My father, born in Brooklyn, New York, in 1906, had a terrific memory for the hits of his youth and I grew up hearing “The Sheik of Araby”, “When Frances Dances with Me”, “Yes! We Have No Bananas”, over and over. I would sometimes ask, “Who sang that song?” – a normal question for any pop listener born after 1950. But it made no sense to him. Everybody sang those songs; that was what a hit was. Record dealers assumed the average customer would be happy with any decent performance of a hit – just as casual buyers of classical music still shop primarily on the basis of the composition and composer.
The charm of garage bands, who often play the same songs (e.g., "Hey Joe"), lies in precisely their permitting listeners to reconnect to that era when the personalities of musicians didn't matter, and generic assumptions about them could suffice. There is the song and the attitude, but no faces and gossip.