Approximately 66% of this blog is already aware that this morning I experienced a very happy happening - nonetheless I'm telling you (again). En route to piano lessons under a cloak of soul-crushing morning darkness, I stopped at an exceptionally trashy pharmacy at the bus mall to loiter and avoid the sting of -45 degree weather.
And then, amongst the plethora of lead-tainted Christmas ornaments, I found a dvd copy of Muppet Family Christmas for 4 Canadian dollars. I know that at least 66% of you are aware that this cinematic gem don't come easy - the cheapest copy I've ever found on the internet was at least $60. I'm so excited.
I just returned from my piano students' Christmas recital. It was cuter than a thousand sneezing-panda videos, more heartwarming than watching otters hold hands. A tiny kid (too short to sit on the piano bench, he opted to stand while he played) performed Jingle Bells and the whole school started quietly singing along.
This was particularly adorable since most of these kids consider themselves to be hard as fuck, and in some cases rightly so. This little kid (and for maximum wholesomeness, his name is Mikey) was so excited that everybody was into his jam that he did a little dirt-off-your-shoulder dance on the way back to sit down with his class.
In closing, I'd like to share with you the most atrocious and satisfying of Christmas music videos. I am hopeful that my recent good fortune in finding obscure festive DVDs might extend to the acquisition of the much-sought-after Kenny and Dolly Christmas Special. Keep the dream alive.
xoxoxoxo
The Once Upon A Christmas · CBC Radio 2 - Concerts On Demand
12.12.09
The Once Upon A Christmas · CBC Radio 2 - Concerts On Demand
I think this concert recording is *just* what the doctor ordered. Pent up at the library on this white wintry day, I'm feeling inspired by these harmonies to get those last 30-40 pages of essays written!
I think this concert recording is *just* what the doctor ordered. Pent up at the library on this white wintry day, I'm feeling inspired by these harmonies to get those last 30-40 pages of essays written!
Venus in Firs... a Tanenbaum Photo Essay
A little photojournalism from the annual McNeil family tree pickin' in Milton, ON. Subsequent photos of the "seasonal crafts" on offer in the boutique.
Sketchy Santas
10.12.09
As a child, I never went to see Santa at the mall. I suspected the real Santa was slaving away in his workshop at the North Pole and I doubted that he could find the time to squeeze in half a billion mall visits throughout the month of December.
Now I know for certain that St. Nick never set foot in a mall. These Sketchy Santas are 100% guaranteed to terrify the under 6 crowd and they'll make your little round belly/ shake when you laugh/like a bowl full of jelly.
~ Erika.
In case there was ever any doubt that Queen Bea reigns supreme...
This gem of a commercial from 1987 really confirms the late Dame Arthur's angelic status. May she forever smile upon us from the realms of glory.
Angels we have heard on 'high'
2.12.09
With less than a month to go before the 25th, Gus' albums are being fully deployed in support of Operation make-exams-less-miserable. Here are a few more picks from the collection that have been making the rounds lately:
Kenny and Dolly need no introduction, but I can't resist sharing with dear readers the background of my affiliation with this album. It's a miracle my copy will still play after the number of times gin-soaked, pizza stained hands basically tossed it onto my old flying-saucer record player in moments of collective revelry. Kenny and Dolly were often the seasonal serenaders of choice at the Forsey Manor Homestead. [As an aside, allow me this exclamation of nostalgia: Oh! Forsey Manor: that undergraduate haven of poverty that somehow managed to exude holiday cheer, defying consumerist trappings and yet screaming Christmas thanks to pine boughs liberated from Eastern Ontario roadside woodlots, grocery store trees, packages from dee dee and Granny, perilously-strung balcony lights, and many other home-made decorative hamhockery that was the work of a crew heavy on spirit and low on cash.]
I've always marveled at the religiosity of many of the songs on this album- I guess Kenny and Dolly were playing to a constituency that was either not concerned with politically correct secular pop rules, or not yet schooled in those sorts of creative limitations. Then again, country music on the airwaves today is still pretty churchy.
This record was a random flea market purchase some time this summer that proved to be a pleasant surprise upon its inaugural listen. It's definitely not material for the faint of advent heart: mostly sacred, mostly about Christ and Mary. 'Balulalow' has been a personal favourite of mine since singing an arrangement by Mark Sirett years ago in choir. It is hauntingly exquisite. The structure of the word 'balulalow,' when sung by soaring voices, really invites you to picture a stable in the darkness and a saviour's birth perhaps less triumphant than in revised accounts which tell more glorious tales of the manger scene.
Early memories of this most cherished of albums include bouncing around to a cassette version as tot, mesmerized by the familiar voices that seemed to be coming from directly inside the mammoth old wood speakers in our living room. That cassette was lost and the music remained a mere memory until Christmas of 2003, when Joe made me a disc that included some Muppet carols and warmed my heart. A vinyl copy came my way the following year. The CD version was also the soundtrack to a campaign car I captained while working in the first portion of the federal election of 2005/2006: a welcome salve in between brutal sessions of door-knocking and sign-hammering.
In the realm of more modern media, I've discovered some great holiday tunes on NPR's webstream. This concert was particularly arresting- I recommend it to anyone even remotely fond of carols and celtic tunes.
Kenny and Dolly need no introduction, but I can't resist sharing with dear readers the background of my affiliation with this album. It's a miracle my copy will still play after the number of times gin-soaked, pizza stained hands basically tossed it onto my old flying-saucer record player in moments of collective revelry. Kenny and Dolly were often the seasonal serenaders of choice at the Forsey Manor Homestead. [As an aside, allow me this exclamation of nostalgia: Oh! Forsey Manor: that undergraduate haven of poverty that somehow managed to exude holiday cheer, defying consumerist trappings and yet screaming Christmas thanks to pine boughs liberated from Eastern Ontario roadside woodlots, grocery store trees, packages from dee dee and Granny, perilously-strung balcony lights, and many other home-made decorative hamhockery that was the work of a crew heavy on spirit and low on cash.]
I've always marveled at the religiosity of many of the songs on this album- I guess Kenny and Dolly were playing to a constituency that was either not concerned with politically correct secular pop rules, or not yet schooled in those sorts of creative limitations. Then again, country music on the airwaves today is still pretty churchy.
This record was a random flea market purchase some time this summer that proved to be a pleasant surprise upon its inaugural listen. It's definitely not material for the faint of advent heart: mostly sacred, mostly about Christ and Mary. 'Balulalow' has been a personal favourite of mine since singing an arrangement by Mark Sirett years ago in choir. It is hauntingly exquisite. The structure of the word 'balulalow,' when sung by soaring voices, really invites you to picture a stable in the darkness and a saviour's birth perhaps less triumphant than in revised accounts which tell more glorious tales of the manger scene.
Early memories of this most cherished of albums include bouncing around to a cassette version as tot, mesmerized by the familiar voices that seemed to be coming from directly inside the mammoth old wood speakers in our living room. That cassette was lost and the music remained a mere memory until Christmas of 2003, when Joe made me a disc that included some Muppet carols and warmed my heart. A vinyl copy came my way the following year. The CD version was also the soundtrack to a campaign car I captained while working in the first portion of the federal election of 2005/2006: a welcome salve in between brutal sessions of door-knocking and sign-hammering.
In the realm of more modern media, I've discovered some great holiday tunes on NPR's webstream. This concert was particularly arresting- I recommend it to anyone even remotely fond of carols and celtic tunes.
Know your cookie cutters
30.11.09
It is imperative that one devise a sort of legend or chart to identify one's seasonal cookie cutters. My household did not do such a thing, and as a result, one holiday baker woefully misinterpreted this "waving santa" shape:
Of course, it takes a special kind of person to just roll with a cookie cutter set that includes:
-star!
-gingerbread man!
-reindeer!
-christmas tree!
-adolf hitler!
...or Daddy looked a lot like him
28.11.09
I make scant mention of taking a not-so-guilty-pleasure in the work of one Garth Brooks.
He was (and probably still is) my Dad’s favourite singers and many a road trip/ in-town outing was punctuated by incessant journeys through his entire catalogue.
Though the corner of this canon that is least celebrated is his Christmas album – Beyond the Season.
Now, I’m sure were I to go back and listen to this album today (and I may just do that) it would strike me as both ridiculous and crappy. However, what needs to be noted about this album, much like any cherished childhood favourite, is not the music itself, but the feelings and memories it invokes.
Looking back on it, I’m instantly transported to the back seat of a rusted 92 Ford Escort with a shoddy heating system. Making the best of near-hypothermic conditions unironically singing along to “Santa Looked a Lot Like Daddy” whilst trying to get enough revs to make it out of my high school parking lot’s inclined driveway without losing the muffler on the way out.
Though providing a mix of new Country kitsch and Christian traditionals, it makes for an interesting collection still to this date. I still don’t quite understand how the aforementioned “Santa Looked a Lot Like Daddy” got wedged between gorgeous renditions of “The Friendly Beasts” and “Silent Night”, but that’s a flow argument my ten-year-old self just never thought to make.
It’s been a long time since my Old Man dusted off the Garth and, to be frank, I doubt we have the album on anything other than cassette these days. However, if the McNeil clan makes its annual sojourn to the Cambridge area to chop down a Christmas tree (yet another hilariously wholesome family tradition that has endured longer than one would think) I may just have to download this old gem and see if there’s any magic still to be found in it.
He was (and probably still is) my Dad’s favourite singers and many a road trip/ in-town outing was punctuated by incessant journeys through his entire catalogue.
Though the corner of this canon that is least celebrated is his Christmas album – Beyond the Season.
Now, I’m sure were I to go back and listen to this album today (and I may just do that) it would strike me as both ridiculous and crappy. However, what needs to be noted about this album, much like any cherished childhood favourite, is not the music itself, but the feelings and memories it invokes.
Looking back on it, I’m instantly transported to the back seat of a rusted 92 Ford Escort with a shoddy heating system. Making the best of near-hypothermic conditions unironically singing along to “Santa Looked a Lot Like Daddy” whilst trying to get enough revs to make it out of my high school parking lot’s inclined driveway without losing the muffler on the way out.
Though providing a mix of new Country kitsch and Christian traditionals, it makes for an interesting collection still to this date. I still don’t quite understand how the aforementioned “Santa Looked a Lot Like Daddy” got wedged between gorgeous renditions of “The Friendly Beasts” and “Silent Night”, but that’s a flow argument my ten-year-old self just never thought to make.
It’s been a long time since my Old Man dusted off the Garth and, to be frank, I doubt we have the album on anything other than cassette these days. However, if the McNeil clan makes its annual sojourn to the Cambridge area to chop down a Christmas tree (yet another hilariously wholesome family tradition that has endured longer than one would think) I may just have to download this old gem and see if there’s any magic still to be found in it.
