The Great Christmas Record Odyssey, Ep. CXLI

Alright music lovers, time for another frightening dive into the nether regions of Holiday musicalness. . .

Album Title:  Songs for All Seasons

Album Artist:  Angelus Choir, Directed by Naomi Stucki

I've reviewed a lot of Christmas albums over the years with choirs, but I don't think I've ever reviewed one this low budget before.

This lil' beauty was picked up from Radio Wasteland a couple years ago (from the Dollar Bin, obviously), and its selection was based solely on the fact that something this ridiculous-looking - and obviously low-budget - would have to be pretty fun to listen to.

It did not disappoint.

I often remark about 'production value' in these Christmas Records posts, how some albums seem to have a lot of money behind them judging by the quality of the mix, the arrangements, vocal levels/clarity, etc. Other times albums appear to be mixed by a brace of crackheads who have broken into a basement in order to steal copper wiring to fund their next fix, only to find a crappy, DIY recording studio on the other side of a beat-up washer and dryer.

There's zero 'production value' to speak of on this album. This album sounds as if someone brought out a cassette recorder, hit 'record', and let a room full of young girls give it the ol' college try for a half an hour or so.

Basically how I recorded all my college band albums back in the early 2000s. Except replace 'teenage girls' with 'drunk guys in their early 20s with delusions of grandeur.'

Anyway, here's what we got: there's a woman behind a church organ, but not one of those giant, brass-piped mamma jammas that shake the stone walls of a cathedral. Nay, this is one of those wood-paneled jobs that every congregation across the United States has (almost always manned by some 90-year-old woman whose sole, remaining purpose in life is to man said instrument.) In fact, this maybe one of those instances where we can 100% judge an album by it's cover, folks - this is exactly what this album sounds like.

They bring in like twenty or so teenage girls, have them crowd around the old crone and her organ (and sometimes she's got it set to 'piano'), and have them sing a selection of church music. Based on the audio, I'd wager that the audio is being picked up from a solitary microphone suspended from the ceiling, right above the organ. The vocals drown out the organ whenever the gals start belting it out, and I'd make a joke here about 'yOu'D tHiNk ThEsE gUyS wOuLd SpRiNg FoR aNoThEr MiCrOpHoNe,' or something, but based on the fact that the rear side of this album sleeve is BLANK (see image at right), I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that money is an issue.

Which makes sense when you realize that this First Congregational Church, located in my old college stomping ground of Kalamazoo, Michigan, is no longer a church and is now some local library or something. If only they would have sold more of these stellar choir albums, maybe they wouldn't have had to close down, who knows.

So can the ladies sing on this album? Uh, I guess - they sound like a high school choir singing, honestly. Probably better than I could sing, but like, who cares? 

I guess I'm struggling with the whole purpose of this album, you know? Who's the target audience, these kids' parents? Folks who attend (well, used to attend) this church? If the First Congregational gang ended up shutting down, was this recording why? Did this fool-hardy project bankrupt them? I can't imagine pressing vinyl was super cheap back in the day, and they clearly didn't have a giant budget to begin with (see: no rear sleeve art, only one microphone, etc.) Was this a wise move, recording this in the first place? Couldn't these kids' parents just listen to them sing in church and call it good? Why waste the money?

Anyway, back to the music, sorry. About 80% of the music on this album doesn't even qualify as Christmas music. It's mostly church music, so the fact they titled this venture 'Songs for All Seasons' is kinda shitty. Yes, technically you're right - you can listen to church music all season long. But who's going to throw this album on in the middle of May with a few Christmas songs on it? I love me some Christmas music, but even I cringe whenever I hear Holiday jams outside of the mid-November to New Years Eve window. 

In summary, this album is a choir of teenage girls singing along with an organ, poorly recorded, with a track list that could hardly be considered a Christmas album at all. The singing isn't terrible, per se, it's just a bunch of teenage girls singing along to church music. . . so, if that's your thing you might actually like this (though that's a bit pedo-ish of you, not gonna lie.) Personally, as I listen to it I find myself not being impressed or entertained at all. If anything, I want to learn more about these girls' identities and what ever happened to them. Did any of them ever go on to record further music? Do they work at the library now? So many questions. . .

