TOP 10 BEATLES COVERS — WHEN GREAT SONGS FOUND NEW VOICES
Some songs are so well written they seem indestructible. You can change the tempo, shift the key, rearrange the instruments, even place them in the mouth of a completely different generation—and still they live. That is the mark of craftsmanship; it is also why The Beatles endure. Their songs do not merely survive reinterpretation; often, they invite it.
Here are ten Beatles covers—PLUS one—that did more than copy. Each one revealed something already hiding in the song.
10. “WE CAN WORK IT OUT” — STEVIE WONDER
Stevie didn’t polish the song; he reframed it. The optimism remains, but it is carried on urgency rather than cheer. Suddenly reconciliation feels necessary, not optional—a reminder that time is always running out. When you go into any relationship, go with the attitude of “we can work it out.” And especially know when you enter into a relationship with Jesus, He will work everything out. Just stay with Him.
9. “COME TOGETHER” — MICHAEL JACKSON
Jackson stripped the song down and leaned into its rhythm and mystery. The groove does the preaching here; unity is implied, not explained. Sometimes togetherness doesn’t shout—it sways. And if ever we needed to hear the message of “come together” it is in our fractured day of despair and hatred.
8. “BLACKBIRD” — SARAH McLACHLAN
McLachlan revealed the tenderness always present in the song. Stripped of cleverness and speed, “Blackbird” became a quiet act of healing. Freedom here is not loud or defiant—it is gentle, patient, and earned through endurance (Isaiah 40:31).
7. “A DAY IN THE LIFE” — JEFF BECK
Instrumental, yes—but far from empty. Beck proved that melody alone can carry meaning. The chaos and beauty of the world still collide, even when no one is speaking. A reminder that actions speak louder than words.
6. “HELP!” — JOHN FARNHAM
This version restored the desperation some forget was always there. The song is not a pop cry—it is a plea. Beneath the melody is a soul admitting it cannot stand alone. And ultimately, it’s Christ we need.
5. “ACROSS THE UNIVERSE” — FIONA APPLE
Apple slowed the song until every word could breathe. The result feels almost liturgical. Thoughts drift, prayers float, and truth hums quietly beneath the noise of the world. God is everywhere.
4. “WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS” — JOE COCKER
Cocker turned a friendly tune into a testimony. Community here is not cute—it’s survival. Nobody gets through life alone, no matter how strong they appear (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10). A reminder that God set up the body of Christ so that we would never have to do it alone.
3. “LET IT BE” — ARETHA FRANKLIN
Aretha took a song about comfort and anointed it. The words stayed the same, but the authority changed. This was not suggestion—it was assurance. When wisdom speaks, it does not tremble. Whatever is going on in life, just trust God and let it be.
2. “IN MY LIFE” — JOHNNY CASH
Late in life, Johnny Cash sang this song as a benediction. What began as remembrance became reckoning. Every word sounded weighed, measured, and finally released. Cash did not romanticize the past; he acknowledged it, honored it, and then laid it down. Few covers feel this final—like a man taking one last look before stepping into eternity (2 Timothy 4:7-8).
1. “SOMETHING” — ELVIS PRESLEY (Aloha from Hawaii, 1973)
Elvis did not just cover this song—he inhabited it. Sung late in his career, carrying both grandeur and weariness, “Something” became a quiet confession wrapped in velvet authority. What had once been a tender love song was now delivered by a man who had known devotion, fracture, longing, and loss. Elvis did not oversing it; he stood inside it, letting restraint preach. When a songman like George Harrison writes a song and it passes into the care of the greatest song interpreter who ever lived, the ordinary is left behind—and magic remains.
And then…the GOAT—A song that is too great to even be on a list:
“HEY JUDE” — WILSON PICKETT (FEATURING DUANE ALLMAN)
This is not a cover; it is a conversion. Wilson Pickett took a song written as comfort and turned it into proclamation. Where the Beatles offered encouragement, Pickett preached release—testifying that pain can be shouted out of the soul, that sorrow does not have the final word. And then there is Duane Allman’s guitar—unannounced, uncredited at the time, yet unmistakable—crying, answering, soaring, as if heaven itself leaned in to listen. This version does not merely say take a sad song and make it better; it shows you how. It is raw, sanctified, unpolished glory—proof that sometimes the greatest truth emerges when a song passes through fire and comes out shouting praise (Psalm 30:5).
The Beatles wrote songs strong enough to be carried by other voices—much like truth itself. Truth does not fear repetition; it welcomes incarnation. When something is real, it can wear many coats and still keep you warm. Remember that.
BDD
