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Today, being the day of Christmas Eve, is a stressful day for many folks. Factor in a load of general busyness and pressing obligations, last minute shopping among throngs of other stressed out folks and worrying about if you’ve done enough or too little and you’re left with a high stress situation.

It creates a pressure that sometimes takes away from the desired spirit of good will and cheeriness we normally associate with the season. And that’s a shame. We have enough stress already.

So, today I am taking it easy. Reducing my load. No pedantic lectures on generosity and giving. Just extending a wish that you have a relaxed and happy holiday. Take a breath today and try to just be in the moment.

Here’s Ella’s version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Ella usually makes everything a little better, even these stress-filled days. Give a listen. It’s a great first step towards reducing the tension.

And then have yourself a merry little Christmas.

I’ve played this song, Must Be Santa from Bob Dylan, a couple of times over the past decade. It’s a great song, a polka with a klezmer feel that takes Dylan back his Jewish roots and in the the entertaining video you get the bonus of seeing Dylan dance. Good fun for the day before Christmas.

The last time I ran this song I included a group of photos of Santa that were less than jovial and maybe a little menacing. Creepy Clauses. While looking for an photo or two to accompany that post, I browsed through masses of images of Santas from the past and was amazed how many of them crossed that line into outright creepiness. It made me believe that Santa is just about on par with clowns in Creep Factor. You might see a rogue clown in the woods but Santa is, simply put, a bearded home intruder and flamboyant dresser who crawls down your chimney in the dark of night.

He knows when you are sleeping, for god’s sake!

When I was kid I had time going to sleep on Christmas Eve because of the excitement and anticipation that Santa was on his way. Now, after looking at those photos of Psycho Santas, I won’t be able sleep for fear that he actually might be on his way!

For that first post with the borderline Santas, I picked a few that were pretty strange but there were plenty more of them out there, some which just made me a little queasy. I have a feeling that many of them are also in sort of police registry somewhere.

I thought I would include a fresh batch of Kreepy Kringles this year. I kept the one from the original, at the top here, because he just weirds me out on multiple levels.

Anyway, enjoy the song and have a good holiday. And don’t worry about the weird old man hovering around your home tomorrow night…

 

Blues For Christmas

For this week’s Sunday Morning Music, I figured since we are just a few days from the holiday that the selection should reflect that. So, I picked out a favorite that has been done by many artists over the years in a variety of styles. I like most of them but some get played much more than others on radio stations. I wanted a version that wasn’t overplayed and came across this version of Merry Christmas Baby from the late great B.B. King.

The thing I like most abut this version is that it is so typically B.B. While it’s a song that has other people’s fingerprints all over it, you could imagine B.B. playing this at the Regal Theater and getting the same sort of feedback from his frenzied audience, the screams and yellbacks, as any of his own classics. It has those clear, ringing guitar licks from his Lucille and the vocals are bellowed in his inimitable style.

It’s a great song done by a great artist.

I could go on, but I think I am just going to give a listen and get on with all the things that need to get done. Hope you do the same. Enjoy.

christmas-treeFlipping on the car radio this time of year brings torrents of holiday music. Some of the local stations change to an all Christmas format from Thanksgiving to the end of the year and you are bombarded with holiday tunes from every era and every level of quality– good , bad and ugly. Most are happy, solemn, goofy or stickily sentimental.

Or nostalgically melancholic.

Melancholy and nostalgia plays a big part in many Christmas songs, especially in those songs about being separated from loved ones at Christmas– I’ll Be Home For Christmas and White Christmas for examples.

But there are very few that fall into the category of A Fairy Tale of New York from the Irish band The Pogues. Released in 1987, it is about two Irish immigrants in NYC who look back on their stormy relationship and their dreams they once had that have disappeared due to drugs and drink. I would be optimistic in calling it melancholic or bittersweet especially with a verse like this:

You’re a bum
You’re a punk
You’re an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God it’s our last

But it is a beautiful tune and something in it connects on a very human level even through the harshest imagery of the song. And it has connected in a big way through the years. It has been the most played Christmas song in the UK since the turn of this century and is consistently named the most popular holiday song in many polls throughout Britain and Ireland.

Below is the video from the 1980’s for the song. A small bit of trivia: there is no NYPD Choir so the band recruited the NYPD Pipe and Dreams to appear in the video. They were asked to sing “Galway Bay” but since they didn’t know the song they sang the one song they all knew, especially in their reputedly drunken state at the filming– the theme from the Mickey Mouse Club. The film is slowed to better sync their lips to the intended song.

Maybe this song does so well because it makes our own Christmas melancholy seem not all that bad. So, enjoy, I guess…

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I ran this back in 2015 but added the verse from the song this time.

