Two’s company, three’s a crowd (one’s a corporation?)… but sometimes, when it’s dark and cold, three can be cozy.
Bob Dylan is asking (spoken word) that you stop and hear the “Three Angels” playing their horns in a nowhere corner of Montana. I may have missed ’em.
Just as disappointed Mel Bryant worries that you won’t “Keep Christ in Christmas.” In this brilliant, profane folk-pop rant she fingers speeders, hypocrites, and billboards [that say: ‘Three angels give earths final warning‘].
Another reminder from Wright Now: that first Christmas was much different; No bed or walls in that cattle stall Just a family of three with no place left to sleep. Soft rock makes “Let This Christmas be Different” easier to bear. It’s an object lesson with rhythm.
Much more preachy is a houseless family in Ray Boltz’s pop panegyric “The Gift.” Shivering and without, suddenly they are swarmed with gifts, the note reading: Inside the three of you The real heart of Christmas. Get it?!
Much more fun is Squeeze’s interp of Mary and Joseph in “Christmas Day.” Industrial pop rephrases the manger scene: The man on the desk didn′t hear them right When the two of them booked for three. Thus the rock.
Graeme Connors folk-pop poeticizes “Christmas in Melbourne” where all manner of (unfortunate) magical realism melts the mind, including three cops bearing gifts from the East (they bring him around with a Christmas slap).
The colorful characters in Mikey Powell’s “And a Happy New Year” have worse lives than Elanor Rigby. The soft pop serves up a broken homed teen, empty widower, and single mother [Three children, two jobs and overdue rent] who wish each other pointless cheer. Buckle up, ye of privilege… it’s brutal out there.
Also bottom drawer, the millennials of Default Genders who steal as a political protest [At Christmas, three of us blazing In the parking lot of a bar you were DJing] celebrate with a fizzy pop “Christmas Card from a Scammer in Minneapolis.” At least they got each other.
Desperate for family when ties seem to have been cut, Daily Norris sees that a Table set for three (If you count the dog) is not quite what we used to call Christmas cheer. “You Feel Like Christmas” is a soft pop cry for help. You better deliver.
When THAT sitch is blown, Penny and Sparrow feature a narrator who only wants not to be so damn lonely. Long soaring rock notes of sorrow belabor his wish when she comes back to pick up the dog: Let’s have a “Neat Christmas,” like we used to, All three of us, just like it was…
Well I wanted just to see you on my lonely Christmas eve, Instead I′ve got two dogs who want to spend some time with me begins the sad sack of “I Want My Christmas Back.” Upbeat pop at least. Brett Emerson Wagner, at least, knows how to front the party.
Another solution is to wish for a “Mistress for Christmas.” According to AC/DC’s metal, Wanna be in heaven with three in a bed.
Even more comfortable, Nat King Cole has “My Little Christmas Tree.” Little? You’re big enough for three. Smooth jazzy easy listening
.Just the three of us, man we’re gonna have a party; Everybody else can go to hell may be the healthiest attitude here. Patrick Van Sante (feat. Tim Kerssens, Jaco Bakker & Auke Broertjes) play punk like a kidsong (with penny whistle) to let you know “With Christmas I’ll be Drunk.” And loving it.
No end of lyrics from Christmas songs mention the magi, three wise men or kings, but let’s sample out the good ‘uns. (Yeah, i don’t usually do that.) So, i only offer 12 here and skipped over another 20 i coulda subjected you to. Pay attention and don’t get stuck.
Bruce Cockburn rouses us with jaunty rock/pop in “Early on One Christmas Morn.” The men here see a star and bring jewels. The star could be the kid, but the jewels aren’t Hebrew–if ya’know whatta mean.
Johnny Reid is more tentative with his folk-pop “Winter Star.” It led the kings to Him. He makes you wanna sing-along, almost insists on it.
Robbie Williams gets raunchy if not reverent with “Walk This Sleigh” a sprightly rocker that has doubts: Pushed to find three wise men You; definitely won’t find a virgin. Seems to find Spice Girls merch, though.
Hello Saferide’s “iPod-X-Mas” BLUE ALERT also frets: They say there’s suppose to be three wise men; I’ve been searching but I haven’t found a single one. Pop fun.
Et Repudiata reframe the legend in “The Krampus Cometh.” Herein the metal, the three wisemen are just lost. Evil triumphs. So, no on the shopping.
Ultimate smoothness from Billy Eckstine, “Christmas Eve” uses big band to put the star, stable, and three wise men on the corner of a table in your home. Admire.
Three homies showing’ up to give mad love to Joe’s son may be a rapper’s delight of the Nativity, so Asher Roth’s “Pantophobia” (nicely presented by Basic Concepts) gets us the low down of this hoedown. Good grief.
Peter Link has a peripatetic pop memory problem. But “I Remember Christmas” And the shepherds and the wise men three. Show tune romping.
Howlin’ Bill is all alone this year: No elves, no three wise men Coming from the east… so he down home country calls out to “Rudolph” for company. Yeehaw ha ha.
Finger-poppin’ doo woppin’ a cappella from Boyz II Men reps these guys as a misty silhouette of three kings Bringing all the most precious jewels. “The Birth of Christ” is breezy and cool.
But, does that beat Irish rap? The wisemen and the prophets number three according to “The Third Noel” prettily played (with political agenda, natch) by Christmas Crackas (feat. The Maynooth LGBT Communist Choir).