Christmas Comes But Once A Year (1936)
26.11.09
Christmas Comes But Once A Year (1936)
Does anyone remember seeing this on grainy VHS and wondering what it was all about?
Classic Cinema Online, I love thee.
Does anyone remember seeing this on grainy VHS and wondering what it was all about?
Classic Cinema Online, I love thee.
Instant Cheer
24.11.09
Gus would probably have uploaded this sooner or later, but I need an immediate pick-me-up, and this is a guarantee to do the trick.
Gus, Sorry for the scoop.
Everyone else, you're welcome.
With Christmas fast approaching, Cookie monster decides to write Santa a letter:
In the absence of a pencil, the Cookster decides to go typewriter:
The piece de resistance... out of options... "ME PHONE HIM!":
I'm certain there will be a cultural dissection coming our way shortly, courtesy of Gus.
Gus, Sorry for the scoop.
Everyone else, you're welcome.
With Christmas fast approaching, Cookie monster decides to write Santa a letter:
In the absence of a pencil, the Cookster decides to go typewriter:
The piece de resistance... out of options... "ME PHONE HIM!":
I'm certain there will be a cultural dissection coming our way shortly, courtesy of Gus.
What is Christmas with no snow?
23.11.09
Ah, snow - that requisite condition for a Christmas that truly reflects all those fun secular carols and some religious ones, too (I'm looking at you, Wenceslas). As a child of the Vancouver suburbs, this number spoke to me. I can relate to the highs of their snow dream and the subsequent lows of another decidedly unfestive, snowless Noel.
Any musical number involving the construction of a diorama is ace in my books, and the fact they're using tabletop items is reminiscent of the legendary work of that Art Attack guy.
Still, I sense some tension in this number. Rosemary Clooney and Danny Kaye seem rather insincere as they sing snow's praises. Clooney's apparent desire to engage in freaky snow ablutions and Kaye's expressed longing to shovel pavements just seem a tad ...off. Kaye makes some effort to muster up enthusiasm by noting the by-product of his path-clearing efforts will be a curvaceous and mirthful snowman. Of course, that amorous twinkle in his eyes suggests he could have busted out the snowman plans just to get into somebody's WAC slacks. Clooney reluctantly concedes she might enjoy throwing snow at people, possibly to channel her snow-rage. Her credibility is further hampered by the fact she goes back to talking about washing her hair with the shit like she thinks that sounds sane. I just don't trust testimony like that.
One of the most striking things about this musical film is its ability to generate suspense as to whether it will end up snowing... in Vermont. Dramatic irony! Unlike Vermont, Vancouver was not always so fortunate. White Christmases had to be savoured because there was an actual risk that next year your street may not be a marshmallow world made for sweethearts. Oh, of course there was snow a 40-minute drive up the mountains, or a few hours east or north, but that's just not the same.
Christmas in Montreal circa 1932
22.11.09
If this doesn't warm the cockles of your heart, I don't know what will.
Gus' Albums
I loved the old CBC radio show Gilmour's Albums. Clyde Gilmour's soft, relaxed voice had a very calming cadence. Clyde, I hope that your program is still airing on a frequency somewhere in the great beyond. Some day, I'd like to resurrect your show but call it "Gus' Albums." It might make me feel less ridiculous for my burgeoning vinyl collection.
If I had to air a program this week, I'd be playing songs from among these albums that have touched my turntable recently:
This is any christmas music collection's back-bone. The base (and the bass!) upon which to build. It's typically the first and most-frequently played of my records. Playful, contemplative, and classic.
Now this woman is what I call angelic! Her powerful pipes make you forget the breathy poptrocities that assault your eardrums on the radio every December (Which reminds me to thank to my blogging colleagues for raising awareness of some notorious poptricities in their entries this week). Mahalia's voice is richly grounded, and yet she still knows how to soar with vocal ornamentation rivalling any shining art you might find on a tree.
This is a new addition to the collection, acquired on some hazy summer day at the back of a fripperie. (It's great fun to pick up Christmas albums when thrifting off-season and tuck them away, delaying the inaugural listen until months later, when the disc pops out of your collection of tried-and-trues as a pleasant surprise you forgot you had). Edna and I had a listen to this record last night, and felt transported back in time to a Pure Laine holiday hoe-down. This family sounds like they would be dangerously fun at a Christmas party! I love the idea of a roomful of rowdies all joining lustily in a seasonal call-and-response, complete with exquisite fiddling and stomp-worthy rythmn. People don't get together to sing AND dance very often any more, and I find that sad.
Does anybody still need convincing that this is worth listening to, in its entirety, in one sitting, at least once a year? I remember feeling like I would die of boredom at performances of this as a child. One noteworthy one was in Addis Ababa in December 1992 (more on Ethiopian Christmas to come in future posts, I promise). Today, I love the ebb and flow of the voices, the familiar words of hope and anticipation arranged so compellingly, the poetry and sound collectively moving. I've written entire papers listening to this production- conducted by Sir Malcolm Sargeant, with the Royal Liverpool and the Huddersfield Chorus.
Speaking of papers, this blog is worse than cookie-baking in terms of its procrastinatory draw. To all a good night!
If I had to air a program this week, I'd be playing songs from among these albums that have touched my turntable recently:
This is any christmas music collection's back-bone. The base (and the bass!) upon which to build. It's typically the first and most-frequently played of my records. Playful, contemplative, and classic.