Christmas Bells

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Interesting history behind the Henry Wadswoth Longfellow poem below that was transformed a few years after it was written in late 1863 into a well holiday song.

The 1860’s were a tragic time for the poet Longfellow. In addition to the beginning of the Civil War in 1861, his wife was killed in a tragic fire at his home. In early 1863, his oldest son enlisted in the Union Army despite his father’s protests. That same year he was severely wounded at the Battle of New Hope Church in Virginia. He survived but the injuries ended his army career.

This poem was a response to the times from Longfellow. The next to the last stanza points out his despair and his waning faith in the face of a divided nation:

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

But in the last stanza, upon hearing the loud pealing of the Christmas bells, he regains his belief that good will overcome evil:

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.

The poem became popular at the time and was first set to music as a song in 1872 by British organist John Baptiste Calkin and then again in 1956, by American songwriter Johnny Marks, whose version, I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day, was first recorded that year by Bing Crosby. The Marks song has been recorded by over 60 artists and has sold over 5 million copies.

It’s a poem and song of hope for dark times. We can certainly use that these days.

 

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Christmas Bells

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1863

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Two Asterisks?

I am going to try to not say too much about yesterday’s impeachment of the president*. I will point out that the asterisk that I have always attached to his title is now fully earned. In fact, I may have to change it to president**.

And based on all that is still hanging out there in the forms of scandal, corruption and foreign entanglements, I wouldn’t be surprised if there aren’t even more asterisks added by the time this whole fiasco of an administration is done.

I don’t think there is a limit on the number of impeachments one president can have.

Though I am gratified that this process has taken place and he** has been impeached, it gives me no pleasure. This is only the first salvo and, as I have pointed out before, this man** is a looter who will burn down the whole shooting match before he** will allow himself** to be made responsible.

There are going to be many ugly days ahead.

He** has yet to show  any interest in uniting this country and governs through personal retribution and vengeance. He** feels no responsibility for anything that negative that happens and views this whole process as being somehow unprovoked. He** is going to make everyone pay.

For a man** with so little shame, he** has remarkably thin skin. His** ability to whine and feel persecuted is beyond anything I have ever witnessed outside of a 6 year old throwing a tantrum in a grocery store because he has been told he can’t have the candy bar at the checkout line.

I have seen that kid. Sadly, I have been that kid.

I believe I grew out of that phase. I am afraid I can’t say the same for the man** with the 6 year old’s mentality who is fuming this morning in the white house** or for his** glassy eyed cult members who cheer on every misdeed and bloviation of this child**.

As I said, ugly days ahead. But that is the price that must be paid to avoid even uglier days that would come if he** is not held accountable for his** actions. To not do so could set us on a course that would make us look a lot more like an autocracy than a democracy. And as flawed as our democracy might be, I prefer it to suffering the whims of a 6 year old autocrat.

This had to be done. He** has earned every asterisk he receives.

Emerson/ Gifts

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“Rings and jewels are not gifts, but apologies for gifts. The only gift is a portion of thyself. Thou must bleed for me.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson, Gifts: An Essay

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I came across this essay, Gifts, from Ralph Waldo Emerson which is actually a practical guide to gift giving and receiving, well suited to the time in which it was written in 1844. I particularly like the line that states that rings and jewels are but apologies for gifts.

I have never looked upon a gift as an apology for not giving more of myself but when I really closely I find there is truth there. It is so much easier, so much less revealing to not truly give from ourselves and to simply go to the shops (or online these days) to acquire what often amounts to a poor symbol of what we might really feel for the person receiving that gift.

We’ve become accustomed to accepting these apologies because it excuses our own apologies to others. It’s to the point that we don’t know how give of ourselves nor do we know how to accept or acknowledge a gift that is really a true portion of the giver.

How do you do that? How do you bleed for someone else? Is it in the words of Emerson, as he continued after the quote above: Therefore the poet brings his poem; the shepherd, his lamb; the farmer, corn; the miner, a gem; the sailor, coral and shells; the painter, his picture; the girl, a handkerchief of her own sewing. This is right and pleasing, for it restores society in so far to its primary basis, when a man’s biography is conveyed in his gift…?

I don’t know.

I used to think that giving my paintings were like giving a piece of myself. It certainly fits in with Emerson’s words as he used just that as an example. It certainly seems like it is a piece of the person creating it.

But is it any more than a different sort of apology? Maybe an apology for not giving of my time and self to people directly? An apology for keeping my distance?

Sometimes I think that’s true. But there have been times when I have been given something made by another and I certainly don’t look at it as an apology in any way. I am just touched that they took the time and made the effort to even think of me in any way.

