Category: garage

TWxWKS (‘two weeks’ i guess) get all meta singing about their rapping in “14 Days of Christmas.” They list what they want and BLUE ALERT tease each other, but they do admit December 14th is not Christmas day–Bazinga! It’s rude AND gay.

I get to be quarantined–it’s at my expense!–fourteen days… Ya gettin’ the picture? COVID-19 brings us Indiego North!’s accented pop “Flying to You at Christmas.” Hope you’re not expecting an air fryer on top of all that.

I guess the old saying goes: if you love Christmas so much why don’t you “Marry Christmas“? Salem Ilese cheesy pops the question/answer delightedly: Fourteen carats for the reindeer, Eighteen carats on my finger, Pumpkin pie for every dinner–Oh, wouldn’t it be nice?

Ray Stevens gives us yet another jelly-rolling country stomper “I Won’t be Home for Christmas.” The extended family [fourteen kids from 7 marriages… and I’m just talking’ ’bout my sister Rose] does drive him to song. Revival jump!

Even more country is when “Christmas is Homemade.” The Drop Shadows bemoan the ridiculousity of the season (the bird cooks down from 14 to just 4 pounds) with a post-modern garage effervescence that infects everywhere. Love it, especially the off-key trumpet solo.

Don’t forget Fountains of Wayne’s list: “I Want an Alien for Christmas.” Party rock that lists the qualities: flying, greenness, about seventeen eyes.

When Dr. BLT was seventeen, his dad shopped for Xmas roadside treats on the wrong side of the street with the folk kooky “Not the Kinda Ho (That Santa Had in Mind).” Word. Or at least ak-ward.

Jake Gussman hits the guitar begging to be invited over: It’s seventeen degrees out but I’m feeling warmer–Find another way to light a fire, again. “December’s Children” wants to be deep, but it’s just a cry for help. And a blanket. Pretty folk, though.

“There Goes Santa!” gets The Sneeks all reflective, like: Christmas eve, seventeen degrees, Got me thinking I might catch a cold and freeze. Garage rock that just tells it like it should be. No crying. Even with child commentary overlaid.

Seventeen and Xmas? Crisis time! Let’s recall Jessica Molaskey and the hard-to-forget “Surabaya Santa.” This micro-opera about Mrs. Claus tells her tragedy from when she was just seventeen. Bra-freakin’-va!

Queen Elizabitch III intertwines times and ages from 17 (cold) to 25 (portentous) for the jazzy “A Free Woman in Chicago at Christmas.” Melancholic nostalgia with experimental scat and uncontrollable giggling.

Bukshot remembers When I was seventeen daddy hit a bad spell, so he raps about [BLUE ALERT] his “Broke Christmas.” You know, when kids are sacred, Get them presents it don’t matter what it’s paid with. From the money troubles, he resorts to shoplifting. And–and… ‘kay, there’s no happy ending in these beats. Sorry.

Also regretful about that seventeen-year-old time comes Ingrid Michaelson with some alt-rock poppiness in the form of “The Hat,” a symbol of what she knitted for you when it was cold. But now, three Christmases later, someone else is knitting for you. She dumped you. She’s sorry now.

Cellophane Linings whines, Christmas is just another day off from work for me And it’s been this way since I was seventeen in an emo-boy garage complaint, “Good Grief.” I feel ya, son, but find some merry in sumpin’, ‘kay? Cookies are good.

AK-47s figure into the holiday rap rebellions of ice WRLD’s “Christmas List” and King Aiden’s “Hood Christmas.” Just a BLUE ALERT minute, ‘mo getchu some peace on earth, fellas.

Ben Folds Five hurts his hands smashing out grade-A boogie boogie for “One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces,” barely a holiday number in that it mentions his 47 inch height got him bullied and picked on, despite Mom’s promise of an excellent Christmas gift. (And that he’d grow up famous.) Brilliant craziness!

If Jesus were alive today… He’d have the history of the world
Tattooed across his ass, in 47 languages. So sez “Jesus Revisited” by Dead Hot Workshop. This garage postulation puts Mr. C in the ‘burbs, or jail–but w/o job. Heavy… What would Jesus draw?

The Gentlemen of 328 seem to be address specific in “Christmas at 328,” a grunge exploration of holiday determination. Do as they say, not as they sound.

Graveslime appeals to our better angels with some post punk wonderings about being nicer in the ‘pretty’ “362 Days until Christmas.” Worth the ask.

364 days may be less of a wait for next Xmas when it’s together.

Leanne Weiss croons pop lovery in the mediocre “Christmas Again.” Yes, the 364 days you are with me feel like Christmas Again. You’re gifted!

Today’s the day for “Sexmas” also croons The Collective. All 364 you been waiting to put it on me, lays out the lyrics–but adds cookies and hot chocolate so the time has flown until the smashin’.

The Christmas Kids Cottage rock’n’roll so we can altogether wait the “364 Days” ’til Christmas.

We may be in the year-long Christmas-less time together, but what about Saint Nicholas, Saint Nicholas, at the North Pole 364 days spent all alone. Murder City Devils pretty up the garage rock with fiddle and sentiment for “364 Days.” I’ll drink to that.

Just crazy kids wanting to suck the marrow out of sex, Kai Ross-Best (with TEDDYYBEARR) garage punk out their youth through “This Winter.” There’s love, bedroom, socks, spending £3.90 on the train–it’s wild.

“Christmas at 1919” most likely refers to the street address for the band Boogdish out of Texas. This underground garage weirdness claims there’s no more christmas…. We’ll just see, ‘cuz we can’t hear the lyrics very well.