Now this woman is what I call angelic! Her powerful pipes make you forget the breathy poptrocities that assault your eardrums on the radio every December (Which reminds me to thank to my blogging colleagues for raising awareness of some notorious poptricities in their entries this week). Mahalia's voice is richly grounded, and yet she still knows how to soar with vocal ornamentation rivalling any shining art you might find on a tree.
This is a new addition to the collection, acquired on some hazy summer day at the back of a fripperie. (It's great fun to pick up Christmas albums when thrifting off-season and tuck them away, delaying the inaugural listen until months later, when the disc pops out of your collection of tried-and-trues as a pleasant surprise you forgot you had). Edna and I had a listen to this record last night, and felt transported back in time to a Pure Laine holiday hoe-down. This family sounds like they would be dangerously fun at a Christmas party! I love the idea of a roomful of rowdies all joining lustily in a seasonal call-and-response, complete with exquisite fiddling and stomp-worthy rythmn. People don't get together to sing AND dance very often any more, and I find that sad.
Does anybody still need convincing that this is worth listening to, in its entirety, in one sitting, at least once a year? I remember feeling like I would die of boredom at performances of this as a child. One noteworthy one was in Addis Ababa in December 1992 (more on Ethiopian Christmas to come in future posts, I promise). Today, I love the ebb and flow of the voices, the familiar words of hope and anticipation arranged so compellingly, the poetry and sound collectively moving. I've written entire papers listening to this production- conducted by Sir Malcolm Sargeant, with the Royal Liverpool and the Huddersfield Chorus.
Speaking of papers, this blog is worse than cookie-baking in terms of its procrastinatory draw. To all a good night!
Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, Rosemary Clooney, and Vera-Ellen White: these four mean Christmas
21.11.09
The second verse, in which Clooney and White wax poetic about the army being a sausagefest, is my favourite. "The WACs who dressed in slacks, dancing cheek-to-cheek and pants-to-pants" is to Bing Crosby's time what not knowing the genders of everyone in Le Tigre is to ours.
Of course the army is more than a penis buffet, otherwise straight men like everyone in this movie would not be singing its praises. The army boasts fine Hollywood entertainment, free healthcare, a record of treating jerks well, three meals a day, the ability to always pass the buck to someone higher up, and the promise of bedding one of its elusive women.
I think White Christmas is my favourite seasonal flick.
Poptrocities: A Cougar Family Christmas
When I don't have the time to get personal, I will contribute in the form of this segment.
Poptrocities: A critical assessment of the new Christmas canon.
Picking and prying at those little ditties (usually from the "A Very Special Christmas" series) that have become staples on those ill-guided though well-meaning radio stations that decide to go to an "All Christmas" format sometime just prior to or after the onset of Advent.
Today: John Cougar Mellencamp's "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus"
What goes right:
- Everything (and I do mean everything) about that fiddler.
- The diversity amongst the back-up singers. Two black ladies, one very white child... anyone wanna wager on whose illegitimate tour child that is? My money's on the accordion player.
- The bass drum art. I'm unsure, but it could be a Country & Westernified portrait of Our Lord and Saviour.
- Cougar's vest. Who does that nowadays?
- 2:29... fast forward it if you must... that is not nerves... that is genuine fear of what will happen if she for one minute ignores what Johnny Cougar wants her to do. You never, never mess with the Coug.
What goes wrong:
- That first shot: possibly single-handedly killed the acid wash revolution. The two musicians also appear to be in an unmovable former failed attempt at the splits.
- The scores of empty seats behind the stage. I think they're going for a Bon Jovi-esque "rehearsal" feel, but I can't help but think people were invited and just knew what to expect.
- Mellencamp's hair: True Blood called, they thank you for the inspiration.
- Thank GOD that kid doesn't get a face full of bells... who taught her how to play that thing?
- The bongos behind the back-up singers. In the words of Sam the Eagle: "Why am I here?"
- Fear or no fear - that kid should be able to stay on key if she's gonna back the Cougar.
Poptrocities: A critical assessment of the new Christmas canon.
Picking and prying at those little ditties (usually from the "A Very Special Christmas" series) that have become staples on those ill-guided though well-meaning radio stations that decide to go to an "All Christmas" format sometime just prior to or after the onset of Advent.
Today: John Cougar Mellencamp's "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus"
What goes right:
- Everything (and I do mean everything) about that fiddler.
- The diversity amongst the back-up singers. Two black ladies, one very white child... anyone wanna wager on whose illegitimate tour child that is? My money's on the accordion player.
- The bass drum art. I'm unsure, but it could be a Country & Westernified portrait of Our Lord and Saviour.
- Cougar's vest. Who does that nowadays?
- 2:29... fast forward it if you must... that is not nerves... that is genuine fear of what will happen if she for one minute ignores what Johnny Cougar wants her to do. You never, never mess with the Coug.
What goes wrong:
- That first shot: possibly single-handedly killed the acid wash revolution. The two musicians also appear to be in an unmovable former failed attempt at the splits.
- The scores of empty seats behind the stage. I think they're going for a Bon Jovi-esque "rehearsal" feel, but I can't help but think people were invited and just knew what to expect.
- Mellencamp's hair: True Blood called, they thank you for the inspiration.
- Thank GOD that kid doesn't get a face full of bells... who taught her how to play that thing?
- The bongos behind the back-up singers. In the words of Sam the Eagle: "Why am I here?"
- Fear or no fear - that kid should be able to stay on key if she's gonna back the Cougar.
It's an O Holy Night-off
20.11.09
Sometime in the contemporary era, O Holy Night became a girl song. I don't blame Mariah Carey for starting this, but I do blame anyone who thought they could do it as well as she could.
