Again: Otis Gibbs ups the skepticism with “Lookin’ Like a Hippie.” Groovy fiddlin’ makes this blues, but i’m bustin’ my sides on this one.
Merrill Leffmann presents “Daddy Says,” a cute bluegrass ensemble about a dubious kid. Tough logistics. Good stuff.
After an awkward gift exchange among millennials, Santa shows up shouting I’M FOR REAL! It’s all part and parcel for the garage fun of Corbeta Corbata’s “The Spirit Of Giving (Santa’s Lament).” Intense.
Libandano Urfam (ft. Libandano Urfam) tests our patience with the experimental rock “Awful Christmas Rap.” I don’t believe it.
Sure gonna be disappointed “If Santa Don’t Come See Me” declares Allie Jo Thomas. This uncertainty is one of the stages of Advent. As kidsong, it swings.
Bhi Bhiman is merely asking “Who’s Up There?” Motown sound makes the inquiry an accusation, in the funkiest sense possible. The answer: whatever.
Let’s get to the reasoning of disbelief vis a vis Ol’ Nick: Again: Andrew X asks if you’d believe him when he excuses his absences in your life with the song “I am Santa.” Masterful folk yarning.
Hilary Marckx nasals the folk for “Christmas Carols, Christmas Lies.” It’s more about love gone wrong than the great Santa conspiracy. Still, the more you know, the more you’re snowed.
Joe Henson also wrestles with complicated relationships with his handclapping folk country “Lies on Christmas.” Sounds kinda like eating with braces on.
Worth the Wait is sick of “Christmas Lies.” But this western pop is fooling for love. That’s holiday adjacent at best.
In “Passing the Polargraph” The Classic Brown pleads the fifth while testifying about the whole Christmas kerfuffle. Ironic indie flippancy.
Useta believe is akin to not believing. As again: Jeremy Walker reminds us in shambling country that we used to believe but now we’re “Not So Wise Men Anymore.” So there.
Or like when Clint Black remembers being “The Kid” and with slow country aw-shucks condescends all over innocence. Not ‘cuz he knows better now, but MIRACLES… or something.
MNEK croons R+B over the loss of innocence (and love) via “Stopped Believing in Santa.” A broken soul who can really hold a note.
FullMoonPoet slurs up an indie storm with “I Used to Believe in Christmas” and bunches of other myth. But, you know, older/wiser.
Also again: Checklist decides this whole believing schtick is too much for right now. “Next Year for Sure” they indie out so they’ll get presents anyway.
Gaspard Royant brings The Continent to indie pop with “I Can’t Believe It’s Christmas.” Builds symphonically, yet that country twang keeps it grounded.
Attempting rap D.P. Weisemann declares “I Can Believe It’s Here” with only middling effort. Not buying it.
So Out There electronicas “This is Why Christmas is Bullshit!” for your edification. Brit anti-capitalism, so file it away correctly in case you need it again.
The Aux garage rocks the if/then equation of “A Real Santa.” It’s only a thought experiment, but now i feel all funny inside.
Again: PST recounts childhood trauma seeing Dad when it shoulda been someone else in the unplugged folk “I Still Believe.” I mostly believe you, too.
Ne-Yo R+Bs the sobering realities of wintertime when cousins be spilling tea in “Talk About It.” People do their own thing. You do yours. He does his.
“Christmas Bullshit” from Identity Crisis is drunk garage hopelessness, although it discourages suicide.
Durand Bernarr also invokes R+B to paint the picture of parental brutality in the affecting “Santa Ain’t Buy That.” Parents don’t like being discounted. So, ow.
Believing in Santa at first but then spiraling down the Matrix, Cassie McMullin lobs some trial balloons of possibility in the folksy pop “Believe in Me.” Red pill!
The Ohio City Players rock the polka with “Make Believe,” an investigation into the power of the mind. Mind bendy.
Sean Allan Krill also toys with Xmas maybes in the easy listening folderol “Wish.” Whitebread with mayonnaise.
Jesus Presley parlays Xmas faith into the Big Question in the bluesy pop “It’s Christmas Eve.” The follow-up line here is I do believe, as if everything is ephemeral and all that exists is what you want it to be. Sexy sax, man.
Again: Ron Holden has already asked us “Who Says There Ain’t No Santy Claus?” But it bears redefending. Doo wop greatness all the way to the electric chair.
Riffing off Red Sovine’s patented storytelling, MAMA admits that in “A Christmas Far Far Away” no one believes in Christmas. This is a country trucking song, but in space. It’s like that.
Again: From the failed musical ‘Flahooley’ Barbara Cook and Jerome Courtland update “Who Says There Ain’t No Santa Claus?” with a love song searching for romance.
Brooks and Dunn did NOT improve on this title with their homespun country mush “Who Says There Ain’t No Santa.” Not a cover, but a banal cashgrab.
Properly modern, Captain Beefheart avant gardes the blues with his proclamation “There Ain’t No Santa Claus on the Evening Stage.” Sure it’s from the 1970s, but compared to the other stuff here, this is forward looking.
