I never thought I’d say this, but the Traveling Wilburys’ “Handle With Care” leaves a lot to be desired. The closest thing to a hit from the Bob Dylan/Roy Orbison/Tom Petty/Jeff Lynne/George Harrison supergroup, “Handle with Care” always seemed an irreproachable work of pop—loping, amiable, and brief, with quietly clever lyrics and a titular hook you could wait for with a smile all through the verses. Harrison had the bulk of the song; Orbison and Dylan came in to quaver and growl, respectively, on the bridges; and it was good. Nevertheless, for me it was one of those songs that play better in one’s head than on record—my memory of “Handle With Care,” of its self-deprecation and softhearted declarations of love (”Been beat up and battered around / Been sent up and I’ve been shot down / You’re the best thing that I’ve ever found / Handle me with care”), of its descending-escalator verses and plaintive bridges, was always finer than what I heard when I actually played the record. Somehow I imagined an artwork of impossible sublimity, all love’s weary maturity given a deft, beautiful essaying in the space of three minutes. What I got was some rock stars goofing off. It was my fault, really.

But something unexpected and a little embarrassing has happened. See, Jenny Lewis, Rilo Kiley frontwoman and indie-girl clotheshorse, has a solo album coming out. And on this solo album is a cover of “Handle With Care,” featuring, in lieu of Harrison, Orbison, and Dylan, Jenny Lewis, Ben Gibbard, and Conor Oberst. And the terrible thing is, I like it better. I’ve been a Bob Dylan fan since I was old enough to wear headphones and look sullen, but apparently I endorse his replacement with the guy from Bright Eyes. Something has gone very, very wrong, and it’s probably my fault, again.

Or maybe not. Listen to the cover. Listen to the way it moves faster than the original—it’s about twenty seconds shorter, which can make all the difference in a pop song, and definitely does here. Lewis—who, unlike Harrison, is a better singer than her backup—powers her way through the verses, delivering her wry list of abuses quickly without sacrificing clarity, wrapping her voice around the word “adorable” for a tightrope second before dropping it with exquisite timing and moving to the hook. Producer M.Ward has upped the jangle, making a country song out of what was once merely almost a country song, and Gibbard and Oberst, if they’re not Orbison and Dylan, do a fine job (Gibbard’s patented plaintivity is more or less perfect for his “I’m so tired of being lonely” line, and Oberst, for as far as I know the first time, sheds his malfunctioning-respirator voice for a rasp that isn’t an obvious enough Dylan impression to be distracting). Lewis and company haven’t done anything bold with the song musically—this is no Scissor Sisters’ “Comfortably Numb”—but the original’s ramshackle quality has been replaced with impeccable, vocals-forward, crystal-clear production, and it’s better for it; the Wilburys’ lyrics come in loud and clear, and it turns out that I was right—the song is kind of impossibly sublime; it does kind of encompass all of love’s weary maturity. “Been stuck in airports, terrorized / Sent to meetings, hypnotized / Overexposed, commercialized” performs in less than ten seconds the kind of railing against dehumanization Serious Rock Bands are supposed to spend entire albums on, and “I’ve been robbed and ridiculed / In day-care centers and night schools” is a perfect line, summing up half a life in fewer words than really should be possible.

The cover isn’t without its missteps—at one point “I’ve been fobbed off and I’ve been fooled” is changed to “I’ve been fucked off and I’ve been fooled,” which barely makes sense, and exists only to give Jenny Lewis a chance to say “fuck,” at which, as every male Rilo Kiley fan knows, she is excellent, but for which this is not the time—but to me it’s a staggering, eye-opening improvement, and I don’t think it’s my fault. No, I really think someone—maybe Jenny Lewis, maybe M.Ward, maybe Ben Gibbard, I don’t know—has unlocked the cage this song was trapped in, and let it spread its wings and soar, the way it always almost could. And I’m not ashamed to admit it—just as I’m not ashamed to admit that, with “I’ve been uptight and made a mess / I’ll clean it up myself I guess / Oh, sweet smell of success / Handle me with care,” with that last moment of sheepish triumph, Conor Oberst, of all people, makes me grin like crazy.

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