“Cover band” is usally a pejorative term. It wasn’t so long ago that pop singers and R&B bands made their livings on other people’s material, but now we hold the bands and artists who write their own songs in the highest esteem. They aren’t puppets, we say. They can do it all, we say. They bleed for their art. Never mind that it’s not hard to write a song, but extremely difficult to write a good one—just because you play your own songs doesn’t suddenly make you a more thoughtful or a more talented musician. The opposite holds true, too; just because you play someone else’s songs doesn’t mean you don’t leave your own mark.

The Detroit Cobras are a cover band, that much is indisputable. Ask them about when they’re going to settle down and write original material, and they’ll give you dark looks. But they aren’t your usual bar-band copycats, not by a long shot. Rachel Nagy, Mary Ramirez and company are up to something far more interesting. They are curators, revivalists, guardians of a long and storied tradition. But more importantly, they’re fucking around, having a blast and playing material they love. They are every bit the equal of all the songs they play, to the point where bands have started covering the Detroit Cobras in a bizarre game of broken telephone (Nagy’s words, not mine).

There are probably a bunch of youngsters out there picking up Jackie Deshannon and Otis Redding records for the first time thanks to the Cobras. And that’s probably just the way they like it.