Ah, the early 2000s. Low-rise jeans. Bucket hats. Jason Biggs! One can find all of that and more in the music video for Wheatus’ “Teenage Dirtbag.” A karaoke favorite for millenials, “Dirtbag” encapsulates all the angst of teenage-dom, but that’s all it is… angst. The Phoebe Bridgers cover of the pop-punk hit revises that.
Bridgers turns the power chord-filled tale of a guy whining about not being popular into an acoustic, self-reflective moment of crisis. It’s heartbreakingly tasteful. Just what one can expect from Bridgers.
Phoebe Bridgers, a Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter, is known for her abilities as not only an acoustic crooner, but also a powerful punk voice. Doing a pop-punk cover of “Dirtbag” would be extremely easy, safe and honestly… boring for her.
Instead, she strips it down by removing the pounding drum beat and combination of acoustic and electric guitars that make the original so recognizable. Listeners are greeted by the warm, crisp and familiar resonance of an acoustic guitar. This is pop-punk no more. Here, Bridgers riffs in the vein of artists like Jim Croce, James Taylor and Elliott Smith.
While the instruments used and instrumental itself have changed, they change for the better. Wheatus’ version feels like a put-on, a teenager throwing a fit for everyone to notice them. Bridgers’ beams with honesty. It’s less putting on a show, more like sitting alone in one’s childhood bedroom after getting rejected by a high school crush.
The anthemic quality of a chorus such as: “Cause I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby / Yeah, I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby / Listen to Iron Maiden, baby, with me, ooh,” allows for singers to belt out all of their hormone-fueled anger (which is what Brendan B. Brown of Wheatus does on the original track). She gives the song a choral quality, like that of the sirens of Greek mythology. Her sadness is striking and scary to confront, but her voice compels one to listen because of its angelic tone.
Bridgers’ vocal performance removes the anger of the original. She brings forth a palpable sense of heartache. Instead of the question “Why can’t it be me?,” Bridgers asks “What’s wrong with me?” Her problem isn’t with the world, it’s with herself, which is inherently more personal and poignant. She sings from the perspective of someone dealing with their first encounter with unrequited love. The beauty of her performance though, is that she’s able to approach such an issue from the eyes of an adult. There’s a maturity and sense of grace that mixes with the impassioned teenage lyrics.
Wheatus’ original version has had an odd evolution in the modern era. Many cultural commentary “critics” on sites such as Twitter and Reddit have dubbed the song an “Incel anthem.” A boy complains about how he can’t get the girl of his dreams and how the guy she’s with doesn’t deserve her. Blah, blah, blah, it’s a tale as old as time.
Bridgers’ rendition adds a feminine quality to the song, making it heartfelt as opposed to bordering inceldom. Losing the anger and adding femininity brings out the earnestness of the song. Nervousness before asking someone out, longing to be loved, the purity of a first crush. These are topics that are a near universal experience. The cover reveals the humanity hidden under the male bravado of the original.
It’s hard for a cover to rival the OG song. What’s the old adage? “The sequel is never as good as the original”? Phoebe Bridgers’ cover is so damn interesting because it recognizes the faults of the original and improves upon them.
A song rooted in male grievance turns into a gender-neutral soliloquy on young love and the frustrations of it. An anthem dependent on its repetitive, buzzing power chords and head-bobbing drum pattern becomes a simple ballad, reminiscent of a folk song. An out of tune man attempting to sound like a teenager (no shots at Brendan B. Brown, he seems great) is replaced by a woman whose voice is like seeing God for the first time.
Every now and then, there’s a piece of art that is near perfect in both intention and execution. This is one of them.
