Category Archives: Music

After a pizza dinner with Andy and my parents, we returned home when my Mom texted that ‘The Sound of Music’ and the Charlie Brown Christmas Special were about to be broadcast. When everything else feels wrong and worrisome, something like ‘The Sound of Music’ is an escape to a place and time that somehow feels more innocent. How terrifying that the days leading up to World War II were captured in a movie that now feels innocent.

As the Von Trapp family sang with the Nazi world closing in around them, it felt eerily not that far from where the current world may one day be headed. But once again I was reminded that there are good people here, that goodness and love will triumph, and that light will always drive out darkness.

And a song about one little flower can change one little family who could change our little world. 

Browsing in Marshalls Homegoods like an idiot the other day, I heard a song where the main gist was that someone wanted an alien for Christmas. It was actually quite catchy, and I wished it wasn’t about a goddamn alien because aliens just don’t say Christmas to my crazy-ass brain. That said, I’m open enough to consider adoring more unconventional Christmas songs, such as this one titled ‘Champagne Drops’ by a group called My Bubba. It was part of a Scandinavian holiday playlist that someone put together inspired by hygge, and it’s become part of our holiday repertoire. 

Feels like come- way dance me round
Nuts crack under the soles our feet a Christmas sound
Reindeer making out on the couch all day long
Champagne drops on our ear drums pops
From the cork in the big kitchen pantry

Did I do a deep-dive into what these lyrics might mean? Nah. I don’t have time to over-analyze a Christmas treasure when I find one. Just indulge in the sweet holiday lullaby and shut up. It’s goddamn Christmas for Christ’s sake. Show some respect. I mean… fuck. 

Feels like come- way dance me round
Feels like come- way dance me round, round, round

This joins the ranks of the Hawaiian way of saying Merry Christmas or that hippopotamus bullshit – novelty songs that take a hold in your brain and don’t let up until you find a new way of hating on Christmas for all that it’s done to our heads. (By the way, hippos are no fucking joke. Look it up. They’re dangerous.) Maybe this song is more tolerable to me because it hasn’t been force-fed upon my ears for forty-plus years. Give it time. I’ll probably hate it by next year – but not as much as I hate the one about you forgetting the cranberries too. 

Feels like come- way dance me round
Nuts crack under the soles our feet a Christmas sound
Reindeer making out on the couch all day long
Champagne drops on our ear drums pops
From the cork in the big kitchen pantry

Feels like come- way dance me round
Feels like come- way dance me round, round, round.

Christmas memories are often conjured from two of the most powerful memory triggers: scent and sound. This Christmas medley, played simply and elegantly on a piano, contains several songs that may bring to mind memories of your own. 

We didn’t think there would be another holiday season like 2020, but here we are a year later, and in even more uncertainty. Christmas used to be the time when we could, however briefly, return to some of the innocence and wonder of childhood. That feels like a very long time ago, and now I wonder whether we’ve passed that point, whether that will ever again be possible. In some serious and substantial ways, I’m fairly certain we won’t be going back there, and there’s something incredibly mournful about that. 

And yet… and yet…

Christmas is nothing if not the time for a last-minute chance for redemption, that eleventh-hour Ebenezer Scrooge twist of fate that allows the year, however tumultuous, to quietly start over again. I haven’t quite given up completely. And that’s enough for now. 

When Suzie and I were growing up, the best way to express the inner-demons and angels of the heart was through the exchange of a mix tape. It was the safest mechanism for prickly teens who wanted to share their struggle as much as they wanted it kept completely secret. During our junior year of high school, Suzie was studying abroad in Denmark, while I was stuck in Amsterdam, New York, trying to get through the holidays without her for the first time, and mostly making a muck of it, lost and angry amid the trials and travails of a teenager without his best friend/sister figure. And so I would whisper dramatic readings and diary-like entries into a recorder, filling the first and second sides of a 90-minute cassette tape. For my Christmas mix, I included the usual seasonal fare, ‘Diamonds & Pearls’ by Prince and ‘Promise to Try’ by Madonna, and this classical staple, ‘Sheep May Safely Graze’ by Bach. 

There was something moving and peaceful in its melody and cadence, and it calmed the riots going on in my head and heart, when I was on the veritable verge of self-destruction, lost and lonely and finding no solace even at this tender time of the year when it was supposed to be so safe and joyous and happy. I played this song over and over again in the middle of the night, allowing it to lead me to deeper stages of sadness and despondency, to a place where I saw no way out, no path forward. It’s why Christmas, to this very day, comes tinged with a sense of somber solemnity. 