I don't practice slut-shaming on a regular basis, but it has to be said. Jessica, dear: your o-face does not belong in church on the Christ Child's birthday.
My sister has this horrible Christmas CD in her car. Honestly, it has The Reason I Can Never Forgive Beyoncé,* as well as some dreck by Hanson, 98 degrees, Spice Girls, *NSync and BSB and probably the godforsaken Moffats. Where would someone get such a thing? Well, whoever was student council of LFA homeroom 11-2 in 2001, I hope you're pleased with yourselves. My sister and I have had a passionate love-hate relationship with this free cd FOR THE PAST EIGHT YEARS. So, yes, the hours it took you to napster-jack all that music, burn it to cd, and colour print the liner notes were worth it, student council of 11-2. Truly, that CD could only have been gifted at an all-girls school.
This is one of the five acceptable songs on the entire album, mostly because of the organ solo.
Searching versions of this song on YouTube is an experience enhanced by the vitriolic commentary on any diva video. Here are some of the worst attempts I've had the misfortune to witness:
1. Jessica Simpson
I don't practice slut-shaming on a regular basis, but it has to be said. Jessica, dear: your o-face does not belong in church on the Christ Child's birthday.
From YouTuber kuntryjak -
I've never heard a stripper sing "O Holy Night", but I'd imagine this is what it would be like!
I feel kind of weird when listening to a song about our dear Savior while a voluptuous woman makes sensual facial expressions while stroking the microphone stand and touching herself provocatively and singing in a sultry voice.
Well, if that pg-13 performance got him that hot n' bothered, let's hope that kuntryjak never finds out what the internet is really for.
2. Avril Lavigne and Chantal Kreviazuk
If you made it through that for longer than ten seconds, I salute you. Not only is it a crappy [PICTURE UNRELATED] fanvid, but the song is murdered in cold blood. You'll wonder what Jesus (or Chantal) ever did to her to deserve this.
If you made it through that for longer than ten seconds, I salute you. Not only is it a crappy [PICTURE UNRELATED] fanvid, but the song is murdered in cold blood. You'll wonder what Jesus (or Chantal) ever did to her to deserve this.
3. Luciano Pavarotti
No, he's not a girl, but the Avril hurt me, and I needed to get better. A guido accent does wonderful things for a Christmas carol. This one was popular around the house, let me tell you.
4. Céline Dion
The credits for this clip promised "a carnage video." She's no Mariah, but I wouldn't go that far. 3:03-3:11ish for the best trademark Céline gesticulation.
5. Carrie Underwood
From "A Very Republican Christmas," no doubt. Look at Dubya at about 0:08, being all HURR HURR SHE DONE PUSHED THE OTHER GUY OUTTA THE WAY I'M GUNNA WINK AT HER. Honestly, though, not a bad attempt. The backing chorus is fairly epic.
*Honestly, Destiny's Child. Eight days of Christmas? You couldn't think of four more nights of gold-digging? In their defense, the original did use a lot of bird gifts as obvious filler...
Mele Kalikimaka: it's the thing to say.
Disclaimer: the editorial board here at Now the Bells Ring is a karaoke-tolerant group of individuals. Though the performer is Canadian, we are not merely using him as CanCon filler. The blog's named in honour of Rita MacNeil, and we just posted about Athens, Ontario and The Racoons, anyway. Having said that, please enjoy this spirited rendition of a Bing Crosby favourite, Mele Kalikimaka by Boobtube's very own YukaChuck.
Well, a good effort overall. Bing would surely drink to that! I do have a bit of constructive criticism (or concrit as we in the industry like to call it). it is important to remember whether the karaoke song you have chosen has a long instrumental portion. The least awkward thing you can do at that point is commit to an air guitar/keyboard/ukulele solo. You need to commit to the song from beginning to end!
From the artist:
AN ALL CANADIAN PRODUCTION..EH!
WE AVOID LIP SYNCHING IF POSSIBLE...ORIGINAL SINGING IS FAR MORE CHALLENGING AND FUN!
Hollywood producers and directors can email us at [redacted]
We are available for film and television starring roles!!!..Or background/extra work!Or CHIMNEY SWEEPING OR POTATO FARMING!!!! Just ask for Allan K...A GOOD LOYAL CANADIAN!
Blue Noel
Well folks, Christmas is only 35 days away now. I'm proud to have prolonged my merriment until a respectably advanced November date; now it's time to ramp things up.
I think that part of my chronic premature carol-crushing stems from, as Edna put it, Ecclesiastical choral experiences. Preparations for the Christmas concert circuit, special advent services, festivals of lessons and carols, and other musical events in December always necessitated rehearsing Christmas music shortly after the pumpkins perished.
One example of the early onset of premature carol syndrome:
It was November 1995, and we were fresh from the excitement of Hallow's Eve and the Quebec Referendum. (I had been allowed to stay up late to watch the vote count on TV; we had chips and pop while tracking the quivering numbers; Mom thought Bob Rae's commentary was the most intelligent that evening and I'm inclined to agree). I remember waltzing into a Canadian Tire in Napanee with the family after a Saturday morning Choir practice the first weekend in November, feeling an anxious sense of excitement over my desire to get festive prematurely. I believe I purchased some shiny blue garland and Christmas balls in hopes of decorating my room. Sadly, the gap between youthful imagination and actual implementation of artistic design was wide: The garland hung over the dresser of the room I shared with Chester haphhazardly, a lazy invocation of Noel. It didn't matter. I still felt the excitement of anticipation. I read A Christmas Carol under the covers, felt a sense of magic in the sight of the County courthouse, illuminated and beaming through my window, visible from over the rooftops of the Sydenham Ward and across City Park.
