The Great Christmas Record Odyssey, Ep. CXXX

What do you get when you cross a Disney Princess with an unruly Karen from the '60s? I'll show you. . .

Album Title:  Christmas Is:

Album Artist:  Pamela Wilson

So, yet again, we have ourselves here another dollar bin find from the local record store, and, as usual, I was drawn to the album cover. Pamela Wilson isn't the sort of 'artist' I'm familiar with, but on account of the album cover - which features what might be the ugliest collection of Christmas ornaments ever assembled and photographed by man - this was an inevitable purchase.

She strangled seals with her bare hands to get that coat.

Ornaments aside, the center focal point on said cover is Pam herself, all wrapped up in furs that, based on the joyless, dead look in her eyes, were probably skinned off the animals while they were still alive, trying to protect their young. Pam kinda looks like the sort of Karen who would tear into a 16-year-old, minimum-wage supermarket employee on her way home from church (because of course she's a church-going 'Christian') because she can't find diced tomatoes in a 32 oz can. 

So, musically, the arrangements here - the instrumentation and backing vocals - sound like they should be played in a 1960s department store. The levels are decent, the arrangements - if not a bit too hokey for my liking - are produced well. This is classy, elevator music that one could shop to without being offended by, say, upbeat tempos, jazzy chord progressions, or any of that sorta thing. 

But what about Karen er, Pam herself? Can she sing?

Well, that depends. Do you think Ariel from Disney's The Little Mermaid can sing? How about Snow White?

Guys, if that's your jam, you're absolutely gonna love this one.

Pam's voice sounds like she should be either frolicking with animated forest animals, or else trying to steal bloody teeth from underneath kids' pillows while they're asleep and replacing it with small bills. It's so high pitched and filled with vibrato that it's hard not to envision her floating about the studio in a sparkling, pink tutu bedazzled in glitter, waving about a wand of some kind.

A pretty reliable track listing from Pamela and the rest of the Lollipop Guild.

Everybody likes a little sugar here and there, right? Scoop of ice cream, can of pop, a cookie, whatever your weakness is? Now imagine being forced to wolf down an entire bowl of straight sugar in a single sitting. With a spoon.

That's what listening to Pam is like.

From Our House to Yours. . .

Like the other day when I was complaining about an entire album's worth of baritone singing on a Christmas record - that's right, I'm talkin' about you, Jim Nabors, you ridiculous bastard - an entire album of soprano singing is equally abrasive. Even though the track listing on this release falls well within the 'safety zone' for a Holiday release, listening to the squeaky, peppiness of Pam f***ing Wilson for two whole sides makes one's teeth ache after awhile.

For Christ's sake, I feel like I've been reviewing cartoon records this last week, what the actual f***. . . 

VERDICT:  3/10 - Seriously? (The 'ying' to Jim Nabors' 'yang,' good ol' Pam Wilson shoves her high-pitched, cartoon-y vocals down the collective throats of the masses, whether they're asking for it or not. Nobody needs this in their lives, America.)

- SHELVED-

- Brian

The Great Christmas Record Odyssey, Ep. CXXVIII

The Shadows of Mordor stretch out across the frozen landscape of mid Michigan, corrupting an otherwise tranquil snow-covered morning. . .

Album Title:  Christmas Album

Album Artist:  Jim Nabors

Happy Snow Day, America. 

With school called off this morning due to slick roads and a few of inches of early-season snow (for the 2020's, at least), I decided to scrutinize one of my dollar finds from the bargain bin at Radio Wasteland.

I know I've heard this Jim Nabors guy before on a compilation somewhere, and I vaguely remember thinking he was a comically bad singer, but I had no idea just how terrible this piece of shit was until I dropped the needle on this Holiday release. 

You ever see the 1977 Rankin & Bass cartoon version of The Hobbit (Tolkien's prequel to the Greatest Books of All Time)? Remember the orcs in that cartoon? And there were like songs that the orcs and goblins sang in the cartoon? Where they're hunting down Thorin Oakenshield and company, or marching off to besiege the city of Minas Tirith?

This guy sings like an orc.

In the same vein as the infamous Tennessee Ernie Ford, Jim Nabors is a hot frickin' mess of a baritone singer. Baritone singers should not sing like tenors, they just. . . shouldn't. You can most certainly write songs for deeper-voiced singers, but not all songs should be done for people this low on the audio spectrum. And that goes for like 90% of Christmas jams.

I don't care how many albums this guy sold back in the day, I don't care that he was a regular in Vegas and on shitty '60s variety shows. I don't. You know, a lot of Americans were exposed to lead and asbestos in the '40s - '60s, so there's a whole swath of the population who developed mental deficiencies severe enough to warrant purchasing this asshole's music. 

People also got swept in all of Hitler's crap back in the '30s and 40's, look where it got us.

Anyway, ol' Jim here decides to record a Holiday album. Why not, that's all the rage back in the day. He selects a handful of - surprise, surprise - religious Christmas carols, which I suppose we could consider a blessing because if I had to listen to this guy sing children's Christmas carols like 'Up on the Rooftop,' 'Santa Claus is Comin' to Town,' etc. I might just take my own life. 

From Jim's Home (the Tower of Barad'dur, most likely) to Yours. . .

