For some reason, Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Christmastime" is reviled by many, even those who otherwise like Sir Paul and that Beatles group he was part of. We've never understood the hate.
If we were to level any criticism at "Wonderful ..." it would be that it's a two-minute idea stretched out to a more radio friendly four minutes. So it repeats itself for the back half, but that's a complaint easily leveled at many pop standards that get much more love.
Surely the Cute One tossed off this charming, inoffensive ditty while plinking around with his fancy new synthesizer. [It was a Prophet 5 -- ed.] Even his futzing around is radio-worthy. Is the distaste born of anger and frustration?
Musically, it's has that kind of "hey, did I mention I can play the piano?" feel -- with McCartney as the cool, maybe tipsy, uncle who has traveled the globe but set down tonight at your parents house to say hi and tell stories that you may or may not believe and dang it he's so much fun.
The lyrics are inconsequential to say the least, and that's for the best. No nonsense about trees, holly or presents, just a "hey, we're here, let's drink and sing." Aside from the chorus, it could easily be a summoning to the local for a pint and a few jokes.
And this is where the real defense comes in. It's nearly impossible to talk about Paul McCartney without talking about John Lennon. And what did Lennon give us for Christmas? "Happy Xmas (War Is Over)."
There's nothing wrong with Lennon's solemn, introspective tune. Arguably, he's more in line with the tone of classic English Christmas music. And yes, Lennon and Yoko Ono wrote and recorded the song in 1971, when Vietnam was still in full swing and the collective hangover from the '60s was just setting in, while McCartney recorded "Wonderful ..." in 1979 on the cusp of the go-go '80s.
But these two songs best illustrate the differences between McCartney and Lennon. The former is pure happiness and love, to the point of tooth-ache sweetness. The latter is a somber inventory that puts all the work on the listener: "What have you done?" "War is over, if you want it." John, if we wanted a lecture we'd go to church.
Need more proof? Watch the official video released for "Happy Xmas" and then try to swallow another mug of nog. It's the Christmas song equivalent of reminding everyone at the table about how poorly cranberry bog workers are treated.
It's not that Lennon's song is bad, it's just a bummer. And any sensible person has plenty of winter weltschmerz stocked up by the time Santa comes sliding down the drainpipe. Baby Jesus, that's why we all just want to drink and sing:
[courtesy of Holiday Favorites]
If we have not convinced you, nothing will. But we dare you to listen -- really listen -- to "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" and then tell us how much you dislike "Wonderful Christmastime." Or, if all else fails, you can just listen to this.
Monday, December 23, 2013
Friday, December 20, 2013
Solstice Time Is Here
The Earth has tilted just so, throwing the northern hemisphere into winter. And on December 21, that tilt will reach it's furthest point before leaning back for a long, slow journey toward spring.
Check out more of Mr. Bennett's work via his generous online portfolio. And if that's not enough, here's a (probably late 19th century) illustration of Father Christmas riding a Yule goat. Oh yeah!
Since it's unlikely that anyone at The Typing Monkey's Seattle office will be awake and/or sober when the true solstice occurs at 9:11 a.m. on the 21st, we are here now to acknowledge the event.
Cultures around the globe have various ways of celebrating the shortest day of winter, raging and kicking against the dark, eating and drinking as if they might not survive the cold, because for centuries, surviving the winter wasn't guaranteed.
You know what? Let's just look at this supernatural winter scene by Jason Bennett:
Check out more of Mr. Bennett's work via his generous online portfolio. And if that's not enough, here's a (probably late 19th century) illustration of Father Christmas riding a Yule goat. Oh yeah!
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
In Defense of: Questionable Christmas Songs: Part II
Or next defense is a little shakier, but stay with us for the teen dreamboat of the hairy 1970s, Bobby Sherman.
His “Love’s What You Get for Christmas” was a b-side from the dawn of the decade and the rare attempt at writing a new Christmas song that actually succeeded.
Okay, succeeding may be a little strong, but our reasoning is twofold:
1. "Love's What You Get ..." doesn’t really sound like Christmas music. It’s a peppy pop number that leans on the sherbet-hued horns inspired by the previous decade’s pop masters, Burt Bacharach and Herb Alpert. If there’s a jingle bell anywhere in this recording, we can’t hear it. It even recalls the work of Jack Jones.
