, assuming that the creator has a rooting interest in the home team in any war or violent crusade. As a man of faith, Miller sounds authoritatively angry as he revives Dylan’s righteous indignation of 1964, Thank God these warnings against dangerous state theism are no longer relevant, right? —Willman

If you want to talk about a tough room, consider the 2015 MusiCares Man of the Year show honoring Bob Dylan. Dylan’s greatest hits were covered by no less than the likes of Bruce Springsteen, Bonnie Raitt, Neil Young, Crosby Stills and Nash, Alanis Morissette and Willie Nelson, but for my money, the man who stole the show was Tom Jones, passionately performing Dylan’s late career gem, “What Good Am I.” In 1965, the Welsh heartthrob battled Dylan on Top 40 radio, and 50 years later, he proved the magnificence of Dylan’s songcraft as well as his own formidable vocal chops, soul and insight. —Gaydos

“What is worse for me is this pain in here, I can’t remain in here.” No, those aren’t the exact words Bob Dylan wrote, but when Van Morrison dug into “Just Like a Woman” as part of his live set in the early ’70s, no one complained about the liberties he took with the lyrics; they were too busy mainlining the ecstasy and agony he put into his psychodramatic explorations of Bob’s deepest cuts. “So I came, so I came, so I came, so I came, so I came… in here” explains Van as he links carnal joy to betrayal’s darkness. “When we meet again, pawned off as friends, never let on that you knew me when.”  —Gaydos

Nashville didn’t have much of a cowpunk track record before Jason Ringenberg kicked country music in the teeth in the early ‘80s. This rambunctious take on a “Blonde On Blonde” rocker, fueled by guitarist Warner Hodges’ wildcat blare, shows off the most raucous and entertaining side of the songwriter’s oeuvre. —Morris

One of Dylan’s most oft-covered sons, “Forever Young” is the item in his catalog that most lends itself to rank sentimentality. But there’s nothing mawkish about the committed version that LaBelle laid down at the Live Aid concert at Wembley in 1985 (a live recording still available in audio form today). We tend to remember that show as if it were a day full of Queen, and forget that a queen of R&B was also on the bill, among others. Her stadium-ready but nuanced take took a song written as a sort of baptismal dedication for a child and refashioned it into a wish for all the children of the world who stood in danger of never getting to grow old. —Willman

Josh Homme and company snarl through this “Bringing It All Back Home” gem, dirtying up the strut with distortion but stickling largely to Dylan’s playbook. What’s remarkable is how easily the track sits alongside the rest of the band’s sun-soaked, drug-fueled oeuvre, all attitude and danger. — Earl

How many songs on this list came up as actual plot points in major Oscar-contending films in the past year? As far we know, just this one, which came up in “One Night in Miami” as a piece of socially conscious material that challenged Cooke to write the equally relevant “A Change Is Gonna Come” before he died. There are different studio and Copa versions that make the cover into more or less of a horn-driven romp, but the fact is, for however seriously Cooke took the Bob Dylan Challenge, he took the lead of Stevie Wonder before him in turning “Blowin'” into a bop. —Willman

It’s easy to forget that this song even exists, as it saw release on the arduously completed, cobbled-together 1988 album “Down in the Groove.” But Cave and his band did right by it by making it the only non-murder ballad on his 1996 set “Murder Ballads,” recruiting an all-star cast – Kylie Minogue, PJ Harvey, Anita Lane, and Shane MacGowan — to chip in on vocals for this lush, downbeat closing track. —Morris

A collection of Dylan “spirituals,” transformed into full-throated, organ-backed folk psalms and sung by a collective known as “The Brothers and Sisters of L.A.,” the “Dylan’s Gospel” album was recorded at a now-defunct church in South Los Angeles. Conceived and produced by impresario Lou Adler, the album features some of the very best of the 1960s choir singers/session legends of the era. On “Quinn,” the heavenly vocals of the mighty Merry Clayton take the lead, turning Dylan’s “Eskimo” into a transcendent sing-along that would make anyone a believer. —Hundley