Herod the Fink goes knee-slappin’ positive punk with “Christmas in the UK.” Here come the wisemen, all three are draped in sheets, Down at the school for the Christmas pantomime. Tra la la lala.
Tim Dinkins lisps out the spoken word country bummer “The Little Boy’s Letter to Santa Claus,” about a boy who don’t want toys–only his Daddy back, adding the date of his daddy’s demise: June 13. (Bet it was a Friday.) [Jimmie Selph’s 1947 version had the rumor of Daddy runnin’ off for younger fields.]
Kenny Rogers ties for awful times with “Kentucky Homemade Christmas.” Poverty reduces the reason for the season to just love. But that’s not enough when you got kids: Little Linda ain’t no baby. Hell she turns thirteen in April, She’s been dreamin’ about that dolly in the window for half her life; She’s old enough to realise that it ain’t never comin’–I’d damn near rob a bank to get that doll. Damn is right.
Counting the ages from 6 to 13, The Osmonds reveal “Christmas Means More Every Year.” Starts selfish, but gets to the true meaning. Elder-slow easy listening.
Watch for Rockets rocks their “13 Days of Xmas.” No lists of gifts, just loud ennui. Good stuff.
El Sancho also rocks, this time with more punk, as befits “Merry Christmas Joey Ramone.” This singer discovered that singer when 13. It took. Homage, homie.
Kupid the King and Ayy rap out a sly countdown from 24 to 1. But, as the freestyle is entitled “25 Days of Litmas” and gets less and less merry and more and more dispirited, we have to celebrate to achieve equanimity. Joy?
The Silent Box warn that you cannot hide from December 25 since “There’s No Day Like Christmas.” This carnival ride of industrial pop celebrates on the outside, cringes on the inside.
Christmas ain’t for 25 more days (guess it depends on when you hear it) refrains Danzr about the neighbors putting up the “Christmas Tree” too early. Rollicking–and a bit retro–Britpop. Fugue!
File Thirteen sings more outtake (who wrote this??) than lyric in the ironic, sneering, rocking “It’s Christmas.” Things may not be merry or bright, A little bit of gingerbread and it’s alright… (except for Karen).
December 25th is literally the world’s worst date claims Sense Offense in a BLUE ALERT poppy rap number “I Hate Xmas.” Australian and upbeat, this hates so juvenilely good.
Worse? Body parts and human consumption mar the distorted rap of KidCrusher’s “The Naughty List.” Where the fuckin’ weed at?!
My spirits start to sink every year When December 25th draws near ‘cuz, as The Reducers redesign, they get “Nothing for Christmas.” This Brit punk howler is not your grandad’s novelty. Well, maybe your dad’s.
Andy Cold paints an anthropological portrait o’ poverty in “Scary Christmas,” a rap tragedy of rice and chicken.
December 25th is a cruel mistress, instructs the rap of Chilly Gonzalez. “Christmas Business” is that party pooping poison about how Christmas makes you broke and sad and exhausted. Grinchify us, Chllly!
Driving pop from 9teez wails: Grandma bought me a pyjama; I said to her “hey old lady don’t you know I’m 25 ?” (Pink? You’re kidding me?)! “Merry Fistmas” wishes you a crappy New Year.
Punkrock spells it out: “Xmas Has been X’d.”December 25th has been blacklisted Since Dawkins found the proof Jesus never existed. Can you imagine no religion? No? NOFX will explain its loss from stem to stern.
The Wish You Weres are a punk band from deep in the heart of Kentucky. Their extensive “Wishlist” features each band member asking for their specifics: a toaster, a turtle , an Easter Basket full of dead chihuahuas… but that’s not the worst. What they got YOU (it’s under the bed) is the worst. This seems to be take 49, according to the lyrics. BLUE ALERT–so fun as expletive.
KC Star (feat. Avery Bruce) overplay the pop syncopation to achieve a anxious look-out for Santa. Get comfy in my bed, hey, maybe count some sheep (1-2-3) instructs “A Christmas Carol?” Confused? So are the closeted artists.
‘Nuttin’ for Christmas’ anchors “I’m Working Retail for Christmas.” We Are the Union enacts the rude shoppers (“1-2-3 pick it up pick it up”) as well as the sad stockers (I’ll gladly move if you just say “please”). Rollicking punk.
Even more pop, K-pop in point of fact, Wa$$up toggle ‘twixt languages for their “Jingle Bell.” But the 1,2,3 let’s go is serious this time.
1,2,3 go intros the silky rap (oddly to ‘Winter Wonderland’) “I Saw Mommy Kissing Sacramento Santa.” There’s a 916 Sacramento area code reference in there, too–but Big TL gives us very soft-core blue language. So, for MOST of the family.
But 1,2,3 Go! needs some (punk) rock for true trajectory. So, “Socks for Christmas” from The Wish You Weres is a contentious (hence, BLUE ALERT) reaction to the bourgeois platitude that is the gift-without-thought. Well… GO!
Red was Here has a slight problem with “Christmas in Devon (Devon?)” being as how it’s the in-laws to visit, innit? He proposes to take the A30 beat rush hour, straight up the 303 and onto Cobham. Maybe wouldn’t be so bad a drive, but still brit-screaming pop-punk, see?
The Ramones suffer burnout in “Danny Says,” the slightest and lightest of punk doldrums. Sound check’s at 5:02, but–in L.A.–It ain’t Christmas if there ain’t no snow. (Tom Waits creates much more pathos for the endless road:)