Hot off of yesterdays Tinder post, and realizing that were officially eight months into the Christmas season (for those of you going by the decorations on display in your local Lowes), I thought it best to take a moment and reflect on the wonderous joy that listening to Christmas music brings me. If by wonderous joy, one means that it breeds to sort of feeling similar to slamming my privates in a car door over and over again. Pa-rum-pa-pa-pum. Its not that I hate this season. Far from it. I love the temporary feeling of giving that people have for a few short days, or watching morons brag about how they gave a buck to the Salvation Army Santa that one time. I hate (yes, HATE may be a strong word, but it feels nearly anemic in this case) the blatant commercialism, and made-up bullshit that surrounds it all, and were not even going to delve into another made-up holiday here. That would be like discussing the existence of UFOs, and then expecting people to follow along as we turned to Godzilla and the possibility of giant mechanized robots taking over Tokyo and that a logical defense would be to create a super-human using gamma rays via an old microwave oven during a lunar eclipse while listening to Blue Oyster Cult backward. You can only stretch belief so far, and in my opinion, it stops at the whole gamma ray/microwave/BOC backward/eclipse thing, still many, many steps from Kwanzaa. You might find a richer history in Festivus, which shares an eerily similar point of birth of that other one there. 1966-67 must have been a hotbed of holiday manufacture. Strangely enough, How the Grinch Stole Christmas was released in... 1966. A YULETIDE CONSPIRACY! And lets not even dare venture to the 1967 Bob Hope Christmas Special, which featured Madeleine Hartog Bell, Miss World, which was an obviously biased contest, as no formal invitation was sent to Miss Godzilla, spurring the alternate dimension battle ending with, as we all know, the great Microwave-Gamma-Ray battle which would propel Blue Oyster Cult to fame across all known realities, plus two additional ones we dont yet understand. But I digress. Its not even a hatred for Christmas music in general. Its having to listen to it from October through, well, whenever the heck the next commercialized bullshit begins... Which is usually Valentines Day, and you can expect those cards to hit shelves on 26 December. And its one shitty remake after the next. How many different ways can you sing Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas? At last count, seventy-three million, with eleven million of those coming from Whitney Houston alone. And dont even get me started on the bullshit Its a CLASSIC! ear worms like Wonderful Christmas Time by McCartney. This pile of reindeer shit from the guy who penned Paperback Writer, Eleanor Rigby and Penny Lane?! Its nearly as annoying as Last Christmas by Wham!, or, well, anything else recorded after 1959. You can feel my pain, Im certain. As a season of giving and all that, I hope that youll take time to give to those less fortunate, and continue that all year. And for you, in keeping with that theme from the start of the post, Id like to make sure that you get a little Pussy this year. Pussy with a CAPITAL P, Brian?! you may be asking, this must be high quality stuff! You shouldnt have! What can I say? Im a giver. And yes. Pussy was the name of one of the dogs in this masterpiece, which illustrates clearly just how terrible the music of the season can be. I would pay a lot to hear the studio out-takes from those sessions. Come on Pussy! Louder! Its the Christmas music equivalent of watching your dog drag its ass across the carpet, yet, youd probably stop this song long before yelling STOP THAT!! at poor Fido. youtu.be/MCBhQCCyhTo
Posted on: Fri, 12 Dec 2014 16:19:13 +0000
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