When Christmas Songs Attack

I enjoy listening to a little Christmas music during this season of
voracious consumption. While the Carpenters and Manilow can induce agitation and hysteria, they receive relatively scant airplay at present.

God is good!

Sadly, the festive spirit is all too quickly dampened when tortured by
godawful Christmas songs in super-heavy, nonstop rotation.

Here, my list of most hated Xmas tunes:

Santa Claus Is Coming To Town
Bruce Springsteen
The Boss sounds like a sloppy drunk guffawing and harrumphing through this holiday favorite. It's nasty. Shower afterwards.

Happy Xmas (War Is Over)
John Lennon, and Too Many Others.
Depressing downer. In Celine Dion's rendition, she fancies herself "soulful;" meanwhile, Sara McLachlan breaks and cracks her own voice to everyone's great displeasure.

Wonderful Christmas Time
Paul McCartney
WHY is this getting airplay? Vapid, annoying and grating. Remember Wings?

Jingle Bell Rock
Bobby Helms
See above.

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas
Chrissie Hynde and the Pretenders
Odd inflections. Tuneless caterwauling and sour notes. Braying. This one will curdle fresh milk in an instant, and you may not survive a listen. Pretty much a nightmare.

Little Drummer Boy
Bob Seger
Atrocious dirge. Difficult to endure.

New this year!
O Holy Night
Gayken, Josh Groban, Celine Dion
Jerry Butler's version was a long favorite of mine. Now, thanks to them three, I've come to hate this song with a passion. It's so overplayed in Winston-Salem, I'll probably never be able to enjoy it again.

Silver Bells
Bing Crosby
Puts me in mind of a mean old alkie guzzling eggnog, careening into the tree and slapping people around. Stop it! Horrible song; should never be recorded by anyone, ever. Not even god Stevie Wonder.

That's it: Carly Kickslaw's most hated Christmas ditties. I've despised most of
them for years. Take my strong advice and avoid them if you can.

Coming Soon: my heartwarming list of holiday favorites.

Old Skool Xmas

You remember this.



Don't you?

Annual Presentation of Handel's "Messiah" in Winston December 7th

Soprano Elizabeth Pacheco Rose will sing in the local Mozart Club's presentation of George Frideric Handel's "Messiah" next weekend in Winston Salem. The Mozart Club describes Winston as

...a link in this "great chain of harmony" as the approximately 300 singers, representing the more than 225 church choirs and choral organizations of the Triad area and vicinity, unite their voices under the direction of an internationally renowned guest conductor in presenting the 75th Anniversary performance of "Messiah"....

The performance will be Sunday, December 7th, three clock, in Reynolds Auditorium (301 North Hawthorne Road, Winston Salem). It is free to the public but donations are appreciated.

Rocking My Toddler At Christmastime

Last night I was rocking my restless toddler, trying to have him fall asleep and stay asleep. I was exhausted, and it was almost midnight--nearly four hours past his normal bedtime.

While rocking him I am often quiet and mindful; even more so if I feel tested. I take in the sensations of my arms around him; feeling the weight of his little body in my lap. His babyhood is passing quickly, and I want to savor every moment.

Soft Christmas music played from his radio: "O Holy Night," sung by Celine Dion.

After that, the menacing onslaught began. What could have possibly prepared me? It began innocently enough. Soon, though, it became clear: this would be no ordinary holiday favorite.

Odd inflections. Tuneless caterwauling and sour notes. Braying. Was this some drunk customer at karaoke night, stoned, trying in vain to carry a tune? No.

It became apparent that Chrissie Hynde and the Pretenders were butchering "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

Every fiber of my being wanted to lunge for the radio, raise the window, and toss the offending electronic ouside. But my son was finally sleeping, and I didn't dare risk waking him.

I listened on; rapt with horror. Isn't there someone to "fix" that stuff so a person who can't sing gets to pretend? I thought that's how it worked.

Hynde warbled on interminably, until finally, mercifully, the attack ended. I nearly shed tears of relief; clutching my son gratefully. He slept on, totally unaware of what just transpired.

Listen if you dare. But I'm warning you. Clinical depression or explosive rage may be triggered in otherwise healthy individuals.

Death of a Speakeasy

The Speakeasy jazz club in Winston is gone. It closed last month.

A friend gave me the sad news on Election night.

The town we moved from had a jazz venue, too. But I was never comfortable there. Folding chairs were lined up side by side, in rows, like little toy soldiers. I felt like I was at a child's dance recital or in a church fellowship hall. The atmosphere seemed stuffy; almost somber.

The Speakeasy was friendly and cozy. And I wasn't the only one who loved it. There was a mix of old and young; straight and gay, folks who looked like professors; and people who may have been a little down on their luck. A racially and socioeconomically diverse group, hanging out together in a small North Carolina city. It seemed right.

All that...and the music.

I used to joke about my intent to get a job at the Speakeasy, once I was more settled after our move. Oh, well. It wasn't to be.