A few days ago, I talked about World War III.
Sorry. Enough of that. Let’s look at some reader mail, and take one last look at some Christmas pop culture.
I was pleasantly surprised at how many readers agreed with my piece about the awfulness of those Rankin/Bass Christmas specials of the late 1960s and early 1970s. I thought I’d get a lot more hate mail about how beloved they are to some folks, but instead my inbox was like a meeting of a support group.
Sarah G. noted that “Rankin-Bass animation is simplistic and terrible, and I think I always was aware of that, even if unconsciously. Rudolph, Frosty, et al upset me and made me cry.” Gary J. likewise added: “First and foremost, thank you for this edition. It made my day. I too am 61, and can’t stand Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, or Frosty the Snowman. I thought I was the only one.”
Lots of folks noticed that the message in Rudolph is, you know, awful. Dana M. wrote: “People always look at me sideways when I point out things like the ‘message’ of Rudolph is ‘fine! be weird, just fit in and be useful!’” My Atlantic colleague Julie Bogen summed it up nicely in a message to me after a recent viewing: “We will 100% not watch this again, yikes.”
There was at least one traditionalist in the bunch, however, who wanted nothing to do with all this electronic nonsense and instead chose to curl up with a book. Andy F. wrote: “I gave you my email for this? What more does anyone need than Dickens' Christmas Carol?”
Fair enough, Andy, but Scrooge never Snoopy-dances, so I have to overrule you here.
There was a bit more dissent, however, over my assertion that the best version of A Christmas Carol is the mid-1980s TV movie starring George C. Scott, which brought out the usual Alastair Sim fans.
Look, I get it that Scott’s accent is a mythical combination of London, Boston, and some weird part of England that probably has a name like Upper Flakenham-on-Pie, but that’s not the point. Scott’s version has the most terrifying Marley you’ve ever seen, an ebullient Edward Woodward as the Ghost of Christmas Present, some heartbreaking scenes from Scrooge’s life, and a spiritual renewal at the end that reduces me to tears every year.
But this is America, and you readers have the right to be wrong.
A few folks asked on social media why I didn’t have a list slagging bad Christmas music. The truth is that I love almost all Christmas music, and I just didn’t have the heart to dump on songs like Paul McCartney’s “Wonderful Christmastime,” which we all claim we hate and yet we somehow just leave on when it plays in the car.
But I can’t shy away from a challenge to be crabby.
One song that I cannot hear yet again is “Jingle Bell Rock.” I’ve had to put up with this thing all of my life, including as a kid at school assemblies and chorus sing-alongs, and I would rather, as Sam Malone once said on Cheers, “shave my head with a cheese grater while chewing on tinfoil” rather than endure one more version of this Happy Days–era piece of Christmas dreck. (“Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” is a close second.) I’m sorry, but although I was conceived and born in the waning days of the Eisenhower era, I’m just not interested in reliving Lorraine and George McFly’s high-school dances.
I also never liked “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”—especially the Jackson 5 version—for reasons that none of us want to think about.
And by God, enough with “Santa Baby,” which is now, apparently, the last socially acceptable song about a woman being willing to sleep with a fat guy for presents. It’s terrible in every way, including being a boring piece of music. The exception here is the version by the legendary Eartha Kitt, whose rendition combines purring sexuality with pure venality. (She did, after all, play Catwoman on Batman.) Every wannabe siren tries it—Madonna did a cover of it, because of course she did—but unless it’s Eartha, it’s icky.
Other Christmas songs are beyond criticism. We love what we love. You object to “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”? Yes, we’ve all gotten the memo. You’re tired of “Do You Hear What I Hear?”; too bad. It was written during the Cuban Missile Crisis, and I love it.