The only song that sort of works with a voice this low is 'O Holy Night,' as the music works with a lower-register voice like Jimmy's here. Even 'O Come, All Ye Faithful' - which is usually a thunderous carol, about the closest thing to an 'anthem' you can get for a Holiday song - sounds ridiculous with this guy singing over it. 

He dials it up to '11' every time he gets behind the mic, and it's just straight-up jarring. There's no way people could listen to this in the comfort of their own shag-carpeted homes back in the day and enjoy this without being half-tanked. 'Jingle Bells,' a light-hearted Christmas song, must have been a forced march for the studio engineers to record - like most of the songs on this album, it's well-mixed and competently produced, but then Jim lays down the vocal track and torpedoes all their hard work. Case in point: one should never 'belt out' 'Silent Night.' That's Christmas Music 101. That's a somber song, there's no need to shout it from the rafters.

This whole album is like when someone spends hours and hours working on one of those competitive baking TV shows only to sneeze all over the damn thing while putting the finishing touches on the frosting.

VERDICT:  3/10 - Seriously? (I gave this train wreck a bonus point because the musicianship and production value is decent for the time, and had a better singer been hauled up from the pits of Mordor this would probably be a solid '5.')

- SHELVED-

- Brian

The Great Christmas Record Odyssey, Ep. LXIX

Alright, alright. . . we got another thrift store find to dust off and subject to some audio scrutiny.

Album Title:  The Gifts of Christmas

Album Artist:  Various Artists

So, full disclosure here, I did not just pop this out of the sleeve and throw it on my turntable, folks.  I'm not a savage, give me some credit.  I picked this one up at the Bethesda thrift store a week or so ago (when I picked up that stack featuring a few of my previously-evaluated selections), and I gave each one of these sons-of-bitches a thorough cleaning on the ol' Spin Clean before dropping a needle onto them.  They were pretty gross.

The Wicker Man heralds the beginning of the Apocalypse.

So, this collection is from the 'Guideposts' people of Carmel, New York.  I have no idea what in the hell that means, but apparently this was a big deal and all, because this is an exclusive recording.  I mean, you can't just slap that name on any old album, can you?  God knows they paid out the ass for this top-tier art layout on the front cover (see right).  Check out the Wicker Man angel, for Christ's sake.  They only needed one picture for the front of this damn record, and that's the one they went with.

Maybe the music speaks for itself, so they didn't need to fork out a lot of dough on art direction, I don't know.  Let's see who exactly we're dealing with here:

Holy f***ing shit.

This is a Christmas no one alive still remembers.

You read that right, guys.  Percy Faith, Jim Nabors, Mitch Mitchell, Kate Smith.  That's like the Four Horseman of the Goodwill Vinyl Apocalypse.  I swear to God, if you go into a thrift store trying to find a diamond LP in the rough that is their moldy-smelling vinyl offerings, you're going to find each and every one of these assholes highly represented.  Wedged right in there among the Mantovani records, polka collections, church recordings, Mills Brothers, Lawrence Welk. . . you see where I'm goin' with this.

Well, these guys straight-up carpet bomb this album with shittiness.  I honestly can't see which one of these assholes I hate the most, they all sound like people pretending to sing.  Like, karaoke singing, if you will.  The arrangements themselves are of the Great Songs of Christmas variety, but lacking the Frank Sinatra and Julie Andrews talent that makes those compilations, while boring in their own right, at least somewhat palatable.

No, 70% of this album is pure garbage.  Like, 2/10 on the ol' Odyssey Rating Scale of mine, that's what we're dealing with here.  

But, then we have a couple rare glimpses of hope pop up from time to time.  A choir/instrumental medley on the third track of Side A isn't half-bad - if anything, it's generic background Christmas music.  Alas, when compared to the rest of the crap on this album, it shines like a frickin' star.  

Then, you have Johnny Cash with a track on here ('I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day'), and while it's not necessarily great (because, as I've said before, his Christmas songs rarely are), it's still Johnny frickin' Cash, and the man's mere presence on this record is enough to drag this sludge-fest up a point on its own.  Aside from him, there's a pretty soulful track from Mahalia Jackson (not sure if she's any relation to the dead child molester), who belts out a Southern Gospel-styled rendition of 'Go Tell It on the Mountain' that is way better than it should be, and, as such, stands out on this album like a sore thumb.

So, needless to say, consistency is definitely not this album's strong suit.  Honestly, I don't think it has one at all.  A dusting of songs on here are decent, most of the album is bottom-shelf, thrift store fare, and the arrangement styles are all over the damn place.  The only people who would possibly like this horrible, horrible collection are elderly people who shop daily at thrift stores, and who actually like artists like Percy Faith, Jim Nabors, Kate Smith, and Mitch Mitchell.

All the more reason for me to return this as soon as possible.  After all, there might be elderly women waddling about Salvation Army as we speak, looking for Christmas records to liven up the Hi-Fi's in their crotchet-covered living rooms.  And Christmas is a time for giving, America.

VERDICT:  4/10 - Boraphyll (A parade of Goodwill heavyweights let loose in all their shittiness, and not even Johnny Cash is enough to salvage this boring record from the dusty, mothball Hell from whence it came. . . and to where it'll be returning very shortly.)

- SHELVED -

- Brian