But I digress: Yes, that ritual of earliness never quite leaves a chorister, however far he or she may stray from the choir stalls.
Speaking of stalling, my final days of law school seem to be unravelling with more of a whimper than a bang. I'm too stoked for Shawn's concert, and time with friends in Eastern Ontario, and the family dinner I'm hosting, and singing in church on the 24th, and that decadent interim between the 25th and New Year that revolves around reconnecting with the people you love and allowing the climax of Jesus' birthday to fade into a haze of leftovers and new books, snowy walks and turkey casseroles.
But I am getting ahead of myself, here. I'm loath to wish it all away, because the waiting and preparing has always been my favourite part of Christmas. Last night Angela and I really kicked things off with a bang. Apparently, I'm not through with my Blue Christmas phase. The loft is now awash in a blue glow. I have to admit, we weakened last night and listened to Kenny and Dolly while making Pork Tenderloin and playing around with our loot from Canadian Tire. It was a fantastic evening, and hopefully the springboard for a number of great evenings to come.
This one goes out to all the choir kids out there, particularly of the ecclesiastical persuasion
Ah, the Christmas medley: enabling choir directors everywhere to jam more classic carols into holiday concerts than humanly possible. Bing's Hark! The Herald Angels Came Upon a Midnight Clear is one of my favourites.
Christmas lights - a definitive guide
1. The ones you so don't have: 
4. Multicolour LED sets:
Obviously, eliminating the pink or purple completely robs the multi set of its whimsy. This is why I consider LED multi sets the lowest form of non-icicle christmas light. I much prefer when the yellow is omitted and they use a blue or purple and include the bright white (eg pale blue) colour.
Apparently, Sylvania produced flourescent bulbs in the 1940s. Those probably look awesome (and lets face it, a little bit evil mad scientist) but I've never seen any.
2. Phallic bubble tree lights:
The first time I saw these, I was like 8 or something. I was absolutely fucking mesmerized. I started to notice that pre-70's christmas ornaments were where it's at. there was no point going to the store because the store didn't have shit.
3. Standard incandescent clear multi:
I remember these coming in the following colours:
red, yellow, green, blue, pink that looks like red
or
red, amber, green, blue, same pink, purple.
This kind of set will always remind me of the 80s and 90s. Although wasn't it 1995 when everyone switched to all-white lights because they looked ~classy~... and what year was the great icicle light blight that nearly eradicated all other outdoor light varieties?
4. Multicolour LED sets:
Obviously, eliminating the pink or purple completely robs the multi set of its whimsy. This is why I consider LED multi sets the lowest form of non-icicle christmas light. I much prefer when the yellow is omitted and they use a blue or purple and include the bright white (eg pale blue) colour.
5. Purple and red LED lights > the other colours.
6. Mixing bright white and soft white LED lights: it's so underrated but so pretty it deserves to be exploited as much as icicle lights were. Dude, it's like true white and pale blue. It's the majesty of ice delivered in twinkle light form. I might be biased because these are my current lights of choice.
7. Ceramic lights:
Ah, november 15th. The day you should be going down to the garage to test all your light sets. I love these old school opaque lights. I don't think I'm feeling the new ones they're making out of plastic. The old ones just look so warm and delicious. They glow more magically than your standard light.
8. Faux-flame lights: Awesome in any form.
"I'm the Christmas Toy!"
17.11.09
Any love for Rugby the Tiger out there?
Am I the only one that ever saw this special, or is it common knowledge?
Cedric Sneer is my hero!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=29Iv6QpT1qw
This has got to be the most buttery, mayonnaise 80s Christmas TV special of all time. I had it on a wobbly tape and recall being mesmerized by the interiors of the cabins, the strange shape of the sneers, the frightening greed, the cozy camaraderie of animal and human alike....(Also, is that Anne Murray doing the soundtrack?????) Enjoy and discuss!
This has got to be the most buttery, mayonnaise 80s Christmas TV special of all time. I had it on a wobbly tape and recall being mesmerized by the interiors of the cabins, the strange shape of the sneers, the frightening greed, the cozy camaraderie of animal and human alike....(Also, is that Anne Murray doing the soundtrack?????) Enjoy and discuss!
I know it's still November.
I know many of you already know that Angus and I have many problems. One of many of these is our obsession with Christmas, which sometimes begins on a drunkin July night listening to Polish Christmas music on vinyl. I have begun my yuletide season a little later this year by rehearsing for my Christmas concert in Athens this December the 18th. For those who don't know, Athens is my much over glamourized hometown that I tend to get weepy over as the season approaches. Athens is a small place but home to a score of famous charcters including Tara Vanderlinden, Mrs. Covey and Bord Watt (just to name a few, and more on them later). Athens is a place I have a love hate relationship with, but come December I can't think of any other place I'd rather be.
Athens is in eastern Ontario just north of Brockville and east of Kingston and far enough away that people from Toronto haven't ruined it with a Starbucks, art gallery or a 10 000 villages. The population is 1000 and is made up of British, Irish and Dutch stock mainly who have farmed the area for generations. The village was incorporated in 1890, was the centre of education and religon for the surrouding agricultural communities. The village has several denominations (Catholic, Anglican, United, Baptist, Pentecostal and Christian Reformed) of congregations, making it a very devout place indeed. The High School had a few hundred students when I went and I knew everyone by name and who there parents were. It was a loving but sometimes suffocating place to be, but as I said, in December its like the Canadian Norman Rockwell on crack decided to make a town.