The second track on Baez’s “Farewell Angelina” album, “Daddy You Been on My Mind” was, like “Farewell, Angelina,” a song Dylan chose not to include on his own albums of the early 60s. Johnny Cash recorded the song in 1964 and tosses it away like a joke, even throwing in a kitschy Boots Randolph sax part. But Baez takes every word of Dylan’s off-handed tribute seriously, understanding how to balance insouciance in equal measure with affection and buried beneath it all, she expresses longing and regret that most singers would never find in this simple declarative love song. —Gaydos

Cut in Nashville with A-Team players Charlie McCoy, Kenny Buttrey and Pete Drake, this straight-ahead love song from 1967’s “John Wesley Harding” – which actually rhymes “moon” and “spoon” was one of Dylan’s first stabs at country rock. Two years later, former Stone Poneys vocalist Ronstadt (backed by such notables as Clarence White and Red Rhodes) turned the song into a luscious invitation no one would want to refuse on her solo debut “Hand Sown… Home Grown.” —Morris

There are so many different ways to treat “Maggie’s Farm,” but a lot of the versions over the years have fallen somewhere between festive and liberating. Rage Against the Machine, naturally, finds nothing but pure tension. As the angry guitars threaten to hoist a plow through your speakers, Zach de la Rocha narrates his struggle with authority as if it were a suspense story. Will he escape and live to rage against the (wo)Man another day? Dylan covers rarely come off as such a thrill ride. —Willman

You could dock the Chicks’ version of “Mississippi” a point for essentially being a cover of a cover, taking its temp and basic arrangement from the Sheryl Crow rendition. Fair point, and you can hear how the synth riff in Crow’s studio recording must have sounded exactly like a fiddle line to the Chicks, who introduced it as a surprise choice on tour and then put it on a live record. But in some ways, the song really sounds like it was written for the trio, not just because Natalie Maines’ voice is so suited to making drama out of its melodic upturns but because, strangely and presciently, nearly every line sounds like it was written to reflect the adversity the group faced in the wake of the George W. Bush/Iraq brouhaha in 2003. The fact that they took the greatest heat for the controversy in Southern states like Mississippi was surely not lost on them when they chose the song. “Things should start to get interesting right now” is the story of their whole career. —Willman

After a heroic stand as the Jeff Beck Group’s singer and the promising start of a solo career, Rod Stewart kicked off his tenure as the replacement for the Small Faces’ vocalist Steve Marriott in fine fashion. The leadoff track for the renamed band’s 1970 collection “First Step” was a smash-up version of a song from “John Wesley Harding” (1967) that further elevated Stewart’s rep as a top-ranking interpreter. —Morris

Impending romantic doom never sounded sweeter than when Dylan wrote an easygoing-sounding song about it for “Blood on the Tracks.” Shawn Colvin’s voice ups the sweetness, in her interpretation, but she’s a smart singer, never about to lose sight of the rue inherent in a song about anticipatory bittersweetness in a relationship between lovers where planned obsolescence is understood. —Willman

There have been many, many recorded versions of this convict’s prayer from the Basement Tapes, but covering this tune seems to have been a special cottage industry in Jamaica. The best to emanate from the island was the one made by this peerless vocal trio, who entered Black Ark Studio with master reggae producer Lee Perry, then at his apex, for a dubwise cut (complete with an “I see Jah light come shining” lyric rewrite), which highlighted the 1977 album “Party Time.” —Morris

Exactly what you think Ministry covering Dylan would sound like. The band borrows heavily from the back beat of Bauhaus’ “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” here and you can almost imagine them playing this behind chain link fencing while Bowie and Deneuve hunt their prey in “The Hunger.” The chorus is all pop punk anthem of the Green Day ilk – and Dylan while die-hards might shiver at the thought of this combo but somehow it all works in part because great songs are great songs, not matter what way you play them. —Hundley

The L.A. band mined the Dylan songbook so relentlessly that it’s hard to pick a favorite by them. This track from “Sweetheart of the Rodeo” (1968) — one of several albums of the era that could claim “Big Bang of Country Rock” status — features an exciting, hard-hitting arrangement courtesy of its Nashville instrumental guests and wonderful massed vocals from the band’s Roger McGuinn, Chris Hillman and Gram Parsons. —Morris