2. The message seems to be “Love is the best gift of all.” While that’s something every Christmas television special has crammed down our throats for decades, it’s not a bad message.
However, the more cynical listener might think of this tune as sung by a lunkhead boyfriend who was too stoned to remember that Christmas morning has arrived, and upon realizing he has nothing to give to his lady, feeds her this bullshit line about how you can’t gift wrap love. Ugh, yes, but also genius. It’s like a rehearsal for “Dick in a Box.”
No matter. Punch play on this one and the world of snow, holly and chestnut roasting gives way to a faded Polaroid of sunny California where there’s a dessert table featuring Jell-O with fruit cocktail suspended in it.
[courtesy of Tom Smith]
Lord have mercy, perhaps before the big day arrives we'll manage to post another "In Defense of Questionable Christmas Songs." And if you are somehow incapable of scrolling down, here's the previous entry.
His “Love’s What You Get for Christmas” was a b-side from the dawn of the decade and the rare attempt at writing a new Christmas song that actually succeeded.
Okay, succeeding may be a little strong, but our reasoning is twofold:
1. "Love's What You Get ..." doesn’t really sound like Christmas music. It’s a peppy pop number that leans on the sherbet-hued horns inspired by the previous decade’s pop masters, Burt Bacharach and Herb Alpert. If there’s a jingle bell anywhere in this recording, we can’t hear it. It even recalls the work of Jack Jones.
2. The message seems to be “Love is the best gift of all.” While that’s something every Christmas television special has crammed down our throats for decades, it’s not a bad message.
However, the more cynical listener might think of this tune as sung by a lunkhead boyfriend who was too stoned to remember that Christmas morning has arrived, and upon realizing he has nothing to give to his lady, feeds her this bullshit line about how you can’t gift wrap love. Ugh, yes, but also genius. It’s like a rehearsal for “Dick in a Box.”
No matter. Punch play on this one and the world of snow, holly and chestnut roasting gives way to a faded Polaroid of sunny California where there’s a dessert table featuring Jell-O with fruit cocktail suspended in it.
[courtesy of Tom Smith]
Lord have mercy, perhaps before the big day arrives we'll manage to post another "In Defense of Questionable Christmas Songs." And if you are somehow incapable of scrolling down, here's the previous entry.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
In Defense of: Questionable Christmas Songs
Christmas music destroys all in its path. It sounds the distant thrum of an approaching toy army sometimes as early as Labor Day. By Halloween the jingling of bells and the faint whiff of canned snow makes the jack-o’-lantern’s mouth shrink with fear. Thanksgiving falls like a tissue-paper turkey into the green and red combine of CHRISTMAS! – the machine with engines parum-pah-pum-pumming and blades chopping: We! Wish! You! We! Wish! You!
We’re talking about “CHRISTMAS!” as opposed to “Christmas” just in case that wasn’t clear. The former is like mega-church Jesus (JESUS!), the latter is bible verse Jesus. The music of all-caps Christmas can even be identical, melodically and lyrically, to the music of actual Christmas. But the saccharine joyishness of CHRISTMAS! music clobbers the ears if we are not careful to find ways to tune it out.
One easy way to drown the terrible carols is to find the holiday songs that don’t offend. Or better yet, those that actually (gasp) please the ears. But we’re not here to pit the noble, mostly unsullied beauty of say, Vince Guaraldi’s seasonal arrangements against the sentimental hogwash of some pop star cashing in with another pointless rendition of “The Christmas Song.”
No, gentle reader, we offer to you a gift of debate, of justification. We come to defend the oddball splashes in the syrupy ocean of Christmas music, hoping to vindicate them in your mind and bring them to your attention again.
So gaze into the not-too-distant past and look upon these works with a new sense of wonder. Should they anger you rather than please, know that if you hunt us down and kill us, our medic alert bracelet is also a silent alarm that will wake the Krampus we keep locked in the custodian’s closet.
