It took me a long time to figure something out about playing cover songs.

I don’t have to sound like the record.

The record’s already been made.

And chances are pretty good that Merle Haggard, George Strait, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings or Keith Whitley did a perfectly fine job with it the first time.

They really don’t need my help.

That realization has made playing music a whole lot more fun.

The Comparison Trap

When you’re learning to play guitar and sing, it’s pretty easy to fall into the trap of comparing yourself to the original recording.

You learn a song and immediately start noticing everything you’re not doing.

My guitar doesn’t sound like that.

My rhythm isn’t exactly the same.

That lick isn’t right.

He’s singing higher than I am.

There’s a chord in there that I don’t know.

And what in the Sam Hill did that guitar player just do?

Next thing you know, instead of enjoying the song, you’re sitting there feeling like you need to spend six months practicing before you’re allowed to play it for another human being.

I’ve done plenty of that.

But somewhere along the way I started realizing something.

I’m not Merle Haggard.

I’m not Waylon Jennings.

I’m certainly not George Strait.

And I’m pretty sure nobody has ever wandered into one of my TikTok livestreams, looked at me sitting there with an acoustic guitar and thought:

“Holy cow, George Strait really let himself go.”

Sometimes You Have to Make the Song Fit You

I’ve got a pretty deep voice.

That means some songs fit me naturally and some of them absolutely do not.

There are songs I love that were recorded in keys that make perfect sense for the original singer but make me sound like somebody stepped on a cat.

So I change the key.

Sometimes I change the rhythm a little.

Sometimes I simplify the guitar part.

Sometimes I leave out a fancy lick because my fingers have informed me that we’re simply not doing that today.

And sometimes I play the song completely differently because that’s just the way it comes out when I play it.

I used to think that meant I wasn’t playing it “right.”

Now I think it means I’m playing my version of it.

That’s a pretty big difference.

I’m Still Learning This Guitar Thing

I don’t pretend to be some master guitar player.

I’m not.

I’m still learning.

There are people who can run up and down a fretboard like they’ve got somewhere important to be.

I’m still working on scales, learning the fretboard and trying to convince my fingers to do things they’ve apparently decided weren’t included in the original contract.

But I can sit down with an acoustic guitar, play some chords and tell a story.

And that’s really what attracted me to country music in the first place.

The story.

I’ve never heard a great country song and thought:

“Man, I wish that had four more complicated guitar chords in it.”

Give me three chords and something worth saying, and I’m interested.

Maybe that’s the old country boy in me.

The Song Still Deserves Respect

Now, making a song your own doesn’t mean ignoring what made the song great in the first place.

There’s a reason I love these songs.

There’s a reason people request them.

There’s a reason we’re still singing Merle Haggard songs decades later.

The words matter.

The melody matters.

The feeling matters.

I want to respect that.

But respecting a song doesn’t mean impersonating the person who recorded it.

If I sing a Willie Nelson song, nobody is going to mistake me for Willie.

For starters, I don’t have the braids.

And Trigger would probably file a restraining order if he heard some of my guitar playing.

What I can do is take that song, sing it in my voice and try to tell the story honestly.

That’s enough.

Then You Crank Up the Fire Under the Dancing Chicken

That’s pretty much what happens when I start one of my TikTok livestreams.

I get the guitar ready, get everything set up and, as they say in Pure Country, crank up the fire under the dancing chicken.

Then we’re off.

I never know exactly how the show is going to go.

Somebody requests a George Strait song.

Somebody wants Merle.

Then Willie.

Then Waylon.

Then somebody throws me something I haven’t played in six months and I stare at the request like it just challenged me to a duel.

Sometimes I nail it.

Sometimes I don’t.

Sometimes I forget a chord.

Sometimes I forget a word.

Sometimes I start singing the second verse where the first verse is supposed to go and just keep driving like I meant to do it.

That’s live music.

And I’ve learned that most folks aren’t sitting there grading me.

They’re listening.

They’re visiting.

They’re requesting songs.

They’re laughing along with me when something goes sideways.

We’re having a good time.

Once I understood that, I stopped worrying quite so much about being perfect.

Somebody Will Always Do It Better

Here’s another thing I’ve figured out.

There will always be somebody better.

Somebody can play faster.

Somebody can sing higher.

Somebody has better technique.

Somebody knows more chords.

Somebody can play the solo note for note.

Some 14-year-old kid on YouTube can probably play the entire song behind his head while simultaneously explaining music theory.

Good for him.

I’m not competing with him.

That’s one of the benefits of getting older. You eventually realize that half the races you’ve been running weren’t actually races.

Music isn’t one either.

If somebody hears me play “The Cowboy Rides Away” and says George Strait sings it better, I’m not going to argue.

Of course he does.

He’s George freakin’ Strait.

That’s not exactly breaking news.

I’m just thankful somebody stuck around long enough to hear me finish it.

Finding My Own Voice

The funny thing is, learning all these other people’s songs has helped me understand my own music better.

When I stopped trying so hard to sound like the record, I started paying more attention to how I naturally sing.

How I phrase things.

Where my voice sits.

What kinds of melodies feel natural.

What kinds of stories I want to tell.

That’s carried over into writing my own songs.

When I sing “The Closed Door,” “Beautiful,” “Baby, I Do,” or “Life of a Music Man,” there’s no George Strait version to compare myself to.

There’s no Merle recording telling me how the phrasing is supposed to go.

They’re mine.

For better or worse, that’s what Charles W. Smith sounds like.

And I’m getting more comfortable with that.

Maybe finding your own voice isn’t something that happens one day.

Maybe you find it a little bit at a time.

One song at a time.

One wrong chord at a time.

One livestream at a time.

Just Tell the Story

These days, when I learn a cover song, I still listen closely to the original.

I want to understand what makes it work.

Then eventually I have to put the recording away, pick up my guitar and play it.

My way.

Maybe it’s lower.

Maybe it’s slower.

Maybe it’s rougher around the edges.

That’s alright.

I’m pretty rough around the edges myself.

The important thing is whether I believe what I’m singing.

Because if I don’t believe it, there’s not much chance anybody listening will either.

So I’m going to keep playing the old songs.

I’ll keep learning.

I’ll keep practicing.

I’ll keep writing my own.

And every now and then I’ll crank up the fire under the dancing chicken, turn on that livestream and see who shows up.

There will always be somebody who can play it faster, sing it higher, pick it cleaner or make it sound more like the record.

Let ’em.

The record’s already been made.

I’m just here to tell the story my way. 🎸🤠