Lord Ferzy seems to be recording in his car, but the rap/R+B story of “Christmas is Gonna be in Heaven Tonight” takes a turn with the memory: four years ago I was waiting on my own For you to wish me a Merry Christmas, which happened and happiness was had. But now, not so happy. Meaning–oh, no.
Five for Fighting plays with offbeats and voice cracking for “Policeman’s Xmas Party.” After an unexplained crime scene, 4 weeks later it’s still Raining in the Park, Marine with a gun guards my house after dark… Yeah, dark. And pop.
“Four Days to Go” from The Starshine Singers is kidsong from the elementary school stage. The days count down, the temp increases. Appropriate.
Travel this time of the year is not so merry: I’m spending 4 hours on a plane, yet again I’m losing 3 hours when I get there, but I don’t care, whisper-plains Asya Aydin in the hypnotic “I’m Coming Home.” Pop oddness.
All the innocent kids Are running around without cover For more than four seconds in “A Civilian Christmas.” Burmese Bombshells take an easy listening lounge approach to the wartime madness easing into festive gladness. My!
The Ort think every moment counts: Take my hand… 10 seconds, Just long enough To illuminate this spot. “It’s Christmas” is a Celtic rocker of sweet emotion.
Plaintive pop from Kristen Brown: “Christmas Spirit” explains, Anybody asks what I’m wishing for this year I’ll ask for ten To spend with you again. But–ten what? minutes? years? Love knows no math.
Even more breathily sentimental, Lil Cat sets the scene: fireplace on video; 10 hours should be okay. But all this mise en place is in order to enjoy your “Christmas Sweater.” Earnest fetishism.
Feisty protest folk from Elton Thomas, “It’s Christmas Time” is the sorrow of the homeless guy at the end of the line turned away–it ends tragically: Now rewind ten hours ago, and some guy (in some metaverse) trades spots with him. Problem solved.
Ten hour drive through the blazing sun, Hotter than Hades before we’ve begun–can be the downside to an Australian holiday homecoming. But Simone Craddock (feat. The Girls of Oz) make a fine point in her folky country pop “When I Get Home It’s Christmas.” Who needs a calendar?
It’s been 10 months now… is the soft folk opening to “Our First Christmas” by The Christmas Cards. A love ballad on the soporific side (with interior monologue/panic).
Sevenths makes a string-heavy pop editorial ‘giants Boris Johnson in his “Blue Christmas.” The uncertainty of 10 Downing Street in handling the pandemic cost human lives: you’ve dropped the ball for ten months Now we’re all suffering at your hands. Not strictly for the holidays, but it’s when this hits hardest.
Three hundred may be magic for bowling, but what else can we say about it? Sure, it’s a triangular number and the sum of a pair of twin primes (149 + 151), as well as the sum of ten consecutive primes (13 + 17 + 19 + 23 + 29 + 31 + 37 + 41 + 43 + 47) and, okay, it is palindromic in 3 consecutive bases: 30010 = 6067 = 4548 = 3639, and also in base 13. But other than that….
John the Singer invites you to drink 300 beers now that you’ve made it through the shitstorm of this year. BLUE ALERT “Merry Ducking Christmas” ducks no punches in an experimental garage kind of way. Sounds like how existential angst feels.
The Macc Lads get way more BLUE ALERT with their “Jingle Bells.” Sex is like breathing for these hardcore punkers. See, when Beater found 300 johnnies in his Christmas stocking We didn’t see him ’til New Year’s Eve. That’s 300 condoms in one week, mathematicians.
Jamie Cullum’s “The Pianoman at Christmas” has got three hundred songs about Santa Claus under my fingers. This psychological study adds symphony to the lonely. Worth a listen.
On the lighter side, June Christy wishes you “The Merriest” for Christmas and the next 300 and some odd days. This swingin’ jazz easy listening needs listening to. It’s hep, cat.
John Denver (with or without the Muppets) is a pretty way to get existential. In “Noel: Christmas Eve, 1913” his persona time travels in his mind to the beginning of Christmas. Now whether or not it’s FROM 1913 or somehow 1913 is the New Nativity… i cannot say. ‘Stoo pretty to parlay the petty problems.
People leave work around the holidays and journey home, the place where they hailed from. It’s the stuff of biting family comedy (along with trains and automobiles). Let’s sing–but in a courteous sotto voce so we don’t get Air Marshals coming after us.
J.Dub (feat. Sheena Robinson & Monay) plaintively rap about the need to return to the nest in “Flying Home for Christmas.” It’s smooth soul rap, so it softens the homesickness.
Driving pop from TobyMac points the lovelorn in the right direction as in “Bring on the Holidays.” The flight is only the initial arm of the journey, but still–gotta find something pretty to listen to.
Likewise the home-centric reflections of the country bluegrass “Christmas Time at Home” from Rhonda Vincent. Still, it starts with flying.
Living Voices goes full Lawrence Welk with “Flying Home for Christmas.” The schmaltz, the corn, the maudlin mistiness… it’s an ambience you couldn’t cut with a candelabra.
Rick Brown calypsos a dreamy downer “Santa Couldn’t Fly on Christmas Eve.” It was one of those Dickens ghosts making you appreciate the world you didn’t care about until it was gone. Or, was it a Capra angel?
Now Jimmy Dean’s “Little Sandy Sleighfoot” has skied by before. And i’m not so sure this is a reindeer we’re talking about, but deformities are all welcome in the pool of heroes who save Christmas for Santa.
Scott Fagan has a children’s operetta concerning a lesser known sleigh puller “Sandy the Bluenosed Reindeer.” This easy listening country tinged honest effort raises the canon of Xmas music, but it’s not much to add to reindeer history too. The little dickens doesn’t like the cold. Case closed.
Nearly perfect, the raw blues number “Yippee-Ki-Yay” from Fortress of Attitude is the best song here. It’s just not the best ‘Die Hard’ Xmas song by a hair.
Jonnie Common’s “Yippee-ki-yay, Father Christmas” might be the most clever/best song along these lines. Make fists with yo’ toes, boy. The title is not sung, however, yet the wicked wordplay overqualified it to be here. Thanks