The first track on Barbra Streisand’s 1967 LP, A Christmas Album is the elementary-school music program classic “Jingle Bells.” Yes, Barbra Streisand is Jewish. But, to paraphrase Marvin Hamlisch, she’s Jewish, not stupid. So she joined the ranks of many non-Christians who’ve recorded Christmas tunes and chuckled all the way to the bank come January.
Streisand blusters through James Pierpont’s winter song (note there is no mention of any winter holiday in the lyrics) as if it were “Salt Peanuts” and the band had a little too much coffee. That’s probably the precise reason some listeners despise this version. Streisand also includes one of the lesser known verses of “Jingle Bells.” The arrangement plays with our expectations of the tune and fills its lungs with brisk December air. Nice one, Babs:
[courtesy of krisk, no relation to TMI’s janitor and sometime contributor]
Stay tuned for another entry or two in our mercifully brief series “In Defense of: Questionable Christmas Songs”
We’re talking about “CHRISTMAS!” as opposed to “Christmas” just in case that wasn’t clear. The former is like mega-church Jesus (JESUS!), the latter is bible verse Jesus. The music of all-caps Christmas can even be identical, melodically and lyrically, to the music of actual Christmas. But the saccharine joyishness of CHRISTMAS! music clobbers the ears if we are not careful to find ways to tune it out.
One easy way to drown the terrible carols is to find the holiday songs that don’t offend. Or better yet, those that actually (gasp) please the ears. But we’re not here to pit the noble, mostly unsullied beauty of say, Vince Guaraldi’s seasonal arrangements against the sentimental hogwash of some pop star cashing in with another pointless rendition of “The Christmas Song.”
No, gentle reader, we offer to you a gift of debate, of justification. We come to defend the oddball splashes in the syrupy ocean of Christmas music, hoping to vindicate them in your mind and bring them to your attention again.
So gaze into the not-too-distant past and look upon these works with a new sense of wonder. Should they anger you rather than please, know that if you hunt us down and kill us, our medic alert bracelet is also a silent alarm that will wake the Krampus we keep locked in the custodian’s closet.
The first track on Barbra Streisand’s 1967 LP, A Christmas Album is the elementary-school music program classic “Jingle Bells.” Yes, Barbra Streisand is Jewish. But, to paraphrase Marvin Hamlisch, she’s Jewish, not stupid. So she joined the ranks of many non-Christians who’ve recorded Christmas tunes and chuckled all the way to the bank come January.
Streisand blusters through James Pierpont’s winter song (note there is no mention of any winter holiday in the lyrics) as if it were “Salt Peanuts” and the band had a little too much coffee. That’s probably the precise reason some listeners despise this version. Streisand also includes one of the lesser known verses of “Jingle Bells.” The arrangement plays with our expectations of the tune and fills its lungs with brisk December air. Nice one, Babs:
[courtesy of krisk, no relation to TMI’s janitor and sometime contributor]
Stay tuned for another entry or two in our mercifully brief series “In Defense of: Questionable Christmas Songs”
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Apple Is the New Pumpkin
Hard cider is everywhere and with it, apple-flavored malt beverages that are to cider what Pat Boone was to Little Richard.
Yet Shock Top beer, a craft-y arm of the Anheuser-Busch behemoth, did something that no other cider pretender has done. At least not that we've encountered.
Their Honeycrisp Apple Wheat brew combines a Belgian-style wheat beer with cider-ish flavor. A daring drinker could probably get the same effect, and maybe better results, by pouring specific amounts of a favorite wheat beer and a tasty hard cider into a mug without letting anyone else dictate the taste.
But Shock Top's effort does the work for you and the result is refreshing and not nearly as sweet as we anticipated. The wheat beer isn't as prominent, it's more like a cracker with a big slice of Granny Smith apple on it. And in a pleasant divergence from the typical big-brewery attack, the fruit isn't sticky with sugar.
It's worth a try for something different. The light, almost sour taste -- for the apple element is much closer to Granny Smiths than Honeycrisp -- made for a good contrast to the heavy, dark beers that stock shelves during the winter.
And ignore that ridiculous label too.
Yet Shock Top beer, a craft-y arm of the Anheuser-Busch behemoth, did something that no other cider pretender has done. At least not that we've encountered.