This is the part where I’m supposed to flame popular songs such as the king of all earworms, “All I Want for Christmas,” which is just Mariah Carey practicing her scales but at least has killer backup vocals. But again, there’s no real reasoning with taste in Christmas music. If you were smooched in front of a Christmas tree to “Last Christmas,” you’re going to love it. Is “She’s Right on Time” by Billy Joel that good? Not really. But I listen to it fondly because of some college memories. So it goes. (Just to show you that I do listen to music from this century, I happen to like “Christmas Won’t Be the Same Without You” by the Plain White T’s, which I wish would emerge as a Christmas staple.)
But before we part for the year, let me suggest you revisit a few unlikely favorites.
It’s become fashionable to hate on the all-star British production “Do They Know It’s Christmas?”; Sir Bob Geldof wrote it, and even he hates it. Sir Bob, you see, wrote it about Ethiopia during the 1984 famine. They’re Africans! It’s hot! There’s no snow! Do they even know it’s Christmas?!
Unfortunately, Geldof asked this about a country where most people are Christians (and most of those are Orthodox Christians, like your faithful correspondent), and so yes, they did in fact know it was Christmas.
Far be it from me to argue with Sir Bob, but I still like “Do They Know It’s Christmas? The song has a lot of musical power and a distinctly British and wonderfully 1980s sound. (I mean, come on, it’s got Phil Collins, Sting, and Bananarama on it.) Some critics, I recall, didn’t like lines such as “Tonight, thank God it’s them instead of you,” but I appreciated the notion that people eating and drinking and making merry should pause and think for a moment about how, but for the grace of God, they were spared the misery in which others live, and to be thankful. Christmas is a time of mercy and gratitude, and I feel it in my bones every time Bono yells out that line.
I also have fondness for the people who made the song because back in 1985, I found a 12-inch vinyl single of “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” at the legendary Boston used record store Nuggets, in which some of the artists at the studio—who, after a full day and night of recording were a tad punchy—issue spoken Christmas greetings, which you can read here. Among the best is one of the guys from Big Country, who barks in a Scottish accent: “FEED THE PEOPLE. STAY ALIVE.” (And a Merry Christmas to you, sir.) There are bonus messages from a few stars who couldn’t make the session, and it's kind of a blast with Paul McCartney literally phoning in a hello and David Bowie getting all deep and reflective at the end of it.
A lot of Christmas music from the 1970s and 1980s holds up better than you might think, even if it’s not all that cheery. “I Believe in Father Christmas” by Greg Lake—a mournful song about the loss of childhood innocence with a classical lift from Sergei Prokofiev—is one of my favorite Christmas songs. “Circle of Steel” by Gordon Lightfoot is full of heartbreak, a touching story of Christmas poverty and shame that’s dark even for the guy who made the Top 40 with a song about a ship sinking with all hands lost. And Chrissie Hynde’s “2000 Miles,” a song written after the death of her bandmate and friend James Honeyman-Scott, is an underappreciated early-’80s Christmas gem.
I also love a charming, cuddly song that crosses the generations—or, at least, crosses from me all the way to my college-age daughter. I am referring, of course, to the 1981 classic “Christmas Wrapping” by the Waitresses. Nothing says “celebrate the birth of Jesus” like the flat, affectless vocal by the late Patty Donahue as she tells us of finally hooking up with the guy she’s been “chasing all year.” It warms your heart.
And finally, let’s say a nice word for the bizarre 1977 duet of Bowie and Bing Crosby, a thing I still can’t believe happened. Bing sang “The Little Drummer Boy'' while Bowie sang “Peace on Earth,” and by some sort of Christmas miracle, it just works. They are both now of blessed memory, and I miss them. (Well, Bowie, mostly.)
I could list a hundred more songs that I love and hate (or both), but if you want to hear my Christmas Spotify list, here it is. Since you’re subscribers, feel free to complain. You’ve earned it.
Speaking of subscribers, this is my last newsletter of the year. I’ll be back in January, but before we go, please accept my sincere gratitude to all of you for signing up and actually paying to read all of this. I wish you a holiday season full of blessings and a peaceful new year.
See you in 2022.