Personally, I’m not a fan of Christmas. Sure, I have fond memories as a kid, 'cause of presents and drunken adults. Actually, for a hot second—as a kid—I was even miffed by all the finger shaking at WASPs and their pet companies wishing Jews and Muslims “Merry Christmas.”
But then I grew up, and after seeing the overwhelmingly militant response to this dangerous threat known as the "War On Christmas," I, like many other folks, I'm sure, got some whiffs of that super-effective “War On Drugs.”
Christians are fucking pros at materializing dangerous threats out of thin air. They act like we're still feeding them to the lions or some shit. You know what? The Romans should've nipped that shit in the bud while they still had the chance: way to drop the ball, Nero.
Long story short, fuck Christmas. And, I'm not just gonna rehash the Gen X complaints of consumerism. Nay. Because I grew up during the slow burn of old people being mad about this War On Christmas, using words like “tradition,” but then get mad at me when I jubilantly shout, "Io Saturnalia!” at them. If we’re going back to the roots, let’s go all the way back, you hypocrites.
That being said, the one aesthetic aspect of the 19th-century interpretation of said holiday that I still get all misty-eyed for is… duh, the music.
Fight me.
Christmas music has become a genre all its own, and while it's fun to bitch and moan about it, I honestly can’t wait for the onslaught of that overplayed consumer-hypnotizing propaganda.
What I love even more than the classic Bing Crosby diddies and older religious hymns is when modern pop stars have the audacity to compose their own original, timeless holiday hits.
Are you dreading the tsunami of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” washing over you from every speaker in every mall across America? Die mad about it! My stereo plays nothing but Wham!’s “Last Christmas” from November 1st onward. Don’t like it? Don’t come over.
That brings me to this list. As I go through my favorite pop stars’ gaudy attempts at cashing in on an already established listenership, I fawn over all the wonderful, cheesy, unnecessary attempts at a December bonus check that we were unjustly robbed of. Grab a tissue if you wish to read on.
Why. Why? Why does this not exist? Damn you, heroin! Or cocaine… or a combination of both? You took our sweet prince away before he killed himself on stage, as he and God intended. He was too beautiful for this world anyway. But I know that had he not gone out like some hair metal poser, this album would've happened, and it's an absolute tragedy that it didn't. This album would be blasting in punk squats across America on repeat, every December, with hits like "GG's Balls," "Rudolph The Red-Nosed Alcoholic," "White Christmas," "I Saw Mommy Getting Railed By Santa Clause While He Was Doing Lines Off Her Back," and of course, ending with "GG's Xmas Song,” his acoustic cover of “The Twelve Days of Christmas” that actually exists. What a goddamn shame he couldn’t have put off his overdose until he released this imaginary yuletide masterpiece.
I will out myself as a white boy who got into hip hop way too late by admitting that I found out very recently that Mr. The Notorious and Ole Shakur were friends before Suge Knight's Source Awards bullshit and Tupac's first non-fatal shooting. The whole '90s gangsta rap feud bullshit disinterested me then and is embarrassing now since we can rightfully assume a lot of it was posturing for publicity. But, that makes Biggie and Tupac's deaths all the more heartbreaking, as they were murdered before both of them could've gotten out from under the façade and kissed and made up. Imagine an alternate timeline where Suge is murdered in some botched mob hit or some horseshit. In this non-garbage timeline, Biggie and Tupac enter their 30s and realize they both made it, they're both talented, and they single-handedly crush the East/West Coast feud with a commercial AF Christmas sellout record. Someone would buy it. I would.
So, I know no one in this band is deceased, but the chances of any of them even speaking to each other again is up there with hell freezing over and pigs flying. Had Morrissey and Marr not been so greedy with their share of the paltry royalties pie, I feel these iconic alt-English hitmakers would've veered into Christmas sellout territory around '89 or '90. They definitely would've jumped on the bandwagon after Wham!'s success with what I consider the greatest Christmas song of all time. Fight me again. Morrissey wouldn't even need to fuck with the lyrics to adhere to his sardonic wit. Just give me a bunch of holiday classics with that bubbly, poppin' bass, jangly guitars, and Morrissey's pretentious croon. Give me, dammit!
We truly are in the darkest timeline, where these holiday classics never got a chance to exist. Some asshole dinosaur stepped on a butterfly millions of years ago, and now we’re in the timeline where we instead get Weezer and Bob Dylan’s Christmas albums. I feel cheated.
