I'm a militant, fundamental atheist, but I love Christmas. I also abhor nostalgia (the repetition that mourns the inauthenticity of all repetition; a social disease of the soul) but the warm glow ("a glow fills my heart, I'm at peace with the world" - Elvis Presley, "Why Can’t Every Day Be Like Christmas", 1966, a lyric that can conceivably also apply to alcohol or heroin...but that's another article) that the Christmas feeling affords originates from the resonance of a childhood that was personally wonderful and will always be recalled with a sense of Brian Wilson calibre wonderment. Among my philosophies is the empyrean that every individual is in accordance with an epoch destined to, if not define, be one's most successful in life, the age one was born to be. My elementary school days were mine.
    All this is apropos of discrediting all the hipsters who claim to disown Christmas music. I embrace it. And I'm a severe critic who discriminates, a right bastard music snob of the highest order. I don’t suffer unworthy tuneage. I could be biased - see previous paragraph - but the likes of "Do They Know It’s Christmas" are required December listening (which evokes the old "how early" debate: the day after Tanxgiving, please). And so we have "I Am Santa", a new single by the new edition of The Darkness, which is a Dan Hawkins produced and credited version that debuted last year with an album I was disappointed by. But this jingle did not disappoint! An obvious pisstake on the aforementioned all-star 1984 ubiquity - the programmed backtrack loop that pulses along myoptically is familiar, as are the churchical  chimes - this is old school Darkness wry British humor right down to the accompanying VHS cinamatography video, which demands to be seen with eggnog in hand, preferably cinnamoned and nutmegged. Kris Kringle himself speaks with a Proper English Accent, and the descending bell coda is warm as a lit tree. The British glam metal institution (which recently acquired Queen's Roger Taylor's son on drums in a power move as inevitable as Oasis' score of Ringo's kid; they already had Roy Thomas Baker produce the quintessentially titled One Way Ticket To Hell And Back (get it?)  so this was the next logical progression...?) that defines tongue in (Santa's distended) cheek, triumphs lyrically as per usual, staggeringly wittily: "all the children are aplay/I don’t want no Ferero Rocher...I can barely wipe the tearflakes from my eyes...I am Santa! The bringer of joy/I Am Santa! manufacturer and distributor of toys." These guys are good and they know it.
    But so are Los Straitjackets, of whom as a surfrock band - a genre I dig - I’ve never been a fan, but this being their twentieth anniversary they deserved nuff respect. The begimmicked (luchador masks - Gwar much?) Nashville quartet covered "Linus And Lucy" last year, and...well, here's their guitarist: "the opening riff sounds like "You Really Got Me" when you rock it up. The best thing is seeing everybody doing the Peanuts dances!" Love it! His take is predictably trebly, tremolo merry, and offbeat accented (read: reggae).
    I also love its source. A Charlie Brown Christmas celebrates its fiftieth anniversary this year. It's arguably the best animated seasonal feature ever (The Grinch excepted) and unarguably the best sound tracked ("Mister Grinch" excepted). Pianist Vince Guaraldi has come to define how we hear Christmas as much as anyone on the human side of The Chipmunks (yes, I grew up with the iconic 1961 double album; no I'm not 54, I'm 43; anyway, David Seville ne Ross Bagdasarian actually stole the whole concept from a 1958 curio called Christmas With Woody The Woodchuck - ask John Waters about it next time you see him, my Baltimore bredren) because, or in spite, of his minimalist jazz compositions.
    But mostly I love it because of Linus'  literally show stopping sililoquy that precedes "Hark The Herald Angels Sing" at the end. In what is essentially a regrettably hippy dippy liberal theme (don't commercialize Christmas...please, I'm also a libertarian lassaiz faire capitalist, so such nonsense I don't abide), Charles M Schulz's singular character's recitation of Luke 8:14 and subsequent guileless exhortation "that's what Christmas is all about Charlie Brown" (yes, I read the Bible; no, I don't buy it: man has a right to live for his own sake, not sacrificing himself to others, nor others to himself) is a solemnly joyous, unforgettable, humbling, disquieting moment in television/ cultural history. There's a tear on my tablet, and a tear in my (pumpkin) beer even as I tap.
    Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.