Looking back, all the drama and secrecy and urgency of that Christmas without Suzie seems silly and overblown. We can laugh at it a little bit now. But there was sadness there as well, a sadness that lived for all the loneliness and loss we had each experienced, Suzie much more-so than me. We honor that in this song. 

Between Sondheim interviews, Madonna performances, and Taylor Swift’s brilliance, this video was recommended on my last visit to YouTube, most likely from this schmaltzy post, so I’m repeating the sentiment here because it’s that most wonderful time of the year when schmaltz is king and we are mere subjects to its wish and whim. Tonight, that wish is for something slower and quieter, something that lasts beyond the flare and blare, and this six-hour-plus video of soothing jazz should be enough to see almost anyone through the night. It also gave me the title for this blog post, where words and images and music collide at certain moments, ideally creating the space for something beautiful and wondrous, to which you are invited to bring your own memories and moments. 

It’s a hygge sort of December night, when the word is at its darkest but still illuminating little points of light to help guide us along the way. The path is best taken with a warm cup of tea and a warm woolen mantle you may pull closer around your shoulders. A cozy corner chair, beside which a candle burns and a book awaits, is another ideal setting. Or maybe it’s on a banquette against a frosted window pane, the kind that’s to be found in an old Victorian home where you might have spent your childhood holidays like I did. Maybe it’s the simple and safe vantage point of your bed, piled as high or low with pillows and blankets as you wish while you reach out your hand only as long as you need to turn off the light. 

Insert your own winter memories here. Inject your own holiday fantasias, real or imagined or somewhere in-between, and let this gentle music wash over you while you indulge in some mild reminiscing. Too often we fight the past – either in pretending it never happened or in trying to re-live it repeatedly – and those fights serve only to weaken our present. On some nights, however, the past can be a calming balm, if we choose to look at it in such a way, to remember the good bits and even some of the bad bits so long as we know they can do us no harm. 

This song rounds out a triumvirate of Christmas tunes that exist in the more abstract memory recesses of my mind – recalled vaguely for their melody, and for some ethereal sense of Christmas and winter. The first was ‘The Holly and The Ivy‘, and the second was ‘Bring a Torch Jeannette, Isabella‘- this is another airy entry. The idea of three ships sailing in for Christmas seems like a glad one, but it doesn’t speak to any Christmases I ever had in landlocked upstate New York. Instead, I set sail in the boughs of an evergreen, floating high above the little city of Amsterdam and soaring mostly in my fantasies. 

There was one evergreen in our backyard, right at the corner of the pool deck, perfectly formed like the standard Christmas tree, only this one rose about 70 feet in the air. Its branches started low enough to the ground that we could jump up and climb into its heart. The lower branches were spaced at even ladder-paces, perfect for a young boy to practice his climbing. The evergreen needles were healthy and bushy, and the space close to the trunk, where I’d cling so carefully, was mostly hidden to any prying eyes. I loved that secret aspect of the climb more than anything else. 

As one neared the top, the branches spaced out a bit, and the needle cover was increasingly sparse. The higher one went, the greater the risk for exposure, but oh how much more exciting the view got, along with the exhilarating feeling of being that high above the ground. I was level with the top floors of our house, and it looked small and quaint at such a distance and from such a height. 

At that height, one could also feel the sway of the tree. The trunk was no longer as wide as my young torso. It wasn’t as stiff and stalwart as it was near the ground. Thinner and more malleable, it would shift in the wind, and all that once felt safe and secure was suddenly seen as flexible and changeable, subject to the whims of the wind. There was a thrill in that too. 

If we were by the shore, such a vantage point would prove useful for seeing any ships that were coming in for Christmas. As it was, I only saw more sky, a bit more land, and a view reserved for the birds and the butterflies. 

Un flambeau, Jeannette, Isabelle —

Un flambeau! Courons au berceau!

C’est Jésus, bonnes gens du hameau.

Le Christ est né; Marie appelle!

Ah! Ah! Que la Mère est belle,

Ah! Ah! Que l’Enfant est beau!

The origins of ‘Bring a Torch, Jeannette, Isabella’ are interesting, and with the advent of google and the internet itself, you can have at it. Something about two farmhands and Christ and, well, you get the idea (even if I didn’t). This song didn’t resonate with me until a few years ago, and not for its lyrics, but for its simple melody. It was supposed to be a song for French nobility, so maybe that’s why it speaks to me. In a previous life it’s almost certain my head was lost at the guillotine. Most days, I’m still paying for it. 

Qui vient là, frappant de la sorte?

Qui vient là, en frappant comme ça?