But Shock Top's effort does the work for you and the result is refreshing and not nearly as sweet as we anticipated. The wheat beer isn't as prominent, it's more like a cracker with a big slice of Granny Smith apple on it. And in a pleasant divergence from the typical big-brewery attack, the fruit isn't sticky with sugar.
It's worth a try for something different. The light, almost sour taste -- for the apple element is much closer to Granny Smiths than Honeycrisp -- made for a good contrast to the heavy, dark beers that stock shelves during the winter.
And ignore that ridiculous label too.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Holidays With the Devil
Hammer Films produced a lot of inventive, effective horror movies during the 1960s and early ‘70s. They put out a lot of dreck too, but that’s to be expected and in no way dampens the positively English stamp they put all over classic and new horror stories during their run as a go-to brand for movie-night scares. Even their duds are still fun in the right setting.
Just because Halloween has passed doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy some occult spookiness. We recommend a double feature of two Hammer titles: The Devil Rides Out (1968) and The Witches aka The Devil’s Own (1966). If anyone questions why you’re watching movies about the occult instead of some Christmas nonsense, tell them you’re following the European tradition of sharing ghost stories during the holidays. Then press play before they can protest.
The Devil’s Own
Hitchcock vet Joan Fontaine (Rebecca, Suspicion) stars as Gwen Mayfield, an English school teacher working in Africa. After a jarring encounter with a tribal shaman, and the local ancient pagan practices, she heads back to England. But soon after Mayfield settles in the village of Heddaby, she starts to notice strange behavior in the locals and outright claims of witchcraft.
Fontaine’s a joy to watch, hitting a very Hitchcock-esque tone of the everywoman in over her head. Mayfield tries to keep her wits and logic about her despite the mounting evidence that occult skullduggery is happening right before her eyes.
The pagan ritual at the climax of Devil’s Own may put off some viewers, as it seems a little like a community theater idea, but if those actors can commit to it, just give yourself over to the diet Walpurgisnacht and enjoy the ride. Besides, based on Pentecostal congregations, this performance probably isn’t too far off from the real thing.
One of the big charms of The Devil’s Own is the pacing of the story. There are pauses and diversions built into the story, including a surprising chapter in which Fontaine’s character is institutionalized. It makes the loaded front-end of the movie novel-like.
Based on Ebert’s Law of Economy of Characters viewers shouldn’t have too much trouble sorting the mystery of the village, and the ending reeks of MPAA style fiddling. But everything leading up to that is a good fun and a nice choice for viewers who generally avoid horror movies.
***
The Devil Rides Out
Christopher Lee gets to branch out from his regular Hammer jobs as Dracula, the Mummy, and Frankenstein’s monster in this chilling tale of Satanism.
Lee plays Nicholas Duc le Richleau (!), a scholar of the dark arts who calls on an old friend, Van Ryn, for help. Richleau is worried about a young acquaintance of his, Simon Aron. A visit to Aron’s estate confirms Richleau’s fear. There are 12 guests at Aron’s “party” and the guest called Mocata (the wonderful Charles Gray) has a certain air about him.
Spoiler: Mocata leads a Satanic cult and plans on baptizing Aron and his lady friend Tanith. Richleau is not about to let that happen, and the chase is on.
Rides Out is based on the Dennis Wheatly novel of the same name. We’ve never read it, but the film leads us to believe that Wheatly must have devoured the works of M.R. James, as the film unfolds with the casually mounting terror of James’ work, with real-world scares (a car chase on narrow country roads) gradually giving way to other worldly horror.
When Mocata actually summons Old Scratch (perhaps it’s Baphomet?) viewers may wonder where the filmmakers could go from there. Giant spider aside – which isn’t bad, but suffers from the effects budget – how do you top a middle act appearance from the Devil? Oh, but they do top it.
Richleau and his cohorts fumble on the way to toppling Mocata, ending in a showdown that turns out to be a demonstration for why you don’t come between a mother and her child. We repeat: Don’t mess with mom.
