Celebrating the end of (bad) Christmas music

As this fish wrap edition hits doorsteps and monitors it’ll be Christmas Eve, which is a day of immense celebration in the Walker household.

Traditionally spent with homemade oyster stew and sourdough bread should be enough, especially when enjoyed with the World’s Most Beautiful Woman. It’s also a time to express joy for a seemingly endless collection of music whether in the form of a cassette, compact disc, vinyl long-players or singles, and digital files.

Once upon a time, I would burn a CD of Christmasthemed music for friends, work associates and family members. It’s been a few years, but it was enjoyable to collect obscure songs throughout the year for inclusion on my Christmas Holiday mixes.

Okay, readers may say, big deal. Local radio stations play Christmas music on repeat, beginning in October, every year. It’s not the same, I assert, because it’s inevitable those stations will play songs that never should have seen the light of day much less released to coordinate with the birthday of our Lord Jesus.

You all know the songs. They’re horrible. Not just the vocal groups who attempt to wring every last emotion out of every syllable of every chorus by clutching their fists and drawing them in the direction of their respective chests while straining so hard to hit the note their eyes pinch shut.

There are also esteemed talents out there working to undermine human sanity with insipid originals or horrible covers of great songs.

At the top of the first category is Sir Paul Mccartney and his former band Wings, who conjured the dreck titled “Wonderful Christmastime.” How this song sprang unencumbered from the talent of one of history’s most prolific musical geniuses is a mystery for the ages. But, please, bury this song. The prize this year goes to Jon Bon Jovi, who was, I can only conjecture, possessed by some Lovecraftian brain-melting entity, which convinced him it was a good idea to cover the Pogues’ and Kirsty Maccoll’s brilliant “Fairy Tale of New York.” The original is as fine a piece of pop music ever committed to a recording, but the remake would be receiving a compliment if disparaged as merely an abomination. It’s really that awful, and should be not only buried beneath McCartney’s song, but dismembered and burned first – along with his previous Yuletide embarrassment: “Back Door Santa.”

Speaking of the Pogues, I highly recommend the documentary of its founding member, “Crock of Gold: A Few Rounds with Shane MacGowan.” Directed by Julien Temple, the film adheres closely to the singer/songwriter’s autobiographical work, “A Drink with Shane MacGowan.” However, a demerit is warranted for the inclusion of Johnny Depp, who among his many current legal, career and public relations problems, appears to have criminally invented his own daff y and inexplicable version of a Gaelic brogue.

Note to self: Thank goodness and aesthetic commonsense Depp’s cinematic adaptation of the J.P. Donleavy Ireland-based picaresque novel, “The Ginger Man,” never got off the ground.

Another artist guilty of dual Christmas no-nos is the late George Michael. His first offense was appearing on the horrible “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” extravaganza. But he dived even deeper into the chamber pot of Noelickiness the following year with the Wham! song “Last Christmas.” Sorry, George.

And so this: Christmas is becoming a holiday to celebrate the end of two months of mostly crummy, often stomach-churning music.

Well, that is, except when we remember the day and many of its better songs commemorating the very special birth of the aforementioned Christ Child. Big Star’s “Jesus Christ” comes to mind.

Not to mention songs about snow and Santa Claus by the Kinks, Kate Bush and even Tom Waits.

Here’s hoping those reading this (as well as your families and friends) enjoy a blessed Christmas.