Tag: Christmas music

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Feeling “Blue”

We were on Day 3 of the Rochat Family Holiday Light Tour (“All of Longmont! All the lights! No GPS!”) when a certain song hit the airwaves again.

Now, there are approximately 30,000 ways to musically celebrate in December, all of which will sooner or later come out of a car speaker – probably multiple times. It might be the simplicity of a “Silent Night.” Or the driving pulse of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Or the screams of “NO!” from a thousand drivers as George Michael’s “Last Christmas” warns them that they’ve lost the annual Whamageddon contest.

This was none of the above.

Instead, we were treated to the sort of silliness and sentiment that you can only get in the presence of the King.

“Ah-ah’ll ha-ave a bluuuuuue Christmas without yoooou….”

Yes, the Elvis hit. The one with alll the woo-ee-oos in the background, where the Presley-style croons and stutters go so far over the top that they probably hit Santa’s sleigh on the way back down.

I can’t exactly call it a guilty pleasure. But it never fails to draw a chuckle from me, if not an outright laugh, at the unlikeliest Christmas classic in the canon. (With the possible exception of Alvin and the Chipmunks, but that’s another column for another time.)

You see, Elvis didn’t want to do this song.

I mean, REALLY didn’t want to do this song.

The song had already been a country hit for Ernest Tubb, and Presley wanted to leave it with him. When told he had no choice, Elvis tried to deliberately botch the assignment.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he said to his band and background singers, telling them to get silly, even downright bad, so that no one would be tempted to put it on a single. One-and-done, forget about it.

“When we got through,” background singer Millie Krikham said in an interview at the Country Music Hall of Fame, “we all laughed and said ‘Well, that’s one record that the record company will never release.’”

Oops.

You know the rest. Millions of sales. Tons of airplay. “Blue Christmas” became as much a part of the Elvis legend as “Love Me Tender” or “Jailhouse Rock” – despite, and maybe even because of, the decision to let go and get goofy. Reluctance somehow unlocked delight, even joy.

Whether you love or hate the song, I think that’s something we can all sympathize with.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Those are words of the season for an awful lot of us, aren’t they? Too often, a time that should be about love and humanity becomes a bulldozer, inexorable and overwhelming.

We all still have lives beyond the holidays, after all. And when those lives have been carrying too much, it doesn’t necessarily feel like much of a season. So we go through the motions, not expecting a lot.

But that’s the weird thing about joy. It doesn’t wait for the obvious moments. In fact, its greatest strength is when it lies in ambush, touching the ordinary and making it unforgettable.

That’s the real gift of the season. One as old as the hills. And if we reach out just a little – even if it’s just enough to get through – we give ourselves the chance to open it once again.

I hope it finds you this year. Wherever you need it, however you need it.

After all, the best things often come from out of the blue.  

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A “Muddled” Message

As we rolled past the Christmas light pioneers of 2020, Heather began to raise the Garland.

No, not tinsel. Judy.

I promise, this year of all years it makes sense.

Ever since we began dating, Heather and I have hit the roads each winter to see what the Holiday Light World™ has to offer. We’ve witnessed the simple rooftop “landing pad,” the warmly glowing homes that belong on a Christmas card, the flashing blinkers and chasers that could launch America’s newest game show, and of course the gloriously overloaded theme parks that look ready to spontaneously combust with holiday cheer.  You know the kind: “Joy to the world, my retina’s gone!”

But when we began taking care of Missy, things moved up to the next level. For Missy, “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot like Christmas” isn’t a song, it’s a way of life. When lights begin to appear, she’s ready to hit the road – every night, if possible. By Dec. 26, we may have made a dozen or more forays into the electric wonderland, visiting a different neighborhood every night. Sometimes we even discover brand-new neighborhoods thanks to her eager curiosity and my poor sense of direction.

Hey – if you don’t get lost in your own town at least once, is it really Christmas?

So when we rolled out on Thanksgiving night to see the early bird displays, we were ready. Heater cranked. Eyes alert. Christmas music on the radio.

Which brings me to Judy.

Somewhere around Sunset Street, Frank Sinatra began crooning the wistful strains of “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.” And as the tune played on, Heather sang over it with the original, darker Judy Garland version:

Someday soon, we all will be together,

If the fates allow,

Until then, we’ll have to muddle through somehow …

“I like it better,” Heather said as the last notes played. “Especially this year. It fits.”

I knew exactly what she meant.

When Garland originally sang it in Meet Me in St. Louis, it marked an uncertain future for the characters in the story, faced with the likelihood of an unwanted move to New York City. Outside the world of the movie theater, the reality of late 1944 faced just as much uncertainty. World War II had shown unmistakable signs of being winnable at last – the Normandy invasion, the liberation of Paris, the steady advance across the Pacific – but with months of fighting still ahead, families had to keep wondering.

When would everyone be together again?

When would things return to “normal?”

Could they?

They’re the same questions we face now. And they don’t have easy answers.

Right now, hope and fear are entwined in an anxious waltz. Vaccines have begun to appear on the horizon – three of them! – side-by-side with yet another hideous surge in the COVID-19 pandemic. Even when they’re ready, it won’t be as simple as turning on a light switch. It takes time to distribute the shots, time for the antibodies to build, time for immunity to build up high enough to finally damp down community spread.

And with every hour of that time, the uncertainty continues. For the lives of loved ones. For jobs and livelihoods. For the hope that “someday soon,” we CAN all be together.

Until that time, we have to muddle through as best as possible – not despairing, but not ignoring the reality, either. Doing what we can, where we can, how we can as we watch out for each other and endure.

For now, we hope with the song that “Next year, all our troubles will be out of sight.” We keep the light alive and prepare for the day when it will grow.

And for those who keep it alive on rooftops and front yards across Longmont – more power to you, my friends.

You’re definitely going to need the wattage.