The Sounds of Christmas Music
Silent Night? If Only…
By Jaime McLeod

Christmas is around the corner and, as usual, I can’t wait for it to get here; but not for the usual reasons. Sure, I enjoy the gifts, the food, the time with family, and even the classic holiday television programming. My favorite part of Christmas, however, is that it signals an end to the inescapable barrage of Christmas music we’ve been subjected to during the prior eight weeks.

It’s bad enough that most retailers feel the need to slip Christmas tunes into the rotation even before Halloween has passed. To my thinking, unless you’re staging a production of “A Christmas Carol,” playing Christmas music amidst plastic skeletons and tombstones just seems a bit … awkward. But lately, it’s the music itself, and not just the amount of time I’m forced to listen to it, that troubles me most. Though I’m still reasonably young, I can remember when Christmas music was the domain of silky-voiced crooners like Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole. Some 50 years after it was recorded, a classic like Frank Sinatra’s “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” can still tug at the heartstrings.

But today, anybody who becomes famous for a day or two seems to churn out a Christmas album, regardless of whether or not they can actually sing. 

Rosie O’Donnell’s two – count ‘em, two – Christmas albums are a perfect example. Don’t get me wrong, I like Rosie and always have. But that doesn’t mean I want to hear her sing duets of popular Christmas songs with people like Cher, Donnie Osmond and – I kid you not – Elmo from Sesame Street. Come to think of it, I don’t even want those people singing Christmas songs, or very much else, by themselves.

Which brings me to my next point; Why is it that every saccharine Michael Bolton/Kenny G/Celine Dion-type musical act feels the need to crank out Christmas albums like sausages? These purveyors of glorified elevator music aren’t the only guilty parties, though. Pretty much since the 1987 release of MTV’s “A Very Special Christmas,” – which redeems itself with the inclusion of U2’s very cool cover of Darlene Love’s “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” – every second-rate teeny bopper pop star has felt the need to get in on the act. The nightmarish roll call of Christmas albums past include offerings from acts like New Kids on the Block, Mariah Carey, Jessica Simpson (I can only hope her 2004 album, “Rejoyce,” was an intentional misspelling), ‘N Sync, Clay Aiken and Babyface, to name just a few offenders.

Then there are the albums that are just surreal, like Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Christmas Time Again,” released in 2000. While nothing says “Happy Holidays” like a little Skynyrd, that collection of southern-friend tinsel has nothing on “Christmas on Death Row,” a gangsta rap compilation put out by Death Row Records (the cover art features a hooded Santa Claus strapped to an electric chair in what appears to be someone’s living room). The highlight of this cheerful offering is Snoop Dogg’s take on “Santa Claus Goes Straight to the Ghetto.” But if rap isn’t your thing, there’s always “Terry Bradshaw Sings Christmas Songs for the Whole World.” At least the Steelers’ hero doesn’t sing any duets with Myron Cope.

And that hardly scratches the surface of all of the horrific novelty albums, like “Quackers Christmas Special,” by a Donald Duck rip-off who sings in “quack-speak,” American Idol reject William Hung’s “Hung for the Holidays,” or “Flatulina’s Fabulous Holiday Spectacular,” which is exactly what it sounds like. With such an unpleasant barrage of music to contend with, it’s no wonder cases of severe depression spike during the holidays. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish uploading “Christmas Unleashed” onto my iPod. Those dogs barking “Jingle Bells” are just too cute!

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