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.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Commo-Nazis!
So...the MLS cup is on (Hey! It's Jurgen Klinsman!) Bryan Setzer has popped up out of rabbit hole to offer us some jazzy Christmas tunes and Fox News is accusing NPR of being Nazis. The air is crisp, cashiers at Wal-Mart are strengthening their defensive positions, and I am sharpening my credit cards.
*Shhhh!* What's that? Do you hear that? It's Christmas.
And that? It's the sound of Glenn Beck calling Mrs. Sally Shelmerston of Fascism. The reason? Eh, he doesn't need one.
Actually I guess I should offer a correction on the spot; Fox News beating on the Nazi drum doesn't necessarily mean its Christmas as it happens every day. But if Glenn Beck gets a big lump of coal in his stocking for...mmm...stretching the truth, don't be surprised if he has a special edition of his show on Christmas Day with a big dose of hot, stinking truth for you.
Santa Claus: Nazi. Even worst, a communist Nazi.
Think about it. Red is the color of communism. He distributes toys to every good girl and boy no matter what their socio-economic class. And just where was he between 1939 and 1945 when where those no Christmas? Some say that he couldn't fly his sleigh around due to the war, and that his elves swtiched from toy production to war production (they made socks for...guess who...THE USSR!), but Glenn Beck will no doubt note that Santa Claus wears black boots. Guess who else wore black boots? THE WAFFEN SS! Kris Kringle? Huh. Try Kristopher Kringlemann. Yeah, on Christmas Day 1944 Santa was sitting in a tiger tank advancing on Bastogne (he was lucky to survive that day, actually...the German column that penetrated the US defenses on was cut to ribbons).
Never mind the fact that communists and Fascists (god, it would really help make my case if I could spell Fas...that word) are opposing ideologies as can be seen on the Eastern Front (though it might not have mattered...Hitler (and Santa) hated the Russians), but such details are simply not important.
I'm watching you Santa....actually, I'm not watching you. But Glenn Beck is. So be careful...
*Shhhh!* What's that? Do you hear that? It's Christmas.
And that? It's the sound of Glenn Beck calling Mrs. Sally Shelmerston of Fascism. The reason? Eh, he doesn't need one.
Actually I guess I should offer a correction on the spot; Fox News beating on the Nazi drum doesn't necessarily mean its Christmas as it happens every day. But if Glenn Beck gets a big lump of coal in his stocking for...mmm...stretching the truth, don't be surprised if he has a special edition of his show on Christmas Day with a big dose of hot, stinking truth for you.
Santa Claus: Nazi. Even worst, a communist Nazi.
Think about it. Red is the color of communism. He distributes toys to every good girl and boy no matter what their socio-economic class. And just where was he between 1939 and 1945 when where those no Christmas? Some say that he couldn't fly his sleigh around due to the war, and that his elves swtiched from toy production to war production (they made socks for...guess who...THE USSR!), but Glenn Beck will no doubt note that Santa Claus wears black boots. Guess who else wore black boots? THE WAFFEN SS! Kris Kringle? Huh. Try Kristopher Kringlemann. Yeah, on Christmas Day 1944 Santa was sitting in a tiger tank advancing on Bastogne (he was lucky to survive that day, actually...the German column that penetrated the US defenses on was cut to ribbons).
Never mind the fact that communists and Fascists (god, it would really help make my case if I could spell Fas...that word) are opposing ideologies as can be seen on the Eastern Front (though it might not have mattered...Hitler (and Santa) hated the Russians), but such details are simply not important.
I'm watching you Santa....actually, I'm not watching you. But Glenn Beck is. So be careful...
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Christmas Music
Veterans Day when I was growing up was not a day I used to pay a large amount of attention to, I'll be honest. That is certainly something that has changed over the last decade, but when I was a kid the only things that really mattered about Veterans Day where:
1. My Dad was (is -- he's not dead!!) a US Navy Veteran
2. I knew that Veterans Day was started as a way to commemorate Armistice Day which ended World War I, and on this day I would invariably think about how stupid it was that fighting continued right up to the armistice to the very last second. That hasn't changed, especially when this year my Dad sent me an article about the last known deaths of World War I.