VERDICT:  3/10 - Seriously? (A gaggle of teenage girls from Kalamazoo poorly record an album that hardly qualifies as a Christmas music, bankrupt their church, then. . . I don't know, probably go on to make further poor decisions later in life.)

- SHELVED -

- Brian

Pultem Aeternam

What's up, readers.

After a nearly two-year hiatus - for once not because of Covid, but merely conflicting schedules on our parts - the Sausage Pad finally got their shit together and arranged for another reunion down in our old college stomping ground of Kalamazoo.  

The format was the usual - I drive down on Friday afternoon (worked out nicely this year, seeing how my district had the day off) and met up with Zack at his Meijer in order to stock up on weekend supplies.  We met up with Damon and grabbed some dinner, then came back to Zack's where we met up with Smitty (who was rolling in late) and had a low-key evening sitting around and having some drinks.  Then, the next morning, we woke up with Bloody Mary's before starting off on a day-long bar crawl throughout our fabled college haunts of yesteryear.  Sunday morning, Yours Truly then got back and his car and headed back north.

This tradition has been repeated multiple times - in 2018, 2019, and, most recently, in 2021 - and will probably continue to repeat itself until we're too old to carry it on.  Or, you know, one of us dies or something.  Whichever comes first.

So here you go, folks - the Sausage Pad rides again. . .

Zack got out of work at 4pm, so I timed my arrival to his store so that I had like a half hour to pick up whatever I wanted before he clocked out.  Picked up this jalapeno blonde that looked pretty intriguing - I do fancy a spicy beer from time to time.

One of Zack's coworkers had a mom that recently passed away who was big into making mixed drinks with her friends, and since this coworker didn't drink she gifted Zack a big tote of liquor.  He hadn't gone through any of it - he's not much of a liquor fan, either - so when we got back to his house, he and I hauled it up from his garage (it was heavy as f***) and brought it in for inspection.

His dog is blind and knocked over a bunch of these bottles shortly after this pic was taken.

Zack and I went through and purged most of the non-alcoholic mixes that had been opened, along with the refrigerated cream-based liqueurs and bottles with questionable sediments resting at the bottom.

We attempted making Manhattans with some of the ingredients, but it all tasted like pure shit - so we dumped even more out.

Zack and I had a few beers and watched a little of Solo while we waited for Damon to arrive, then we loaded up and headed out into downtown Kalamazoo for some dinner.

Cruising the ol' strip. . .

Parked behind Shakespeare's - pretty much the best parking option downtown.

We settled on Hopcat (in the Depot) for dinner - one of our go-to's whenever we rally down in K-Zoo.

Alpha Team.

I got some shit for ordering a cider, but whatever - too much beer fills your stomach too fast.

These are the greatest fries I've ever had, and I say that literally every time I eat here.  They used to be called 'crack fries,' on account of how good they are, but there was some blowback so they had to change it to 'crazy fries.'

Heading back through downtown Kalamazoo towards the car following dinner.

Thuf life.

Zack's six-year-old daughter's favorite movie is evidently the 2004 teen movie, Mean Girls, which was playing in Zack's van when I opened up the van's viewing screens.

Waiting for Smitty.

No one seems to have told Zack's wife that Christmas ended, like, two months ago. . .

A brace of Farwellians.

The Sausage Pad

A decent pallet cleanser, but not really something I'd go out of my way to purchase again.

This basically sums up the rest of the evening for us - just having some beers and catching up (most of the adventuring would wait until tomorrow.)

Zack ordered a lightsaber from the same site from which my brother Chris and I ordered ours.  His is a step down from ours in terms of quality/price, though (the light emanates from the hilt instead of evenly dispersed throughout the entire blade like on ours), but that makes it more suitable for dueling or just beating the shit out of  stuff (ours are more fragile.)  Still pretty awesome, though - can't argue with Luke's EP. VI hilt design.