This recent posthumous release of Bowie doing Dylan was recorded just a year after Dylan himself laid down the track on “Time Out of Mind” in 1997. Full of late 1990s guitar grit and fuzz, this is Bowie just a few years out from his Tin Machine fury, and the track retains some of that slow smoke and grind along with hints of 1977’s “Heroes.” Never before released until just this year, the chorus, of course resonates with an even deeper ache now that Bowie has gotten to heaven. Hearing his voice is always a reminder that his passing has left us with a wound that will never quite heal. —Hundley

The mythology around “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” is staggering. The title evokes the Valentinos and the Rolling Stones and Gene Vincent, and the song’s origins reside in some rejection or humiliation suffered by Dylan at the hands of his fans, Pete Seeger, a girl or himself. While the inspiration for a song can be debated for eternity (as Dylan’s best songs seem on their way to achieving), there is no question about “Blue’s” power to engage and move the heart of the listener. Since Joan Baez is high on the list of those suspected of inspiring the song, should we be surprised to hear the magic she makes with every word? —Gaydos

Ambel helped lead the roots-rock movement in the ’80s as a member of the Del Lords, and as a solo artist, he was particularly well-suited to turn Dylan’s 1967 song of seduction into the all-out cocky rave-up it always seemed destined to become. The song is basically a rock ‘n roll, non-seasonal version of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” and its take-my-love-or-lead attitude could come off as crass if it didn’t involve a big wink, which Ambel certainly provides as he burns down the roadhouse with horniness. (See also Cowboy Junkies’ less barnstorming version for proof that women can be sexually demanding, too.) —Willman

Dylan grappled manfully in the studio with the elusive melody of this great ballad in 1965-66 attempts to record it. His own take would not see release until 1985, and in the interim it bowed in versions by Judy Collins and Velvet Underground chanteuse Nico, but Sandy Denny’s debut with the English folk-rock act on its 1969 sophomore album “What We Did on Our Holidays” was distinguished by the vocalist’s potent stops-out reading, which still sounds definitive. —Morris

The original version of this rueful ballad on 1969’s “Nashville Skyline” exemplified country music simplicity. But when Nick Cave was working on the music for his frequent collaborator/accomplice John Hillcoat’s 1996 film “To Have and To Hold,” he took the opposite tack, opting to go over the top and drafting his idol Walker for an orchestral, guilt-wracked rendering that satisfied lovers of all things Scott. —Morris

Dolly brings the bluegrass Smoky Mountain swing to Dylan’s Don’t Think Twice wowing as always with the range of her vocals and her trademark indomitable sunniness. An array of incredible players back her, longtime Nashville session vets adding a layer of glad-hearted, foot-stomping authenticity. Dolly does Dylan with her own style of down home optimism and when she sings, “it’s alright,” you don’t think twice — you believe her. —Hundley

On the 2012 compilation “Chimes of Freedom: The Songs of Bob Dylan Honoring 50 Years of Amnesty International,” the gravel-voiced Brian Fallon barks out the biblical lyrics of this “Street Legal” classic, as the earnest New Jersey rockers propel things forward with their trademark Springsteen-meets-bar-band stomp. Even without the backing vocals and large production of the original, Dylan’s songwriting is bulletproof enough to be converted to a sweaty club show. —Earl

For all of the complicated writing Dylan does, he can certainly come up with simple, rootsy, roadhouse rockers that don’t bear too much of his stamp — and he’s been known to give these away rather than keep them for himself. Examples include “Rita May,” better known for Jerry Lee Lewis’ version than Dylan’s obscure own, and “Straight A’s in Love,” offered to the brother duo the Williams Brothers, and “Dirty Lie,” as adapted by the Secret Sisters. In this vein, there’s nothing more fun than “Go Away Little Boy,” a great throwaway that almost did get thrown away when Lone Justice recorded it but left it off the group’s debut album (it landed as a B-side). It’s so sassy it sounds like it was written by Maria McKee at her spitfire-iest, but listen closely beneath the humor and maybe you’ll sense the imprint of a writer who really has had to spend his whole life getting people to go away. —Willman