For example, I received a Christmas card from a friend whose two daughter drew red trees inside the card. That is as precious as any gift I could have received.

So where does that leave us?

I don’t know.

I am just thinking out loud this morning. Tomorrow I might look at this and ask myself what the hell I was thinking. You can never tell.

Bottom line: You can’t go wrong by truly giving of yourself. Bleed for someone, okay?

 

Hey Skinny Santa

Going to be short today because my internet is down for a couple of days and I am not too adept at posting from my phone. I can’t be sure how this will show up on your screens.

But since it’s snowing pretty good at the moment and we’re about a week out from Christmas, here’s a song from JD McPherson, Hey Skinny Santa. Hope it shows up!

Planning to be back to normal here by Thursday but who knows. Have a good day!

The Deacon’s New Tie- 1995

I have plenty of things to do this morning but somehow ended up spending an hour watching old videos on YouTube trying to find something to share here. However, it didn’t feel like wasted time. I generally find something new for my own edification or something that changes the course of my day in some way. Maybe makes me smile or think.

This morning, I felt like something bluesy/gospelly so I went to one of my favorites Sister Rosetta Tharpe, the godmother of rock and roll whose career spanned big bands to gospel to the blues that shaped rock and roll. Big onstage personality and a unique style with her electric guitar stylings. I thought you can’t go wrong with Sister Rosetta, especially in a live performance from a British rail station in 1964 where she’s rocking her guitar in a heavy coat and high heels belting out Didn’t It Rain on a wet platform.

But then some Louis Jordan, another favorite of mine, popped up on the sidebar. Another huge influence on early rock and roll and, like Sister Rosetta, possessing a big, charismatic personality onstage. I decided on his song Deacon Jones simply because it reminded me of the older piece above, The Deacon’s New Tie,  from my Exiles series from the mid 90’s. Thought they would pair together well.

Then on the side, up comes the Soul Stirrers, the gospel group that started the career of the immortal Sam Cooke, doing a knock’em dead version of I’m a Soldier. Just plain old great stuff.

I couldn’t pick just one so here are all three. Listen to one or two or all of them. Or none. Hey, you got free will working here, folks. But it wouldn’t be the worst way to spend a few minutes so you decide then go have a good day.



Put this one in the Even the great ones screw up every once in a while file.

This is a painting from Norman Rockwell titled People Reading Stock Exchange, a piece done in 1930 for one of his many Saturday Evening Post covers. There appears to be nothing unique about it at first glance, just a group of folks hunched around a wall chart that they all  find completely absorbing. They all seem perfectly normal until you take a closer look and notice that the young man in the red shirt seems different. You look a bit closer, maybe squint a little until you realize you don’t need to do that to see his abnormality.

Yes, he has three legs.

This strange young fellow apparently went unnoticed for a while and Rockwell himself didn’t recognize it until it was pointed out years later. It proved to be a embarrassing episode for him, especially given his reputation for capturing detail and realism in his work.

Some people have tried to explain it away as some sort of subconscious phallic representation which seems like a stretch to me. I think it was merely an oversight although an unusual one. As a casual viewer, it it something that is easy to overlook but I am more surprised that in the process of adding the finishing touches that it simply didn’t register for him that he was creating a most unusual young man.

As an artist, it’s reassuring, even comforting, to see someone so meticulous in his process make such an error.

Most artists have at least a handful of such things in their background, pieces with shadows that make no sense in nature or arms or necks that are much too long for any living human. Most go unnoticed. The unfortunate thing is that once they are identified, they become the focal point of that painting forever– something once seen that cannot be unseen.

I know that I have several paintings with mistakes, with departures from the laws of physics and other realities. These are pieces that, without these flaws being pointed out, are strong and full works. Few people, if any, notice these flaws but for me they are sometimes the first things my eyes rest upon in the picture. But they don’t bother me as I imagine this bothered Rockwell.

I see them as symbols of our humanity, our inherent flawed nature. We don’t need to point out our flaws. They’re there for all to see. We can only hope people accept us, three legs or two or one.

And the three-legged young man here is a refreshing reminder of Rockwell’s humanity.

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This post originally ran here back in 2013. It has proven to be one of the more popular posts through the years, often getting hundreds and sometimes thousands of views in a day. It is a favorite of mine, as well, simply for the reminder that we are imperfect beings. I certainly make no pretense of perfection in my own work. In fact, flaws are an inherent part of what I do. My signature, if you will.

Must be I subscribe to the words of Fred Astaire:

The higher up you go, the more mistakes you are allowed. Right at the top, if you make enough of them, it’s considered to be your style.”