The next morning, Zack and I showered and got ourselves around pretty early in order to get a decent head-start on the day.  Damon had gone home the previous night, and Smitty - as we all know - enjoys sleeping in a great deal.

While Smitty slept in, Zack and I ran into town in order to pick up a couple things for his wife's birthday on Sunday (she and the kids were visiting family again out of town, giving us free reign of his house.)  Zack wanted to stop off at At Home, which is like a crack house for middle-aged women.

Zack attempts to pick out 'beach themed' stuff for his wife.  I'd make fun of him for this here, but I'd be equally clueless in a store like this if I was trying to pick out shit for Kris.

Heading back towards Zack's house, we passed by the ol' Wayside bar/club, which has been closed for nearly a decade ever since some guy got stabbed out back in the parking lot there.

When we got back to Zack's house, he went upstairs to use the bathroom.  Smitty was up when we got back so I was talking with him when we noticed Zack's van start to slowly creep in reverse down his driveway. . . with no one in the driver's seat.  Zack noticed it from his Ring cams and was wondering why we were attempting to steal his van, so he came down into the living room, saw us looking out the window equally confused, then realized the vehicle was rolling out of control.  So, as you see here, he had to run out and save his car - the driveway is pretty steep but he said this has never happened before.

With the van safe and secure, Zack and I got to work concocting some Bloody Mary's for the late morning.  Smitty is a giant vagina so he didn't want one.

I've said it before, but I'll say it again - say what you will about Zack Smith, but the son of a bitch knows how to make a Bloody Mary.

Enjoying our breakfast cocktails, and. . . ESPN SportsCenter (I guess.)

Around lunchtime we figured it was high time to get some food and kick off our bar crawl throughout Kalamazoo.  We swung by a gas station nearby Zack's house so he could pick up some desperately-needed window washer fluid and (because it's Zack) some scratchers.  Damon unfortunately had to work until 10pm today, so while he wouldn't be participating in the day's epic bar crawl, he'd at least be catching up with us at the end of the night.

Zack wanted to try out this new beer house for lunch, as he had heard the sandwiches were really good.

This place used to be Arcadia Ales, before they were driven out of business by larger Michigan breweries like Bell's, Founder's, and Short's.  The last time I was here was in 2018, back when it was still Arcadia - I'll forever miss their Loch Down Scotch Ale. . .

We seated ourselves in an elevated section of the bar/restaurant, which overlooked the rest of the establishment.  Had the entire section all to ourselves - perfect for absorbing the aesthetics of the place and, of course, people watching.

Club sandwich was excellent, I didn't even open the chips (hid them in Zack's van so his kids could find them later.)

Couple a' Smiths

Heading back into downtown Kalamazoo, following lunch.

The ol' alma mater.

What the f*** is the purpose of having your rear wheels covered like this?

Our second stop of the day was the legendary Bilbo's. . .

Like I said last time, even though they moved locations in the mid-2000's, they preserved a lot of the original decor (which is awesome.)

That sign there used to hang above the stairs heading down into the basement bar area - lot of great nights spent there.

(Bilbo doesn't look like that, folks.)

Leaving Bilbo's, we drove over towards the north side of Kalamazoo, passing the old WMU football stadium . . .

We found parking right behind the infamous Waldo's, as it was, by this point in time, only like 3:30pm in the afternoon.

This was arguably our favorite bar from our college years (mine, at any rate.)

Damn straight.

Everyone's short-staffed these days - this wouldn't be the only establishment we saw with signs like this posted on their doors.

Like last time, stepping in to these hallowed walls was like going into a time capsule. . .

A lot of the same artwork was still up on this chalkboard from the last time I was here in 2021, so either they have a spray adhesive that protects the chalkboard or else college kids are waaay more polite than they were twenty years ago. . .

Once again, we were able to snag the Captain's Table.  I inquired with a barmaid and she confirmed that, twenty some years later, they were still calling it the Captain's Table.  Good news indeed.

As always, I took far more pictures of the inside of this place than I needed to, buuuut. . . . f*** it.

