Don’t say listening to about 200 cover/remixes of The Cardigans “Lovefool” while drinking crazy sweet white wine influenced this. But it did.
Self-described as, “A sexy little cover of The Cardigan’s Lovefool.”The girl who always wished she was from Impanema so she drank a lot of rum freshman year of college and continues to wear dark red lipstick that clashes with her skintone to this day. She also sings at any lounge in the East Village who lets her in. She usually performs in the line for the bathroom. She finished the Pimms dregs.
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Obligatory beach dude acoustic cover. We have this guy to thank for sanding up the path to the keg.
This copy should get the This Song Never Needed To Last Seven Minutes But The Audacity Is Admirable award. Don’t get cornered by this dude, especially if he’s waving a jay in your face. You’ll die with him, should you get stuck.
Even when weighed down to a stoned sloth’s pace, this clocks in at under six minutes. I’m actually pretty into this. Unfortunately, the original artist is unknown, to me at least (I gathered as much from the “NOT ME” genre on it). The Soundcloud user never responded to my messages. He’s probably really busy rustling his bathroom hands in the chip bowl. The dude who posted it makes music too, and isn’t terrible, but not nearly as brilliant as this mysterioso cover including what I guess is back-up vocals from cartoon cats. The big splooge at 3:30 wrangles together gourmet robot crooning with said cats. It’s awesome. Also, I’d like a hit of whatever the hell the actual artist is smoking, please.
This is proof that simply adding upward guitar will make anything much, much worse. Dub, yeah. Sure. Why not. No actual samples enter the picture until a minute in. Pass the dutchie but keep walking.
You guys. It seems Peter Frampton’s singing guitar has embarked on a solo career. This time with mildly Mexican flair. He brought Hawaiian punch.
Nothing says professional karaoke like just singing louder over the vocals in a track while it plays. Keep this chick away from your microwave.
Why wait to open your mail when all you’re doing is recording some silly acapella thing? Luckily her OCD will lead to impeccably clean counters by the end of the night.
She didn’t have to include the word “high” in the title here, “Lovefool anything – High.” Just kidding. I permanently now hate everything. Please someone call her a cab before she groans about the SATs again.
This one’s genre is called “Whatever.” Brought to you without any additional comment, just a suggestion to send her on a quest for mixers and forget to let her back in upon return.
Now I know what an aneurysm sounds like when taking place inside of Tesla’s vacation home basement. Send her down to yours and see if it’s similar.
Can we get someone’s little brother to get this woman a couple of sock puppets and set up a show? This shit’s gonna be legendary hilarity.
This cut self-identifies as “sealcore.” This is the last person I’d ever want on my post-apocalypse team, but the first to test a freshly-crafted gravity bong.
When singing into the hairbrush is not enough. Only when the hairbrush gets crammed at least halfway down the throat will it suffice. This bitch offered three Smirnoff Ices to the party gods. No.
If Seth Bogart and Weird Al had a child, this is that child’s unfortunate friend who sings praise of paste as nummy. But he’s got good acid, so.