Christmas music used to be a pleasure of mine. This morning, on a drive to a Home Depot to purchase mousetraps (an involved and painful story I will perhaps cover later), I tuned the car stereo into a station playing "all Christmas music all the time."
The first song they played, Elvis Presley's "Blue Christmas," while sappy, was appropriate and classic. The next song, "Home for the Holidays," upped the sweetness quotient to an uncomfortable degree. Finally, an easy-listening ballad sung by a gutless male vocalist pushed me over the edge. The song, replete with mushy string section and tinny acoustic guitars, detailed a little boy's hope for the gift of shoes on Christmas -- in memory of his dead mother. I swear. Perhaps I didn't catch all the details, but it was enough to provoke cries of outrage and slashing motions toward the "power" button on the radio.
So what happened? Why are Christmas songs so -- well -- sucky now? Is it asking too much for something upbeat and happy, even if it grazes this side of tacky? Why do we have to turn to Michael Bolton or Anne Murray as our holiday music exemplars? It's inexplicable and unlistenable. Give me "Jingle Bells" any day.
Or the Phil Spector Christmas album. Ahhhh.