Like Devil’s Own, Rides Out leans on a denouement that must have been at the bidding of various decency groups in Britain. And that’s fine. We don’t mind the happy ending, even if it does seem to be the cinematic equivalent of handing out a tiny bible as we exit the theater.
Everything else in Rides Out reads like source material for the wave of heavy metal bands that were beginning to fire up their amps, sparking up doobs, and incanting the names of demons for shock effect in the decade that followed. Surely Angel Witch has a DVD of this movie on their tour bus.
Reference material: Occult/Satanism horror tends toward the ridiculous or gore-filled. But somewhere along an alternate scale of films such as The Believers, The 39 Steps, and House of the Devil is the right tone for these two Hammer films. And we didn't link to The Witches/Devil's Own on IMDB for this piece, because the stupid DVD art gives away the big twist.
Just because Halloween has passed doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy some occult spookiness. We recommend a double feature of two Hammer titles: The Devil Rides Out (1968) and The Witches aka The Devil’s Own (1966). If anyone questions why you’re watching movies about the occult instead of some Christmas nonsense, tell them you’re following the European tradition of sharing ghost stories during the holidays. Then press play before they can protest.
The Devil’s Own
Hitchcock vet Joan Fontaine (Rebecca, Suspicion) stars as Gwen Mayfield, an English school teacher working in Africa. After a jarring encounter with a tribal shaman, and the local ancient pagan practices, she heads back to England. But soon after Mayfield settles in the village of Heddaby, she starts to notice strange behavior in the locals and outright claims of witchcraft.
Fontaine’s a joy to watch, hitting a very Hitchcock-esque tone of the everywoman in over her head. Mayfield tries to keep her wits and logic about her despite the mounting evidence that occult skullduggery is happening right before her eyes.
The pagan ritual at the climax of Devil’s Own may put off some viewers, as it seems a little like a community theater idea, but if those actors can commit to it, just give yourself over to the diet Walpurgisnacht and enjoy the ride. Besides, based on Pentecostal congregations, this performance probably isn’t too far off from the real thing.
One of the big charms of The Devil’s Own is the pacing of the story. There are pauses and diversions built into the story, including a surprising chapter in which Fontaine’s character is institutionalized. It makes the loaded front-end of the movie novel-like.
Based on Ebert’s Law of Economy of Characters viewers shouldn’t have too much trouble sorting the mystery of the village, and the ending reeks of MPAA style fiddling. But everything leading up to that is a good fun and a nice choice for viewers who generally avoid horror movies.
***
The Devil Rides Out
Christopher Lee gets to branch out from his regular Hammer jobs as Dracula, the Mummy, and Frankenstein’s monster in this chilling tale of Satanism.
Lee plays Nicholas Duc le Richleau (!), a scholar of the dark arts who calls on an old friend, Van Ryn, for help. Richleau is worried about a young acquaintance of his, Simon Aron. A visit to Aron’s estate confirms Richleau’s fear. There are 12 guests at Aron’s “party” and the guest called Mocata (the wonderful Charles Gray) has a certain air about him.
Spoiler: Mocata leads a Satanic cult and plans on baptizing Aron and his lady friend Tanith. Richleau is not about to let that happen, and the chase is on.
Rides Out is based on the Dennis Wheatly novel of the same name. We’ve never read it, but the film leads us to believe that Wheatly must have devoured the works of M.R. James, as the film unfolds with the casually mounting terror of James’ work, with real-world scares (a car chase on narrow country roads) gradually giving way to other worldly horror.
 |
| He sees you when you're sleeping |
Richleau and his cohorts fumble on the way to toppling Mocata, ending in a showdown that turns out to be a demonstration for why you don’t come between a mother and her child. We repeat: Don’t mess with mom.
Like Devil’s Own, Rides Out leans on a denouement that must have been at the bidding of various decency groups in Britain. And that’s fine. We don’t mind the happy ending, even if it does seem to be the cinematic equivalent of handing out a tiny bible as we exit the theater.
Everything else in Rides Out reads like source material for the wave of heavy metal bands that were beginning to fire up their amps, sparking up doobs, and incanting the names of demons for shock effect in the decade that followed. Surely Angel Witch has a DVD of this movie on their tour bus.