From the 2004 compilation “Is it Rolling Bob?: A Reggae Tribute to Bob Dylan” comes a warm, gorgeous take on the track from lover’s rock icon Beres Hammond. This “Blonde on Blonde” highlight mines the yearning romance in the song, dismissing Dylan’s poison pen in favor of a wistful ballad. It’s a transformative take, filled with interesting reggae touches beyond the rhythm, such as the staccato take on the main riff. —Earl

If you were at Madison Square Garden on Oct. 16, 1992, for the all-star concert celebrating Dylan’s 30th year as a recording artist, you heard a lot of covers. The biggest surprise among a predictable selection of songs was Reed’s tough version of a previously unheard song (penned for 1983’s “Infidels”) that bristled with biblical wrath, riding a lumbering riff put over by the guitar trio of Reed, Steve Cropper and G.E. Smith. A tough act to follow. —Morris

The two-LP 1975 set that mined the storied 1967 Basement Tapes contained several songs that were familiar to owners of “The Great White Wonder” and other bootlegs. But this hitherto unheard number cut with the Band in Woodstock was the set’s major discovery; the cryptic, soaring ballad got a stirring on-camera treatment from the lead singer of My Morning Jacket in “I’m Not There,” director Todd Haynes’ generally misbegotten Dylan homage of 2007. —Morris

Krall may continue to be known for mining the Great American Songbook, but she’s named two albums now after relatively obscure Dylan tracks she adopted as title songs. Dylan wrote “Wallflower” in ’71 and handed it off to Doug Sahm, then never released his own version for another 20 years. it deserves a lot more due, as a country-flavored waltz about a shy boy who spies a possible counterpart and says, “I’m sad and lonely, too.” Krall makes it more elegant with strings and Blake Mills’ guitar, but it still feels like you’ve stumbled into a church dance in the sticks where introvert dreams might come true. —Willman

Psych-weirdos Flaming Lips cast their reverbed outer-space glow onto Dylan’s Lay Lady Lay, turning his oddly sensual, nasal twang love song into a far-out fantasy of looped synth and spaceship drone, all overlaid with the plaintive wash of Wayne Coyne’s high, cracked-angel vocals. —Hundley

Dylan often has spoken dismissively of the songs from the “Basement Tapes” he famously recorded with the Band in 1967-68 — but not this one. The Band’s studio version was the first to be released and is arguably definitive. But where Richard Manuel’s falsetto vocal is weary and almost frail on this wrenching, yearning song of freedom and forlorn hope, Baez, for all her showboating and trills, brings a defiance and triumphant uplift that transforms the spirit of the original. —Aswad

Hitchcock brings the Brit Pop post-Bowie poetry to “Baby Blue,” his wonderfully evocative voice exploring the lost corners of the track – playing with the timing, the intonation – turning it into something wholly his own. Layers of acoustic twang and flanged-out guitar produce a sound both nostalgic and futuristic, a Dickenson Space Odyssey vision, that with Hitchcock’s vocals feels just slightly, slyly apocalyptic. —Hundley

Having released two albums of cover songs over the course of his prolific career, Lanegan surprisingly has never included a Dylan song on one of his own records. But he did find the perfect vehicle for his unerringly scary baritone in this oh-so-dark version of a standout track from 1989’s “Oh Mercy,” heard on the soundtrack companion to Todd Haynes’ not-quite-a-biopic “I’m Not There.” —Morris

Yes, yes, “All Along the Watchtower,” of course. But Hendrix had more than one shaft in his Dylan quiver: His straightforward, white-hot hard rock cover of the flop 1965 single made with the Hawks (with prominent lead guitar by Robbie Robertson) was a highlight of his early live sets. A stormy version made at the BBC is the best quality rendition on record. —Morris

Released on 1964’s “The Times They Are A-Changin’,” this horrific modern murder ballad successfully one-upped the gore-soaked traditional numbers that first inspired Dylan. Five years later, swamp rocker White’s profoundly deep voice and dense guitar picking reanimated the song in a Paris studio; the recording went unreleased until it appeared on a 2006 box of his work for Monument Records. —Morris

