Jam Cruise and JamOn and jam bands in gen’ral
Rabies and scabies and diseases ven’ral
Douchebags on Instagram showin’ off their bling
These are a few of my most hated things.
And, of course, the Sincere Acoustic Cover. The Sincere Acoustic Cover (SAC) is responsible for Global Warming. The SAC gives puppies cancer–real cute ones, too–and blinds ducks and other waterfowl. Remember the Deepwater Horizon? SAC did that shit, and tricked Edward Windsor into becoming a Nazi. When you were a child, the world was full of wonder and promise; it is now not, and that is because of the SAC.
The SAC is why Trump won.
For the newcomers: there are rules to a Sincere Acoustic Cover. Come on and reiterate with me:
IT’S ALL RIGHT TO BE WHITE The SAC is, like lacrosse and the benefit of the doubt, only for honkies. An ethnic performing an SAC becomes, for the length of the song, an honorary white person. 80% of an SAC is growing up in a house with a three-car garage.
SAC, YOU BETTER WATCH YOUR SPEED Hey, hey, hey! What’s with that mildly-upbeat tempo you’re strumming there, hoss? Slow that shit down. How else are you going to over-emote the lyrics? How else are you going to let us know that you mean it, maaaaaan?
(A note/counterpoint: An SAC of the Sex Pistols’ God Save The Queen would be fucking hilarious.)
TINKLE TINKLE, YOU BIG FUCKING STAR (Piano only) See those keys all the way on the right? You better use those shits.
WHAT DO YOU CALL A DOG WITH A CANTALOUPE? Melancholy, motherfucker. That’s what we’re aiming for with an SAC. Regardless of what tone the original track took, the SAC only has one lane to drive down and it is the Melancholy Parkway. Not sad. Melancholy. You’re not singing about the bitch/bastard what done you wrong, no: you’re singing about the gal/feller you had a good time with, and now it’s over, but wasn’t it fun while it lasted? Maybe you see them on the Facebook and they look happy, and you think about hitting “like” on one of their posts, but then you don’t.
So: we have our ground rules, Enthusiasts. Everyone picked out their safe words? Wonderful. Like Ronald Reagan said, it is now a time of choosing.
This is by–and I am quoting–an enigmatic bossa nova band from Los Angeles called Ituana; it was recently featured in the hit show-for-ladies Big Little Pretty Little Lying Liars. While technically not an SAC, I feel that it qualifies because of how irrationally furious it made me. LISTEN TO HER BREATHINESS! It’s like Julee Cruise was having an asthma attack. This is the worst thing that’s even happened to humanity, and I am absolutely aware that today is Holocaust Remembrance Day as I make that statement. The Nazis could have saved money on Zyklon B had they just played this at Auschwitz, because everyone would have just killed themselves.
But it gets worse.
How, TotD? What could be lower, more rank, fouler than that bit of feculent shit–and feculent shit is the shittiest shit there is–that you just made us sit through?
Ladies and gentiles of the jury, I give you American Girl by Taylor Swift.
None of you made it all the way through, did you? I got to about a minute in and then I slammed my testicles in my desk drawer, like, six or seven times. Why? Because you can only feel one pain at a time. American Girl is a driving song, and this song does not make me want to drive: it makes me want to turn the car on with the garage door closed, and then shoot myself. It is the worst thing Taylor Swift’s ever done, and I am including John Mayer. It is–
“What the fuck was that, man?”
–so terrible that…excuse me?
“You’re excused. What was that shit?”
I know that nasal voice.
“Seriously, man: what the fuck was that shit?”
“I don’t wanna know her.”
“I got a lot of ’em.”
Dude? We miss you so much.
Totally. We all didn’t realize how much we loved you.
“You love me?”
“Don’t play that shit any more.”