So I am having a concert there in the United Church on Friday December the 18th. I began getting ready for it last week and its great to be singing these great old songs again on a clanky piano as they were meant to be sung. I am not what you would call a religous person but I have a great fondness for churches and the important role they play in a small community. The stale smell of mothballs and musty stone, weak tea and coffee brewing in the kitchen and the smell of wood and polish on the pews is a comforting thing indeed . I was raised Catholic but I have a particular fondness for the limestone United Church with its beautiful stained glass windows and high ceilings. My childhood church was built in the early 80's and looks a bit like a cedar chalet, why the Catholic Church decided to go on a rampage and tear down all the historical stone and brick churches to be replaced by modern monstrosities I will never know. I have also been hired by the United Church of Canada to sing more than any other including my own (not more on that as I may be willed out of the family) The United Church is also home to the Lunmans who are very old friends of mine since childhood, so it's always good to sing at there place of worship. (Angus went there too).
So if you're in the area come mid-December and want to see Christmas as it is meant to be seen , in all it's tacky homey pastoral glory, come to Athens. I'll have the cider fortified and ready.
This weeks preparation kit:
Music: Gordon Lightfoot's Song for a Winter Night, Fleet Foxes White Winter Hymnal and David Francey's Lucky Man.
Food: It's time to get your Christmas cake started so it can age just right for the 25th! My mother is doing hers today. This is my late grandmothers recipe:
Athens is in eastern Ontario just north of Brockville and east of Kingston and far enough away that people from Toronto haven't ruined it with a Starbucks, art gallery or a 10 000 villages. The population is 1000 and is made up of British, Irish and Dutch stock mainly who have farmed the area for generations. The village was incorporated in 1890, was the centre of education and religon for the surrouding agricultural communities. The village has several denominations (Catholic, Anglican, United, Baptist, Pentecostal and Christian Reformed) of congregations, making it a very devout place indeed. The High School had a few hundred students when I went and I knew everyone by name and who there parents were. It was a loving but sometimes suffocating place to be, but as I said, in December its like the Canadian Norman Rockwell on crack decided to make a town.
So I am having a concert there in the United Church on Friday December the 18th. I began getting ready for it last week and its great to be singing these great old songs again on a clanky piano as they were meant to be sung. I am not what you would call a religous person but I have a great fondness for churches and the important role they play in a small community. The stale smell of mothballs and musty stone, weak tea and coffee brewing in the kitchen and the smell of wood and polish on the pews is a comforting thing indeed . I was raised Catholic but I have a particular fondness for the limestone United Church with its beautiful stained glass windows and high ceilings. My childhood church was built in the early 80's and looks a bit like a cedar chalet, why the Catholic Church decided to go on a rampage and tear down all the historical stone and brick churches to be replaced by modern monstrosities I will never know. I have also been hired by the United Church of Canada to sing more than any other including my own (not more on that as I may be willed out of the family) The United Church is also home to the Lunmans who are very old friends of mine since childhood, so it's always good to sing at there place of worship. (Angus went there too).
So if you're in the area come mid-December and want to see Christmas as it is meant to be seen , in all it's tacky homey pastoral glory, come to Athens. I'll have the cider fortified and ready.
This weeks preparation kit:
Music: Gordon Lightfoot's Song for a Winter Night, Fleet Foxes White Winter Hymnal and David Francey's Lucky Man.
Food: It's time to get your Christmas cake started so it can age just right for the 25th! My mother is doing hers today. This is my late grandmothers recipe:
Kathleen Victoria Barber's Fruitcake
4 1/2 cups of seedless raisins (wash and drain well)
2 cups brown sugar
2 cups water
1/4 cup of butter
The night before, put the water into large heavy dutch oven; add raisins and brown sugar. Bring to boil then simmer for 5 min. Remove from heat and add the butter; let cool to room temperature. (best left overnight)
Beat 2 eggs (set aside). dice 2 cups of candied cherries (red and green) Finely chop 1 cup of peacans. Set aside
Shake together in a large ziplock bag:
2 1/2 cups of floupr
1 teaspoon of cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1 teaspoon of baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon of salt
Sift dry ingredients over cherry/nut combination mixing with your hands until every piece is floured. Blend the floured fruit and nut mix into the cooled raisin mixture alternately with the beaten eggs.
Place a pan of water on the lowest rack of the oven. Place cake in well greased pans and cook at 300 degrees for an hour and a half.
Cool completely then wrap in foil or cheese cloth.
Read: A Christmas Memory by Truman Capote. It's a great southern tale about family and fruitcake and I love the damn thing.
Cocktail: 1 ounce blended scotch, 2 ounces ginger wine, ice and a splash of Perrier.
Film: In homage to the American Thanksgiving, Trains, Planes and Automobiles.
We are the shepherds
16.11.09
In theory, I totally concur with Doc's prescription for appeasing haters and avoiding yuletide burnout:select mild seasonal material at first and build your cultural repretoire slowly and carefully as you move through December. However, tonight I came home, turned on my twinkle lights, switched on my little fake fireplace, and put on my Johnny Cash album, "The Christmas Spirit."
