Still into the triple digits, but now we’re at the line between heavyweight and the lower weights. The first unprimable number. The big two-double-oh.

Easy folk-alts “Christmas Memories” about watching ‘Home Alone’ 200 times and liking the photo albums better with rum. But when she comes hither with maybe tonight We can make another Christmas memory, the song gains traction and violins and tubular bells. Childlike wonder sits well on this giggly grownup.

I just spent 200 on my friend’s list, regrets Shayla Hamady in “I’m Broke But Happy Holidays.” This alt-lounge serenade is a cool goof on celebrating, but the pissiness lingers like unwashed socks.

The duo Schmab brings it home with the colliding culture shock of “Fuck Yeah Christmas,” a gospel rant of dysfunctional proportions. Finally a song to fully reference a Red Ryder carbide action 200-shot range model air rifle and the Roker polar vortex. Ah, men.

Katy Shaw and the Search for the Stolen Secret leads to the Wilshire Hotel. Four Christmases ago the shenanigans of rooms 110, 200, 310, and 318 are discovered. (200 is the operative one, but i can’t wait.) Candice Price leads Paul Shapera’s number “Christmas in the City“–a wondering, wandering showtune of noir-ish regret. Haunting.

One of the ‘cousins’ of Christmas music, the hymn ‘Amazing Grace’ seems to have an curious backstory. Christopher Smith and Arthur Giron wrote a musical about it and its author, John Newton, a slave holder turned abolitionist. Here is “Nothing There to Love” about the love that inspired.

1800 perished according to Brooks Hubbard, representing the Rebs in “Blood on the Cotton Fields.” Mere days after Christmas 1864, Sherman’s march to the sea settled the Civil War. Those 1800 Yank casualties were but a blip on the way to defeat for the Rebels. Country rock calls out many subjects, but this silver lining of death is hard to take.

Rounding out, Team StarKid disco ‘A Christmas Carol’ into “Bah Humbug!” it was 1800-something, yaknow. Fairly faithful, in a rock-opera way.

The Indelicates create a little play in “The Plaza Ballroom, Manchester, Christmas Eve, 1956.” If you’re not sure what this interchange has to do with the olden days, try their spoken introduction about the raw beginnings of the discotheque and who made them possible. History you should know. A showtune epic.

Christmas Eve 1994, begins Matt Roach, reminiscing the good ol’ times with his baby. Those times are over in his “December Chill” an indie sentimental whiner. (He’s waitin’ by the phone for you.)

Take me back to 1994 again, craves Uncle Luc in “Christmas 1994.” Many childhood gifts merge together in his watercolor memories, but he misses those familiy bits. Rocking folk with plenty o’ Hawaiian to go around.

“Indie Christmas 1994” is a coming of age rock vamp from Gateway to Thousen. Cute backup, but not the best love advice i’ve heard.

Curious electronic experimental from watches | warnings, “Christmas Eve 1994” seems to be weather reporting under electric rhythms. The title is a mantra you’re welcome to adopt.

Nostalgia for ’94 (and later)?! Throw iPhones on the floor Pretend it’s 1994 wail Vista Blue in “A ’90s Kind of Christmas” spewing cultural landmarks willy nilly (My So Called Life, Green Day, Reebok Puffs) amidst the folk banging.

I Don’t Know Margo resists the War on Christmas with the rocking “When I Say Merry Christmas,” claiming no harm/no foul even if this were 1994 with George Costanza. That may be a Seinfeld Festivus reference, but such an alternative holiday was introduced a la TV in 1997, so yada yada yada.

Fantastic tango family dirty laundry from nerd diva Helen Arney, “Christmas 1994” was the year the VCR busted and the family fight over what channel to watch was waged. Killer. (Watch out for poetic license memory post script.) Brava!

At last, a song that counts down! “Counting Down to Christmas” is an introductory cast-driven showtune for the gratuitous ‘A Christmas Story, The Musical.’ Ralphie realizes that with thirty-four thousand fifty-eight minutes yet to go that it must be 9 PM on December 2nd. At the “Act One Finale,” only 17,041 minutes remain. Hurry (it’s about December 13th at 4 AM)!

Willivision and Mindy Lloyd sing the blues for the “Billionaire Christmas.” How do they do it (the billionaires)?

The Help reveal “All I Want for Christmas is a Billion Dollar No-Bid Contract.” But after this garage rock, the blues.

“One Billion Years of Christmas” from Myles Anderson takes us on a study of–wait for it–Scientology. This is some reference to the billion-year contract signed at certain levels of attainment. So, it’s not just Xmas, it’s the big picture. Tootling show tune.

The magic of flying reindeer is institutionalized to the point that the power of it drives many a simile/metaphor. We don’t have to be celebrating gift delivery to be talking about those high hoofers.

Hadley Park (happily) returns to tell us of the hope of reuniting lost loves with “If Reindeer Can Fly.” Twangy banjo always adds value to a broken-hearts song. But not really about the four-legged.

“Cold December Flies Away” is a centuries old Catalonian carol about goodbye to Winter (birth of JC?) and hello to Spring (killing of JC?). It’s a celebration from a New Lutheran minister. Whoosh.

Let’s get even more off topic with the inspiring “Fly,” an aerobic country racing backtrack for a young person with skates and some frozen water. John McCutcheon flies.

The anticipation of presents causes children (in their dreams?) to be “Somewhere Hovering Over Indiana” according to A Christmas Story, The Musical. Naw, i guess it’s Santa’s sack that’s doing the aerial act. Andy Walken leads the kidcast from some TV presentation.

Let’s cut out the middle deer and just become Santa’s magical sleigh pullers!

Some kidsong perpetrators are so deadly serious I worry what lasting psychological effects result from their ministrations. Willie Sterba’s fully (electronic) symphonic attempt to “Fly Like a Reindeer” is scary and uplifting both. Fade out to zenith.

Bored of holiday celebration? Try to see “Through the Eyes of a Reindeer” like the Tigglemeisters. Their sweet show tune is at least a creative writing exercise, at most madness.