Dulled to death by the holiday haze, the next monotone messages may include THAT WORD by disaffected default. Ain’t no thing.
The Christmas version of The Great American Trailer Park Musical includes the pick-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps jubilee “…It’s Christmas” by Susan Koozin and cast. Up with hillbilly people who swear pretty casually.
Barely able to muster the breath to complain, The Mike and Ryan Project project “Oh Fuck Me, It’s Christmas Time” onto a wrinkled sheet with a candle powered projector. The tuba helps. And cool is momentarily lost. But the swearing is automatic and unfeeling.
Guinea Worms plunkity plinks on the toy piano through “Oh F*uck, It’s Christmas Again” as if time were merely a countdown to the end. Who the f*uck cares anyway?
Some of this anti-Christmas sentiment features Backwards Jesus, otherwise revered as Satan, who intends to kill (and eat) the newborn Savior–for the holiday.
Medeia’s “Antichristmas” scourges happiness with their patented metal. Pass the baby blood. BLUE ALERT
Ice Nine Kills (also BLUE ALERT) continues the sentiment, pasting pop over metal with “Merry Axe-Mas.” Jinkeys, that’s up the butt.
CeDigest also juxtaposes melodic with menacing in “Antichristmas.” Probably BLUE ALERT, for all i can tell. Blasphemy, anyway.
Icon Park stays unmusically electronic with their “Antichristmas.” Mumbling about the luminous wintry scene hides the evil. Oh. No.
All those people, all those commitments, all that preparation–can’t i just stay on Facebook? Christmas parties are the worst.
Trampauline hos and has “I Hate Christmas Parties” with odd quiet party fun. Jacob & Alex scratch at the surface of the blues for their version, but the plodding piano marches them into maudlin. This IS a Relient K song, though, so we gotta allow these Ohioans the opportunity to build the orchestration to earn that guitar riff on the original millennial meltdown. Emo out of here!
Hate, like love, is blind. Not that it didn’t spring from some tainted source, but it blows the misunderstandings, missed opportunities, and misgivings all out of proportion.
Thusly, some ragin’ rationalizations:
Sharpece with House of Breaking Glass R+B gospelize “Worst Time of Year.” Broken heart, baby, hurts worse in a season of love. Munh-hunh.
I’m not sure, but i think Sufjan Stevens’s “That was the Worst Christmas Ever!“–also with banjo, but now more gentle folk–was spoiled due to lack of self actualization (or the dad was an abusive drunk). ‘S-hard to tell with all the new age haiku introspection.
By Surprise go appropriately offkey with their “Worst Christmas Ever.” But, see, it’s a fakeout, bc the ‘worst’ is a distant memory compared to right now–when you’re about to meet the ‘rents. (Girl, ima take it as a bad sign that he’s SO insistent–this may gonna be YOUR worst.)
The Stones are the worst–no, not Fred and Wilma! Passing lumps of salt through the urethra for Christmas? Don’t get me started! (Please, don’t. I’ve never had kidney stones.)
Norick Eve can tell you. With his daughter (last 1/2 minute), he’ll altrock you through the ordeal of “Daddy has Another Hello Kidney Stone” for Christmas. Yee-ow.
Here’s a more appropriate holiday sickness: black-fingers, old nosey dropoff, necrosis of the toes-is. (Warning–songs contained make light of this life-threatening condition.)
daKoda Langford spins a tinkly tale of Christmas illness with his melodic synth rap “Frostbite.” He might be a genre-switching genius. Or twelve.
This danger is not to be confused with being bitten by monster snowmen. Let Myrrhna explain in a Bah & The Humbugs’ “Frostbite.” Haunting pop
Canadian weirdos Jakalope party up the pathologies in “Frostbite Kisses.” Better access to health care makes them more candied cavalier, i guess. Electronic alt.
Christmas is a time of socializing, no one wants to be hiccoughing or sneezing or hacking or unable to catch their wind. Conversate like a good fellow! In out in out!
The Branches Youth Choir bring us “The Coughing, Sneezing Blues” for Christmas. It’s white people, so blues with privilege.
Yet Monica Sottile has bless(you)ed us a fine dreamy alt-piece “Christmas = Mine (cough cough)” not exactly about illness (altho there are some fine undernotes of throat clearance), but certainly about December’s malaise.
Well, footwear… but if you find “Santa’s Boots” under her bed–not so jolly. The Crusty Jugglers bring the maudlin to honky tonk for a country downer.
Kinky boots continues with Diane Gee wanting to wear “Santa’s Boots.” Kidsong, so i’m sure it’s innocent as all get out. But when she crows about bein’ ‘jolly’ after ‘strapping on’ the gear–i dunno.
Gleefully naughty HB Radke puts the big band in gay apparel with “Shiny Red Boots.” It’s not cross dressing so much as Xmas dressing.
Also alternative, Greg (guitar) Case strums and hums through “Santa Wore Cowboy Boots.” This Santa identifies as ‘scoot.’
bennie accounts for this anomaly with “Santa’s Got Daddy’s Boot on.” Guess it was a shortchanged quick-change. Frolicsome kidsong.
Joe Teig brings the rock’n’roll to kidsong with “Santa Claus’s Boots,” a measure of how big a man he is. (As in, i could never fill those boots.)
Metal now with “Black Boots on” by Billy Scream. This inventory of apparel gets dark fast.
Just as disturbing is the disco hip hop from Marc Schaefgen “Black Boots n’ Red Pants.” This is not natural.
BearRon (Rob Barron) sees too many Santas when he sings “Oh Santa Pants.” This slow country two-step ends badly when he finds discarded Santa pants… eek!
Brian Greene (in not quite a sequel) polkas up his phone call to the North Pole to report “How Santa Lost His Pants.” Where will the operator connect him? Child services?
Where will this end? “Santa’s Panties” by Valley of Love, Dan Barbanel, Anu Junnonen, and Joy As a Toy round robin sing about that piece of costumery that must not be mentioned. Experimental pop. Be cautious of learning too many details….
Little Encyclopedia Browns roam the front room figuring out it’s someone else in the getup, like Dr. Elmo with his bluegrass folk “Grandpa in the Santa Suit Show.” Nice pickin’.
Falling for the man in the uniform, but this time the man, Christiane Bjørg wants to know “Who’s the Hunk in the Santa Suit?” Who’s your umpapa? (Ja ja, beerhall pop, das ist gut.) (But Danish.)
Wait, is that YOU in the Santa suit? Filipino Dream Girls puzzle out how when you go get the “Santa Suit” on, you transform. You are Christmas. Funny folk rock worth opening your minds towards.
Maybe i have NO idea who’s in that two-piecer: “Somebody Stole My Santa Claus Suit” wails Dan Hicks and the Christmas Jug Band. This trip through instrumentation winds up Christian anyway.
Fountains of Wayne document the woes of “The Man in the Santa Suit” at the mall. Fine alt to celebrate the season. (Or a retelling of the first The Simpsons episode.)
The Christmas sweater may have begun with Andy Williams and his televised holiday specials, but the BBC co-opted Christmas jumpers through the ’80s. THE joke gift of the ’90s, the so-called ugly hand-crafted relative-bestowed woolly overdecorated pullover fell by the wayside, only to become an ironic champion to the millennials in the 2010s.
We’ll cover a few days with the lovely songs about them, from sweetest to sourest.
The Ghost Script (Matt Thompson) countdowns the traditions that make December Christmas. With blaring jazzy pop, he finds his “Favorite Christmas Sweater” and becomes the hero.