This LP is admittedly not a mild seasonal album, but rather a fulsome and religiously-centred collection of folk songs and carols. Some of my favourite songs include "We are the shepherds," an upbeat and hopeful number featuring Cash's rich and ringing Bass; "The ballad of the harp weaver," a magical story of Christmas miracles; and the stubbornly optimistic standard, "I heard the bells on Christmas day."
Taken in its entirety, this album feels historically weighted: a pop culture artefact of sorts, whose songs reflect the ideals and dreams of an earlier America. Cash's lyrics express a deep longing for "a kinder, gentler time." With rose-tinted glasses, Cash sings about material scarcity being remedied by simple pleasures, faith, and family.
Even at the time this was produced, it was reaching back in time and memory. Surely, life was never this warm and uncomplicated.
Without demeaning this incredibly comforting album and others like it, I often have to give myself a shake when I feel their pull towards nostalgic reverie, reminding myself of the dangers of reifying the 'olden days.' Proclamations of justice and peace, trumpeting of Noel, were just as fraught and tentative in the 1960s (or 1460s, or 1860s for that matter) as they are today.
Time passes, modernity and post-modernity flourish, and the longing continues. Perhaps more than anything, the familiarity of these tropes, their incredible recurrence and undeniable complicated beauty, is in and of itself a source of comfort and joy.
Better get that holly up...
This blog should and will be a thing of wonder and joy.
With that in mind, I'll get my complaints out of the way once and only once.
Why is it so freaking warm? David Suzuki probably told us exactly why, but am I the only one that just feels like an unseasonally warm 10 degrees just ain't right for mid-November? I've had my mittens in my bag for about three weeks now and haven't been remotely moved towards reaching for them.
It's threatening my usually stellar spirit level for the long-term.
I believe there's a time and place to start thinking about Christmas. And that time and place is the third Sunday in November as the decades-old floats and costumes of Toronto's Santa Claus Parade go thundering through the streets of Toronto justifying what Second Cup and Zellers have been telling us for weeks now:
Christmas is here... you've been warned.
And I joyously accept that. I still attend the parade with my twentysomething band of misfit elves, I drink hot chocolate or second rate coffee from the nearest dispensory I can find to the street (failing that, I just depend on the kindness of strangers who'd rather give me coacoa than stare at their children until they relent the tears they can only mildly contain as is); and then afterwards I head to either the cinema or my own VCR/DVD and watch something mildly christmassy.
And I joyously accept that. I still attend the parade with my twentysomething band of misfit elves, I drink hot chocolate or second rate coffee from the nearest dispensory I can find to the street (failing that, I just depend on the kindness of strangers who'd rather give me coacoa than stare at their children until they relent the tears they can only mildly contain as is); and then afterwards I head to either the cinema or my own VCR/DVD and watch something mildly christmassy.
I start light, much like the last post about Christmas vinyl. You can't just rip right into Kenny & Dolly or Handel's Messiah in mid-November... you need a warm-up. A couple weeks of Vincent Guaraldi or Planes, Trains & Automobiles (the video equivalent?) to warm up... that way you can justify it to the haters.
"It's just jazz"
"It's techincally a thanksgiving movie"
But this year, I find the motivation failing. I watched the parade, with my jacket unzipped. I went to a screening of that new Disney "Christmas Carol" but it did zip for my spirits.
I find myself weighed down by a mediocre employment situation and the realities of clearing space in an already cluttered apartment for a DIY fake fir.
Am I just aging?
I'll find the spirit... but by my clock, it's already 24 hours late arriving.
Any suggestions from Merry Masses?
Album 1 of the season
I have had to re-calibrate my seasonal longings based on the balmy mid-November weather.
Well aware of the dangers of over-playing some of my festive favourites, I always try to delay my first annual viewing and playing of my most beloved Christmas music and films until the weather is sufficiently depressing and the 25th of December not so ridiculously long off that I have to conceal my indulgences for fear of seeming totally irreverent or just generally insane.
Waiting until the season of Advent commences to spin my Christmas Vinyl, for example, would really be more appropriate than using November 12 as a kick-off date. However, I am lucky enough to count as close friends a gaggle of individuals who year after year affirm my longing for seasonal cultural materials in November and suggest that it's acceptable to watch Muppet Family Christmas or listen to Kenny and Dolly, or Rita, any time after Remembrance Day.
So, despite the absence of snow and sleet, let the games begin!
This year, the first selection to suffer my turntable is Charlie Brown's Christmas. The Vince whatever-his-name-is trio never disappoints. The album is great studying music: an incredible, child-like catharsis comes over me while listening to the carefree piano and peeling a clementine.
Well aware of the dangers of over-playing some of my festive favourites, I always try to delay my first annual viewing and playing of my most beloved Christmas music and films until the weather is sufficiently depressing and the 25th of December not so ridiculously long off that I have to conceal my indulgences for fear of seeming totally irreverent or just generally insane.
Waiting until the season of Advent commences to spin my Christmas Vinyl, for example, would really be more appropriate than using November 12 as a kick-off date. However, I am lucky enough to count as close friends a gaggle of individuals who year after year affirm my longing for seasonal cultural materials in November and suggest that it's acceptable to watch Muppet Family Christmas or listen to Kenny and Dolly, or Rita, any time after Remembrance Day.
So, despite the absence of snow and sleet, let the games begin!
This year, the first selection to suffer my turntable is Charlie Brown's Christmas. The Vince whatever-his-name-is trio never disappoints. The album is great studying music: an incredible, child-like catharsis comes over me while listening to the carefree piano and peeling a clementine.
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