The annual analysis of the weird, the wonderful, and the whacked. From wondering why the little drummer boy is holding a private show around a newborn baby, to questioning whether Frosty is really a criminal--this is where we examine holiday songs and show them for what they are--beautifully bizarre.
Without further ado, this year's batch...
Song #1:
Title: Nuttin' for Christmas
Written by: Sid Tepper and Roy C. Bennett
Sung by: Most notably the Art Mooney Orchestra w/ Barry Gordon
Sure, Santa is full of threats if you're naughty, but how bad can this kid really be?
I broke my bat on Johnny's head.
Somebody snitched on me.
I hid a frog in sister's bed.
Somebody snitched on me.
Whoa, baby Al Capone here not only wields a network of terror, he's also looking to take people down. Snitches dig ditches, right kid?
I put a tack on teacher's chair.
Somebody snitched on me.
I tied a knot in Susie's hair.
Somebody snitched on me.
Clearly our future little mob boss can't cover his tracks. Even Vito Corleone had his consigliere do his dirty work in The Godfather. Pick up your game, kid!
I did a dance on Mommy's plants.
Climbed a tree and tore my pants.
Filled that sugar bowl with ants.
Somebody snitched on me.
Killing your mom's plants is just low. Seems the root of this crime wave stems from undiagnosed mommy issues, the likes of which are usually reserved for B-level celebrities.
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Song #2:
Title: Bring a Torch, Jeanette, Isabella
Written by: Uncertain, but most likely Marc-Antoine Charpentier
Sung by: Anyone looking to dive deeper into a Christmas music catalog.
Originally written a couple hundred years ago, the lyrics are regularly modified today to a degree--a verse kept here, a verse deleted there--but it always starts with a mob mentality.
Bring a torch, Jeanette, Isabella!
Bring a torch, to the stable run!
Because if there's one place where you want open flames, it's around a newborn resting in a bed of straw.
Christ is born. Tell the folk of the village.
Jesus is born and Mary is calling.
Wait, so if the village knows this is Jesus--THE Jesus--you know, the whole son of God Jesus--then why the cold shoulder? No one in town has a spare room? A fold-out couch? They can't bump some straggler from the local inn? Since when did the Bethlehem Inn become more stringent on room reservations than a Ramada?
Who is that, knocking on the door?
Who is it, knocking like that?
Open up, we've arranged on a platter
Lovely cakes that we have brought here.
Knock! Knock! Knock! Open the door for us!
This is the pushiest condo board ever. It's late at night, we've got young girls brandishing lit torches and adults hammering on the door FBI-style to share some Little Debbie snacks. I wouldn't answer the door either.
It is wrong when the child is sleeping,
It is wrong to talk so loud.
Silence, now as you gather around,
Lest your noise should waken Jesus.
The catchiest Christmas jingles are always those admonishing people. Maybe if folks stopped banging on the door we wouldn't worry about needing our indoor voices.
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Song #3:
Title: Up on the House Top
Written by: Benjamin Hanby
Sung by: Gene Autry, among others
How generous is Santa this year? Let's see.
First comes the stocking of little Nell.
Oh, dear Santa, fill it well.
Give her a dolly that laughs and cries,
One that will open and shut her eyes.
Creepy-eyed dolls with bipolar issues--sounds delightful.
What else you got, Santa?
Next comes the stocking of little Will.
Oh, just see what a glorious fill.
Here is a hammer and lots of tacks,
Also a ball, and a whip that cracks.
Whip-wielding small children! Now the holidays have gotten interesting. You always want to start them young with weaponry, too, so they can build up their wrist strength. How do you think Santa keeps the elves in line? Exactly. Cracking backs.
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Song #4:
Title: Pretty Paper
Written by: Willie Nelson
Sung by: Roy Orbison, later Willie Nelson
If there's anything a Christmas song needs more of, it's descriptions of destitute people being shunned.
Crowded streets, busy feet hustle by him.
Downtown shoppers, Christmas is nigh.
There he sits all alone on the sidewalk
Hoping that you won't pass him by.
What's the matter--a detailed analysis of homeless people in a soup kitchen just didn't feel right?
Should you stop? Better not, much too busy.
You're in a hurry, my how time does fly.
In the distance the ringing of laughter,
And in the midst of the laughter he cries.
There we go--outright sobbing. A miserable, weeping, possibly homeless man being ignored by a mass of humanity that's too busy flaunting their money in front of him. Poverty and depression: the true meaning of Christmas.
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Song #5:
Title: Please, Daddy (Don't Get Drunk This Christmas)
Written by: John Denver
Sung by: John Denver, later Alan Jackson
You read that title right, and this isn't even a Christmas novelty song. John Denver sees Roy Orbison's weeping homeless man, and raises the stakes by bringing us alcoholic daddies and crying mommas.
Please, Daddy, don't get drunk this Christmas.
I don't want to see my Momma cry.
Please, Daddy, don't get drunk this Christmas.
I don't want to see my Momma cry.
If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times--nothing's worse around the holidays than an eggnog hog.
Just last year when I was only seven,
Now I'm almost eight, as you can see,
You came home a quarter past eleven
And fell down underneath our Christmas tree.
The greatest gift of all is that Daddy made it home at all! He could have nursed the bender off in an alley or behind the wheel of his pickup, but he staggered home like a good drunken dad. That's quality parenting right there.
Momma smiled and looked outside the window.
She told me, "Son, you better go upstairs."
Then you laughed and hollered, "Merry Christmas!"
I turned around and saw my Momma's tears.
Well, drunken Daddy is at least festive. He could have hollered a whole list of inappropriate things, hurled insults, berated the wife and kid--but he kept it classy. Those might be tears of joy from Momma for all we know.
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Song #6:
Title: River
Written by: Joni Mitchell
Sung by: Joni Mitchell
Joni Mitchell is just a speedball of lyrical depression by default, so she's right in her wheelhouse here.
I wish I had a river so long,
I would teach my feet to fly.
I wish I had a river I could skate away on.
I made my baby cry.
There's more crying in holiday songs than a Jodi Picoult book, but it pretty much reached its depressed zenith in the decade between 1963-73. For Joni Mitchell though, this is known as Tuesday.
He tried hard to help me.
You know, he put me at ease.
And he loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees.
Hey now, this just took a turn to sexy town. This isn't quite the same way Santa imagines children being naughty.
I'm so hard to handle.
I'm selfish and I'm sad.
Now I've gone and lost the best baby
That I ever had.
Somewhere in here the lyrics just veered head-long into a Sylvia Plath poem.
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