Ouvrez-donc, j’ai posé sur un plat

De bons gâteaux, qu’ici j’apporte

Toc! Toc! Ouvrons-nous la porte!

Toc! Toc! Faisons grand gala!

While I’m printing the French lyrics here, it is the instrumental version that I enjoy most, especially when it’s on some crazy-ass guitar as seen above. What in hell is that thing and how do I play it?! Sign me up for those lessons. 

C’est un tort, quand l’Enfant sommeille,

C’est un tort de crier si fort.

Taisez-vous, l’un et l’autre, d’abord!

Au moindre bruit, Jésus s’éveille.

Chut! chut! Il dort à merveille,

Chut! chut! Voyez comme il dort!

All wacky zaniness aside (it’s way past the expiration date of learning a new instrument), I’m adding this to the Christmas repertoire for seasonal accompaniment to all your merry-making. 

We have arrived at the first of December, easing into the high holiday season with a little holly and ivy, and a couple of rustic renditions of this traditional Christmas carol. As December has only just begun, it feels too soon to be so consumed by the chaos and cacophony of holiday mayhem, and so I’m pushing back, clearing the mental space and readjusting the mindset with a return to simplicity. This is my usual goal at this time of the year: to make the holidays a simple and quiet experience that approaches something slightly spiritual. 

That’s not always an easy frame of mind to maintain, and I have often spun way off trying to do too many things and see and entertain too many people, but in the age of COVID, staying somewhat isolated and safer lends for more moments of quiet and stillness. For a socially-anxious introvert, it’s my comfort zone, and instead of resisting that in an effort to fit in and go with the flow, I’m embracing my natural state of being. Hence this quieter beginning…

This is not one of those bombastic Christmas songs that all the kids love to sing. It’s old-fashioned, with a multi-layered history of meanings – the crux of the Christian and the Pagan or some other bullshit – but when I was a kid it was one of those songs that signified the role of nature in the Christmas season, and the outdoor beauty of winter.

It was the crystalline magnificence of the morning sunlight through a piece of ice dangling off the edge of an evergreen leaf. It was the gloriously sharp scent of pine trees, entwined with the faint smoke of a fireplace somewhere in the distance. It was a winter walk in the woods, away from people and noise and the stresses of everyday life. It was something that feels less real to me the older I get, but I know I had those moments because I remember them – scattered and vague and likely an amalgamation of various woodland memories – and no less real because of that. 

Between the suburbs and the city, most of the brushes with holly and ivy that I get these days are part of landscaping or gardens – a far cry from any forest path that probably never existed in the first place. That’s where these photos came from: a stand of holly along the Southwest Corridor Park in Boston, and a patch of ivy in front of some brownstone. On the grand scale of things, they may not be all that spectacular, but when taken in up-close they become a little forest in and of themselves. Stilling the moment to pause and reflect on the holiday memories that each evoked, it was possible to conjure entire winter worlds from a single leaf and berry. 

That sort of imaginary enchantment – an actual bit of Christmas magic – is the province of children mostly, especially children around Christmastime. Returning to that place isn’t always easy as an adult, but every now and then, such as when I brush by some holly followed moments later by a bit of ivy, I manage to muster such magic. 

Whenever this holiday season starts to veer away from this central tenet of seasonal significance, I will return to this post as a reminder of a simpler time. It will also serve to remind of the beauty of winter – and that always lasts much longer than Christmas. 

Welcome, December. 

From your scarlet berries of holly to the entwining tendrils of your ivy, you inspire with your raw beauty. Tucked into the very end of the calendar year, you are the finale and the beginning of something new all at once. 

“Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house we go…”

The seasonal song plays in my head as I look for Thanksgiving music to go with the moment almost at hand. Somehow, it isn’t quite right this year, and that’s ok. We will bend our lives to the times at hand, and in a pandemic that means being flexible with dates and dinners, and music fit for a Thanksgiving feast. To that end, I’m listening to Vince Guaraldi’s music, which is a whimsical, jazz-inflected entrance to the holiday season. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LcMkIKN05LY

It’s not quite Christmas, but Guaraldi’s musical styling for the Charlie Brown Christmas Special is so indelible and tied to the holidays that this Thanksgiving music feels festive enough to see us into the season proper. A bit of morning fall sun is also a lovely entrance to the weekend. 

Entering the season of gratitude and thankfulness, this is a good time to center ourselves, to remember what is really important, to return to a place of simplicity and grace. Every year I say I’m going to go back to basics and every year I fail – but there is something to be said for the trying, something earnest and genuine in the attempt, and maybe I’ve nudged myself a bit closer to the goal year by year. Perhaps this will be the one where it finally happens.