B-Sides For X-Mas

New Kids on the Block, 1989 — I can’t believe anyone ever took these guys seriously. It would be such brilliant self-parody if only they weren’t serious. I mean, they announce within the first two TR-808 clave hits that they are, in fact, serious. Following in the footsteps of their forefathers New Edition, the New Kids tried to add a meaningful social message to their holiday single, but I’m not sure they know exactly what that message is supposed to be. It has something to do with children. The children of the world.

Patsy Raye, 1959 — So I guess this is what hipsters were like in the late fifties. That is, if hipsters wrote poetry about Christmas and performed them with a muffled trumpet.

William Hung, 2004 — This isn’t really fair, because William Hung’s entire career is based on the fact that his singing is terrible. And to be honest, I wasn’t all that amused by the whole thing the first time around; for an Asian guy doing awful karaoke versions of popular songs, he wasn’t particularly interesting or innovative. I had a Grinch-style change of heart when I realized that Silver Bells absolutely belongs to William Hung. Like Jeff Buckley covering Hallelujah, Hung has made the definitive version of the song — for better or worse — and all future versions will be measured against it.

Sonny James, 1966 — I don’t really have anything clever to say about this one, except that those kids on the chorus make my ears cry. Instead of conjuring images of childhood innocence and the warmth of Christmas, I can only think of horror-movie kids, like those blonde kids or that movie about the corn. The only thing keeping me listening is that virtuoso celesta (like a glockenspiel; less German, more Mister Rogers), which is a little creepy in and of itself. Creepy good.

C-3PO, Jon Bon Jovi, and some Star Kids or something, 1980 — First of all, yes, this is a Star Wars Christmas song. And yes, the whole record is terrible — and I mean truly, deeply terrible. But that’s not the half of it: it’s also Jon Bon Jovi’s first-ever commercial recording (he’s credited as John Bongiovi), in which he’s commissioned by C-3PO to lead an intergalactic boys choir in singing Christmas greetings to R2-D2. It boggles the mind.

Johnny Paycheck, 1993 — Johnny Paycheck is probably the greatest country singer you’ve never paid attention to. What I love about this tune is that slight tinge of bitterness and anger he brings to an otherwise trite and emotionless song. It’s as if his family kicked him out years ago, saying, “Go spend Christmas at one of those honky tonks you always go to.” We’ll have a honky tonk Christmas, all right. All night long.

New Edition, 1985 — New Edition is indirectly responsible for unleashing a whole lot of crap on the world. From establishing the template for the whole boy band thing, to launching the pop/r&b careers of Bobby Brown and Bell Biv DeVoe, it’s hard to deny their influence on the pop world. Then there’s this 1985 Christmas feel-good-a-thon, which set the gold standard for schmaltzy Christmas pop — a standard we have yet to really improve upon. Thanks, guys.

Captain Kangaroo, 1962 — Captain Kangaroo explains puberty to a fir tree. “Little fir tree, don’t cry so much/You’ll be a Christmas tree next year/You’ll grow so big/You’ll grow so stout/All your little twigs will soon branch out.” Ewww…

Extreme, 1992 — Isn’t Extreme supposed to be a metal band? Has anyone heard an Extreme song that’s even remotely — in the hard rockin’ sense — extreme? No, these gentlemen are known for their softer side, and Christmas Time Again is no exception. It’s like More Than Words' home-schooled little sister, full of sentimental notions that completely miss the point, and occasionally tries to rhyme “time” with “time”. (Nuno, it doesn’t rhyme; it’s the same word.)

Jimmy Osmond, 1976 — For my money, it just doesn’t get any better than thirteen-year-old Jimmy Osmond pleading with Santa not to bring him a sleigh for Christmas. See, there’s not enough snow and ice in Los Angeles — where Jimmy Osmond lived at the time — for a sleigh to be practical, or even useful. That’s all Jimmy’s saying. It just wouldn’t make sense, would it? A sleigh, in Los Angeles? Sacramento, maybe. Sure, it’s hardly the North Pole, but you’d be close enough to the mountains that you could just drive a few miles out of town — or get one of your eight siblings to drive you, in Jimmy’s case — to the country for the occasional sleigh ride. But not in Los Angeles. That’s just silly.