3. For a while when I was a kid, the day after Veterans Day, 11/12, was the day on which it was acceptable for my Mom to start playing Christmas Carols around the house. She just loved Christmas so much. Still does (she's not dead!), but I think now she holds off until a more appropriate day after Thanksgiving.
I myself approach Christmas music with a little trepidation. I am an old fashioned kind of guy, so I tend to enjoy the good old Old World Hymns, being sung by choirs of quality. When I listen to "The Holly and the Ivy" or "In Dulci Jubilo" I find myself magically transported back to old England and the Christmases I remember from the many renditions of "A Christmas Carol" I have seen on television. And then I realize I am in a bad part of town, and the sky is black with soot from the boot blacking factories, and a strange figure has been stalking me for a few blocks, and Hey! Some dasterdly little ragamuffin has made off with my wallet! Maybe this time travel thing is not such a good idea after all, what what!...
So yes, the classic choir songs are great. But I also like the carols as sung by the men and women from the golden age of radio. The Bing Crosby's, the Frank Sinatras, the Nat King Cole's, the Women from the Golden Age of Radio's. I know they are nostalgic, but they sound really, really good. The sound like...dare I say it...yes, I will...Christmas. And Pavarotti singing "O Come all ye Faithful"? Melts my heart everytime. Everytime.
On the flip side of the coin, there is the music of today, which like an old man from a simpler time I can never get comfortable with becuase in spite of my efforts to be hip and with it I just don't understand becuase it frightens me. No, strike that, it doesn't frighten me, it simply annoys me.
Why? For one, I think everyone these days tries too hard. The classic versions of these songs are so well known that I think artists who try to make a Christmas album today go to great lengths to try and add something new, try to make it their own, and for me it usually falls flat. Sometimes the results are pretty funny (I love nothing more than to hear a singer give it their all on "The Little Drummer Boy" and indulge in a couple of over-enthusiastic Rump-a-pum-pums"), but often its just like "what the hell where you thinking?"
Second - Manheim Steamroller. Just tone it down a notch, fellas. Let us drink our Christmas tea in peace.
Third - Brian Setzer and his "orchestra", who really only pops up around Christmas to give concerts at Rockafeller Center like a little Christmas mole, only to be whacked down again by an unappreciative public.
A special meassage to my good friend Mr. Setzer: Don't worry, Brian Setzer. Santa may be dead to me but I belive in you and your swing revolution, though I can't dance for shit. 1997 was a great year. We'll get it back baby. We'll get it back.
So..You may be starting to think that I am a Grinch. That, perhaps, I have a heart two sizes to small. Perhaps you are right, but history (as captured in the rest of these posts) will have to judge that.
And that is going to have to about do it for this one. A little teaser for you: Keeping on the theme of Christmas Music, the next post is a daring tale of a little Christmas audacity that involves a special guest and long time friend of the Blog (not really, please don't sue me Neil), Mr. Neil Diamond.
Since I did note that Mr. Diamond is not my friend, I may as well make a full disclosure and say I am also not Mr. Setzer's friend, or rather he is not my friend. I am sure if we got to know each other, we would hit it off, except for the fact that in spite of what I said before I am a part of the unappreciative public that happily sends him back down the molehole on December 26th. In short, I lied. It is true that I can't dance though.
One time, one time my wife and I went to this place to learn how do to an Argentinian Tango (which if you can't dance is a really bad idea), and the instructor assumed we had some knowledge of the mystery of the Tango. I got paired up with this cougar who, after a few bars, refused to dance with me, didn't even want to stoop down to my level to try and help me out. The experience left me in tears, and my ballroom dancing days were over.
Gosh, that was personal. And since we are telling the truth, I don't know if the woman I was dancing with was necessarly a cougar (i.e. a woman over 40 seeking sexual relations with a man (or woman?) at least 8 years her junior). If she was really a Cougar though, she certainly wouldn't have had me based on the thought that perfomance on the dance floor is often considered indicative of one's sexual prowess. That may have been the most painful thing of all.
Is it still called prowess if you are a man? That makes no sense to me.
1. My Dad was (is -- he's not dead!!) a US Navy Veteran
2. I knew that Veterans Day was started as a way to commemorate Armistice Day which ended World War I, and on this day I would invariably think about how stupid it was that fighting continued right up to the armistice to the very last second. That hasn't changed, especially when this year my Dad sent me an article about the last known deaths of World War I.
