Category Archives: Songs

Fingernails on a Blackboard

I can’t stand listening to the melodic singing of anyone under the age of 12. Watch this 1985 video of a youngster warbling an inane Christmas song (with a creepy Santa thrown in at the end). ‘Nuf said.

This ranks second:

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Merry Christmas

The In-Laws are coming over for the holiday weekend. The expected snow to hit upstate New York became an early Spring-like rain storm and I am not setting foot within 10 miles of a supermarket or retail store over the next three days.

I suppose I should link to a YouTube video of the King’s College Choir, Cambridge, UK, singing some glorious, ethereal Christmas song (the Wee One and I have been watching a few everyday this past week). But I think I’ll leave you with a fun, little nugget and wish all five of you who visit this blog, a VERY, MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

And the Tripe Award Goes to…

Update 2011: I wrote this in 2008 and I’m still of the same opinion. Though the new Michael Buble (or Michael Bubble as Hubby likes to say with rolled eyes) is a nice listen replacing Mariah Cary.

Now that it’s after Thanksgiving, I am listening to those 24/7 all “Holiday” song radio stations. Like everyone else, I secretly tap my feet to Dominick the Christmas Donkey (Come on! Admit it!) and, though I am no fan of hers, Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas is You gets me going everytime with that Spector-Wall-of-Sound track.

But there are two holiday songs which make me turn the station or shut off the radio altogether. I will refuse to listen to them even if you offer me ONE MILLION DOLLARS.

Runner-up for the Tripe Award for Worst Holiday Song is…

Where Are You Christmas? by Faith Hill

Where are you Christmas
Why can’t I find you
Why have you gone away
Where is the laughter
You used to bring me
Why can’t I hear music play

Christmas is a day, NOT A PERSON. (I could get into the whole Jesus thing but that’s besides the point.) If you can’t find the friggin’ day, Christmas is listed on most calendars. (Hint: look under DECEMBER.) The pure insipidness of this song boggles the mind.

First Place for the Tripe Award for Worst Holiday Song…

Prestigious Tripe Award

Prestigious Tripe Award

Christmas Shoes by Bob Carlisle

Sir I wanna buy these shoes for my Momma please
It’s Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size
Could you hurry Sir?
Daddy says there’s not much time
You see, she’s been sick for quite a while
And I know these shoes will make her smile
And I want her to look beautiful
If Momma meets Jesus, tonight.

I don’t even know where to begin?!? A poor waif wants to buy shoes for his dying mother. What? So she can wear them in her coffin? How thoughtful. Momma’s dyin’…I’m waitin’ in line at Sears to buy these crappy, made in China shoes. I’m not surprised that a christian group spent FOUR years writing this monstrosity. It reeks of mediocre spiritual…tripe.

HAPPY “HOLIDAYS”!!!

Call Protective Services

Last night the Wee One and I watched 35 minutes of Beach Blanket Bingo on TCM. WO became antsy when Frankie, Annette and the Gang went back to Big Drop to practice their skydiving skills but it was the longest time I’ve seen Wee One sit still while awake. Have I scarred her for life?

Enjoy this stereophonic nugget that was Wee One’s favorite.

Please Say Goodnight to the Guy, Irene

By the time Irene hits our area, she will be a tropical storm; wind gusts over 40 mph and lots and lots of rain. Hubby and I are prepared for the power to go out. (The pitfalls of living in the boondocks.) Besides the hurricane lamps (filled with oil, thank you very much) and cans of tuna, if the power goes out, I can crank our victrola and sing along with Ziggy Talent to that memorable tune, “Please Say Goodnight to the Guy, Irene.”

There’s a guy who comes a-callin’ on the gal who lives next door
And the gal who lives next door is called Irene
Ev’ry night I hear him callin’ to the gal who lives next door
“Goodnight!”, “Goodnight!”, “Goodnight!” Goodnight!” until I want to
scream

Oh, please say “Goodnight” to the guy, Irene, and let me get some
sleep
Please say “Goodnight” or I’ll die, Irene
Won’t you give us both a break, say “Goodnight” for heaven’s sake
We’ve been havin’ thunder showers and his clothes are soakin’ wet
He’s been hangin’ ’round for hours and you haven’t answered yet, have
mercy!
Please say goodnight to the guy, Irene, get lost, Irene, go West,
Irene
Go North, go South, go East, I need some rest, Irene
And let me get some sleep

(Instrumental Break)

Please say “Goodnight” to the guy, Irene, and let me get some sleep
Pl-e-e-e-e-e-ase say “Goodnight” or I’ll die Irene
Won’t you give us both a break, say “Goodnight” for heaven’s sake
We’ve been havin’ thunder showers and his clothes are soakin’ wet
He’s been hangin’ ’round for hours and you haven’t answered yet, have
mercy!
Please say goodnight to the guy, Irene, get lost, Irene, go West,
Irene
Go North, go South, go East, I need some rest, Irene
And let me get some sle-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e–ep

Too Bad

The Monkees cancel nine remaining tour dates, BBC News, August 11, 2011

This really is too bad. They had added a date in Albany, NY for September; billing it as, “An Evening with the Monkees.” It didn’t seem like it was going to be a straight-up concert; instead is was to be videos and discussions about songs and performances of rarely heard songs from Head.

When I first heard this news, I thought, “It’s Davy’s fault.” The BBC article confirms this suspicion from omission; only Mickey Dolenz and Peter Tork are quoted. From interviews  and solo performances, Davy Jones seems (to me) a bitter man; a person who thought his life should have turned out better.

In the mid-1990s I attended the Wolfman Jack Rock n’ Roll Jukebox Show at the Kowloon in Saugus, Massachusetts. The Shangra-La’s, Fabian, and Davy Jones all performed, with the Wolfman MC’ing. The SL were great. Fabian was THE BEST. Davy Jones went through the motions. Telling the same tired jokes I heard during the Monkee reunion tours of the mid-1980’s. For the finale, the SL and Fabian came out and sang together. No Davy on stage. I remember imaging Davy sitting in his dressing room, with a bottle, seething that he would not share the stage with such “has-beens.”

Really, it is too bad that one man spoiled it for everyone.

Update: Maybe it wasn’t Davy’s fault.

Pick A Little, Talk A Little

I was singing this song to my toddler while changing her diaper. She laughed a lot. It’s not a particularly funny song, (I think it was my rendition of “CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP”) but if you need a break in your day, take a look: