This past summer, Beck began a new music project — Record Club. He spends a day in the studio with his ever-so-cool musician friends and they cover entire albums (they’ve finished The Velvet Underground & Nico and have moved on to Songs of Leonard Cohen) releasing one track every Thursday; unrehearsed, unplanned and sometimes unwell. While some of the covers are quite good — “Sunday Morning” and “Winter Lady” — the product itself is nothing too remarkable. However, the actual success of the individual covers is irrelevant. What makes this musical experiment valuable is the prevailing notion. When it comes down to it, it is a nice idea.

But of course, cynics will declare that the only reason anyone cares about Beck and his “little experiment” is because he is Beck, and devotees to the originals will lament that Beck is futile in his contemporary attempt to improve upon music’s masterpieces. The cynic’s primary assumption may very well be true, but is not necessarily negative. I revel in the prospect of a musician doing something for the sheer joy of it. The value of Record Club is in the opportunity it offers to see how musicians play and create music without planning and considering every detail of arrangement and production. The fact that it is done by Beck is what makes it appealing — not simply because as a mindless fan I am convinced he can do no wrong — but because it is compelling to see what happens when musicians play music for fun.

As for those who fail to see the purpose of trying to equal classic and beloved albums, they have missed the point. “There is no intention to ‘add to’ the original work or attempt to recreate the power of the original recording. Only to play music and document what happens,” are the words written under the window for “Suzanne” on the Record Club webpage. In fact, even the most dismally failed recordings are effectual. The purpose is not to reinvent standards. The albums are simply used as a common denominator to give the musicians material to work with.

Occasionally, everything aligns and the result is a solid remake. “Sunday Morning,” the first release, with its heavy bass drum and slightly dragging tempo pays respect to the original while creating a sadder, Modern Guilt-ier sound. The first cover is a testament to the potential for success the experiment holds. Some later attempts can be described only as unfortunate. “Master Song,” for instance, is done as a rap and is a prime example of peculiarity without merit. Though, I suspect that much of the outlandishness of some of the Leonard Cohen covers can be credited to the irksome “quirkiness” of MGMT’s Andrew VanWyngarden (though I am well aware that this is a personal bias and that my assumption is founded on nothing other than visceral reaction).

I do not mean to imply that the project is so rigidly hit or miss. Many of the songs, while not profound reinterpretations, manage to accomplish something worth listening to. “Stranger Song” has a cool percussive arrangement, “Winter Lady” is very pretty and lulling and once past the overwhelming dissonance of “There She Goes Again,” the rhythm is fairly catchy. It is these songs — those that are not necessarily earth-shattering and redefining — that are what the project is about. Musicians with different aesthetics get together and we are privy to the results. (Ace of Bass is the next potential source of material, and Wilco another possible collaborator.)

In an industry where the necessity for success results in some level of calculation — regardless of how indie a band is, art in general involves some contrivance and manipulation of the image or statement the artist wants to create — it is important to remember that these musicians sometimes just play for fun. Often at the end of Record Club recordings (particularly the more bizarre ones) the participants end laughing. Upon finishing the song “Heroin,” you can hear Brian Lebarton giggle and say: “I don’t know what the fuck .... ” They are not taking these covers too seriously, and neither should we.

Regardless of how well Record Club’s covers continue to turn out, it is the spirit of the thing that makes it of any interest. They are really no different from my dad and I playing goofy versions of jazz standards. Usually they don’t amount to much, but we sure have fun. Granted, we don’t post our renditions on the Internet, but can you blame a guy for wanting to share his joy with rest of the world? And in a time where it is so easy to share everything, why not? While perhaps I am romanticizing or idealizing, sometimes the world is just better that way. After all, the results of his experiment are up on his website for free. Skepticism regarding the authenticity of the idea is to no avail. Whether or not his covers are of any note, the sentiment behind them most definitely is.