3. For a while when I was a kid, the day after Veterans Day, 11/12, was the day on which it was acceptable for my Mom to start playing Christmas Carols around the house. She just loved Christmas so much. Still does (she's not dead!), but I think now she holds off until a more appropriate day after Thanksgiving.
I myself approach Christmas music with a little trepidation. I am an old fashioned kind of guy, so I tend to enjoy the good old Old World Hymns, being sung by choirs of quality. When I listen to "The Holly and the Ivy" or "In Dulci Jubilo" I find myself magically transported back to old England and the Christmases I remember from the many renditions of "A Christmas Carol" I have seen on television. And then I realize I am in a bad part of town, and the sky is black with soot from the boot blacking factories, and a strange figure has been stalking me for a few blocks, and Hey! Some dasterdly little ragamuffin has made off with my wallet! Maybe this time travel thing is not such a good idea after all, what what!...
So yes, the classic choir songs are great. But I also like the carols as sung by the men and women from the golden age of radio. The Bing Crosby's, the Frank Sinatras, the Nat King Cole's, the Women from the Golden Age of Radio's. I know they are nostalgic, but they sound really, really good. The sound like...dare I say it...yes, I will...Christmas. And Pavarotti singing "O Come all ye Faithful"? Melts my heart everytime. Everytime.
On the flip side of the coin, there is the music of today, which like an old man from a simpler time I can never get comfortable with becuase in spite of my efforts to be hip and with it I just don't understand becuase it frightens me. No, strike that, it doesn't frighten me, it simply annoys me.
Why? For one, I think everyone these days tries too hard. The classic versions of these songs are so well known that I think artists who try to make a Christmas album today go to great lengths to try and add something new, try to make it their own, and for me it usually falls flat. Sometimes the results are pretty funny (I love nothing more than to hear a singer give it their all on "The Little Drummer Boy" and indulge in a couple of over-enthusiastic Rump-a-pum-pums"), but often its just like "what the hell where you thinking?"
Second - Manheim Steamroller. Just tone it down a notch, fellas. Let us drink our Christmas tea in peace.
Third - Brian Setzer and his "orchestra", who really only pops up around Christmas to give concerts at Rockafeller Center like a little Christmas mole, only to be whacked down again by an unappreciative public.
A special meassage to my good friend Mr. Setzer: Don't worry, Brian Setzer. Santa may be dead to me but I belive in you and your swing revolution, though I can't dance for shit. 1997 was a great year. We'll get it back baby. We'll get it back.
So..You may be starting to think that I am a Grinch. That, perhaps, I have a heart two sizes to small. Perhaps you are right, but history (as captured in the rest of these posts) will have to judge that.
And that is going to have to about do it for this one. A little teaser for you: Keeping on the theme of Christmas Music, the next post is a daring tale of a little Christmas audacity that involves a special guest and long time friend of the Blog (not really, please don't sue me Neil), Mr. Neil Diamond.
Since I did note that Mr. Diamond is not my friend, I may as well make a full disclosure and say I am also not Mr. Setzer's friend, or rather he is not my friend. I am sure if we got to know each other, we would hit it off, except for the fact that in spite of what I said before I am a part of the unappreciative public that happily sends him back down the molehole on December 26th. In short, I lied. It is true that I can't dance though.
One time, one time my wife and I went to this place to learn how do to an Argentinian Tango (which if you can't dance is a really bad idea), and the instructor assumed we had some knowledge of the mystery of the Tango. I got paired up with this cougar who, after a few bars, refused to dance with me, didn't even want to stoop down to my level to try and help me out. The experience left me in tears, and my ballroom dancing days were over.
Gosh, that was personal. And since we are telling the truth, I don't know if the woman I was dancing with was necessarly a cougar (i.e. a woman over 40 seeking sexual relations with a man (or woman?) at least 8 years her junior). If she was really a Cougar though, she certainly wouldn't have had me based on the thought that perfomance on the dance floor is often considered indicative of one's sexual prowess. That may have been the most painful thing of all.
Is it still called prowess if you are a man? That makes no sense to me.
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