Stewart had settled in as the Faces’ vocalist by 1970, to the extent that his colleagues in the band put in appearances on his sophomore solo album “Gasoline Alley.” Some of them almost certainly appear on his sensitive and touching acoustic version of “Only a Hobo,” an obscurity that originally surfaced on the “Broadside Ballads” compilation under the “Blind Boy Grunt” handle. —Morris

For all the hundreds of songs he’s written, “completely apologetic” and “self-effacing in tragedy” are qualities that apply to only a select few. But when he set his repentant mind to it, he could do unalloyed regret as well as anybody. Elvis Costello was masterful in his interpretations of the 1969 “Nashville Skyline,” because he could rasp up his voice as it dramatically rises for the “But I was cruel” section of the song — a melodic twist that runs through some odd, demanding chord changes unusual to Dylan’s writing. —Willman

This British combo with roots in Manfred Mann and John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers got an inspired idea in 1972: “Why don’t we make an entire album of songs Dylan never released himself?” The resultant LP “Lo and Behold” included a batch of Basement Tapes numbers and this beautiful cover of this suitably anthemic 1963 composition, which is (as they say, IMHO) more satisfying than the Byrds’ 1965 version. —Morris

It’s one of the best of all the R&B Dylan interpretations ever recorded. But good luck figuring out which era this cut from the “I Can Stand a Little Rain” songstress comes from without doing a little research. It sounds like a vintage early ’70s track, even if Peebles’ voice sounds a little too experienced for that. The vibe lies: Joe Henry produced it for his soul-veterans compilation album “I Believe to My Soul” in the mid-2000s. Peebles sounds deeply pleased to know she’s not going anywhere before morning; you’ll want to settle in with her for far longer than the song lasts. —Willman

“Property of Jesus” comes from the “Shot of Love” period when Dylan briefly seemed to have one foot still in the evangelical camp and one Lenny Bruce-loving foot on the way out. He’s more defensive than pious in the tune, ruing the rejection he’d surely felt playing all his spirituals for not always fully engaged audiences over the prior two years. But the song has applications that you don’t have to be a cornered Christian to appreciate. Anyone on any kind of spiritual walk, or who’s going off the beaten path at all, may relate to: “Resent him to the bone / You got something better / You got a heart of stone.” The late Casal recorded it for a compilation album of Dylan’s ’80s tunes, reclaiming a classic from his least understood period with sensitivity and just enough pissed-off vigor. —Willman

Dylan rarely sat in on other artists’ sessions, so who knows for sure why he took such a liking to Midler, then still in the nascent stages of her career — enough so to add a harmony vocal to her rendering of “Buckets of Rain” so prominent it nearly counts as a duet. Bootleggers have loved listening to the raw recording sessions, where there seems to be some kind of flirtation going on, if only a musical one. In any case, this might be the only cover of a “Blood on the Tracks” tune that outdoes the original, thanks to getting two stars in a playful spirit for the price of one. —Willman

Dylan’s 1964 swan song of sorts to an absent Suze Rotolo has been covered countless times, with Joan Baez and Judy Collins among the mamas who took a crack at it; even George Harrison had his mind set on this “Mind.” But no one brought out the heartache latent in it like the too-pure-voiced-for-this-world Buckley, whose 1994 recording didn’t come out till after his death. Regardless of his not having written it, it sure felt like a haunting last look into the mind of a singer who could seem as mysterious as Dylan in his own fashion. —Willman

The contributors: Jem Aswad is Variety’s senior music editor. William Earl is the editor of Variety.com. Steven Gaydos is Variety’s executive VP of content and a screenwriter. Jessica Hundley wrote an essay for “Dylan at 80,” a book coming this fall from Oxford University Press, and penned liner notes for a reissue of the Brothers and Sisters’ 1969 album “Dylan’s Gospel.” Chris Morris is a Variety contributor and author of the book “Together Through Life: A Personal Journey With the Music of Bob Dylan.” Chris Willman is a Variety features editor and music critic.