In my last post (last couple of posts, actually), I have been openly snarky about Brian Setzer and his so called orchestra. That is perhaps unfair; he's got great talent and, hey, it's Christmas. Nobody likes a Grinch, yeah?
Besides, Brian Setzer doesn't deserve my Christmas Carol acrimony. No, that honor goes to only one man: Neil Diamond.
Which brings us tonights story! Gather round kiddos, and I shall tell ye a tale of Christmas daring do that will make ye spine quiver!
Now normally I would present you with a total make-em-up. Not today. I didn't have the time to really make anything up. I got to admit: didn't really plan well for this holiday post-a-palooza. If I did, I would already have had something written. Sitting down at the computer and just writing whatever pops into the head just doesn't seem to work anymore.
So the truth is probably best here and here it is: Once upon a time my Mom bought Neil Diamond's Christmas Album (1992) and we listened to it a lot. A LOT. Now, we were by no means a wealthy family nor we were on the cutting edge of 90's technology, but we did by that time have a tape deck in the car so it was something the rest of us could not escape.
Truth be told, I don't remember much of the album, excpet that I found his rendition of the "Little Dummer Boy" to be...too much. Not too loud, nor too enthusiastic, but he tried to give it too much gravitas. Gravitas indded. They are Rump-a-pumps for goodness sake! It was a little funny at first, but after a month or so it got old.
So one day, after hearing a few too many Rump-a-pum-pums, I stole the tape from its place next to the stereo and I hid it somehwere. I beleive I fully intended to return it but I could never remember where I put it.
I can't say I was TOO sorry, but Mom got her revenge by buying Neil Diamonds "The Christmas Album 2", which, typical of sequels, was not as good as the first. Knowing better this time around, she kept in under lock and key.
As for the first album, we never saw it again. But some say that on moonlit Christmas nights a ghostly presence hanuts the homes near Price's Fork, and you might see a hint of a lone cassette tape in the road, just for a moment. But by the time you think "My God, was that a cassette tape? I haven't seen one of those in ages" and go back to look it's gone, replaced by a deep feeling of icy foreboding which curdles into fear as a soft (yet distinct) "Rump-a-pum-pum" meets your ear in the cold, dark winter air.
Wow. I'm certianly frightented. And as a post script I got to admit that my opinon of him considerably improved when Neil Diamond played himself in "Saving Silverman". I get the sense that old Neil probably doesn't take himself to seriously if he was willing to be a part of that comedeic feast, and that is a quality that I can admire in anyone no matter how I feel about their music.
Oh yeah: "Coming to America"? Not a bad song.
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