Reference material: Occult/Satanism horror tends toward the ridiculous or gore-filled. But somewhere along an alternate scale of films such as The Believers, The 39 Steps, and House of the Devil is the right tone for these two Hammer films. And we didn't link to The Witches/Devil's Own on IMDB for this piece, because the stupid DVD art gives away the big twist.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
TL;DR -- More Typing, Less Monkey
In scouring the unpaved service roads, blind alleys and drainage ditches of the information superhighway to put together this year's Halloween Frenzy, we accumulated a few items that, while strange or even a little scary, didn't fit within the tasteful orange and black boundaries we try to maintain.
That doesn't mean we don't want to share them. So welcome to our clearance sale.
First up is an ultimately sad tale all the way back from January of this year, so if it's a rerun to you, we apologize. But this tale of vorarephilia is fascinating. Canada's National Post reports of a man who sought help at a Toronto psychiatric hospital in 2012.
The man expressed a desire to be consumed by a "large, dominant woman." He wanted to be eaten. Most cases of vorarephilia involve the diagnosed party as wanting to eat others. So this man's case proved unusual and worth further study. There's so much more to this story, including a puzzling end.
***
From strange consumption to mass consumption: On October 10, Truth Dig reported on a horrible prediction from this year's Chocolate Industry Network Conference in London. The forecast for chocolate does not look good friends. Evidence mounts.
One day, future generations will only know of the confection through a few perverted tales and perhaps a candy wrapper on display in a temple somewhere. We try to make light of this situation because as the adage goes, sometimes laughing is the only alternative to tears.
***
All mythologies have end-of-days stories. Norse mythology tells of Ragnarok, the ultimate battle of the gods against the giants that will result in the death of Odin, the all-father, and the plunging of Midgard [that's Earth, y'all -- ed.] into endless dark, cold winter.
As it turns out, some Norse scholars in England think Ragnarok is about to commence, and they blew a symbolic horn to mark the beginning of the end, which should arrive 100 days from Nov 15. Thanks, guys!
Read all about it on the Daily Mail site, which features a ton of video ads, so adjust your volume accordingly. [And a tip of the antlered helmet to the supremely wonderful Walt Simonson for the late-breaking news lead.]
***
We end this three-course feast of strange with a chewy dessert called The Bus. It's been making the rounds at comics, writing and art blogs for the past couple months, and with good reason. It's a series of short comic strips by Paul Kirchner. We know nothing more about it or him. We could look him up and find out, but frankly, the mystery just adds to the charm of The Bus.
That doesn't mean we don't want to share them. So welcome to our clearance sale.
First up is an ultimately sad tale all the way back from January of this year, so if it's a rerun to you, we apologize. But this tale of vorarephilia is fascinating. Canada's National Post reports of a man who sought help at a Toronto psychiatric hospital in 2012.
The man expressed a desire to be consumed by a "large, dominant woman." He wanted to be eaten. Most cases of vorarephilia involve the diagnosed party as wanting to eat others. So this man's case proved unusual and worth further study. There's so much more to this story, including a puzzling end.
***
From strange consumption to mass consumption: On October 10, Truth Dig reported on a horrible prediction from this year's Chocolate Industry Network Conference in London. The forecast for chocolate does not look good friends. Evidence mounts.
One day, future generations will only know of the confection through a few perverted tales and perhaps a candy wrapper on display in a temple somewhere. We try to make light of this situation because as the adage goes, sometimes laughing is the only alternative to tears.
***
As it turns out, some Norse scholars in England think Ragnarok is about to commence, and they blew a symbolic horn to mark the beginning of the end, which should arrive 100 days from Nov 15. Thanks, guys!
Read all about it on the Daily Mail site, which features a ton of video ads, so adjust your volume accordingly. [And a tip of the antlered helmet to the supremely wonderful Walt Simonson for the late-breaking news lead.]
***
We end this three-course feast of strange with a chewy dessert called The Bus. It's been making the rounds at comics, writing and art blogs for the past couple months, and with good reason. It's a series of short comic strips by Paul Kirchner. We know nothing more about it or him. We could look him up and find out, but frankly, the mystery just adds to the charm of The Bus.
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