Smiths.  Probably talking about sports.

Kimmel once fell/jumped down these steps and broke his leg.  True story.

Those couches have to be beyond gross at this point - I remember avoiding them back in 2003.

Still the same, disgusting carpet.  I'd wager if you wrung them out you could would get barrels of disgusting booze.

This area has been slightly modified in the past twenty years - it used to be two, separate booths (each one had one of those curved openings, with padded benches flanking a small table.)

It's crazy how everything smells so clean in here now - when we used to frequent this place in the early 2000's it was through a cloud of cigarette smoke, and the whole place reeked.

Still holding court at the Captain's able, while Yours Truly walks about the place taking pictures.

The main bar area.

Down the front stairs that Kimmel fell down once (which I showed earlier), where the front entrance is - there used to be an entrance to a quieter hangout area (the door to which is here on the right, but it's locked.)

I headed back upstairs, crossed through the bar, then headed down the steps towards the bathrooms, where there's a back way into aforementioned, quieter hangout room.  This entrance wasn't locked, so I checked it out - apparently it's only used for storage now.  Back in the day, there wasn't anywhere to buy drinks down here, so fewer people hung out in this room, but they were usually upper classmen who wanted to hear themselves talk (opposed to having to shout over the loud music and shoulder-to-shoulder crowds found upstairs.)  Now it just looks like neglected storage space (I probably shouldn't have been in here.)

F*** CMU.

The ol' condom machine has seen better days.

Downstairs bathroom area - that tile floor was always slick with spilled beer, vomit, and water.

Back upstairs at the Captain's Table, it was time to order another pitcher.

Smith orders another round.

Outside the front entrance to Waldo's.

Always try to get a pic under the sign.

After leaving Waldo's, we drove down to Up and Under - which, while not as prolific as the previous two spots, was a bar that I have been to dozens of times before.

Going in through the back entrance.  Smith's favorite.

We had a few rounds at this place, which was pretty dead.  While we were there we got on the subject of the Myers-Briggs Test - which me and several friends have done through 16 Personalities and found it ridiculously accurate - and I convinced the two to do it.

Zack Smith.  No surprises there.

Smitty and Damon (to whom we texted the link to the test) both got the Introverted version of Zack's.  Which is kinda funny.

And, of course, this one is mine (I've shared it before, I'm sure.)

After Up and Under, we decided to head back downtown to hit up a series of spots within walking distance of one another, parking once again behind Shakespeare's.

None of us had ever been to this place before, which - as you can tell by the name - specialized in offering drinks in cans.  A weird angle, but whatever.

We walked in and immediately sensed that something was off.  There was no one inside at all, except for the bartender and two of her friends.  One was vaping, and they all had backpacks with them.  At one point, another guy came in with a backpack, dropped it off to one of the others, and left without saying anything.  They kept glancing over at us, too.  Something shady like drug dealing, we figured.  Smitty yelled at another guy walking in, clearly high as a kite and also wearing a backpack, while we were walking out.  It was hilarious.

Next up we headed to somewhere a little livelier - our favorite spot downtown, Bell's.

Definitely more our scene.

Zack randomly decides to call long-lost Sausage Pad alum, SuperGay Matt DeMay.

After a beer at Bell's we set off for one, last stop - the Kalamazoo Beer Exchange.

I'm not sure what this building used to be, but it's pretty cool inside.

Smitty stepped out for a smoke at this point, and Zack and I found a table up on the second landing.

We only grabbed a small appetizer - by this point we were just drinking water after a long day of bar hopping, and since it had mostly been beer none of us were very hungry (it has a tendency of filling you up.)  After a quick bite, we walked back to the car and drove back to Zack's.

Zack's step-son, Caleb, was still up when we got back, and upon giving Zack some snarky, teenage attitude the old man figured it was time to put him in his place.

More Star Wars and beers (this time Ep. III.)

I usually don't care for IPAs, but Imperial IPAs (with their stronger-than-usual ABV%) I'm a fan of.

Damon showed up around 10:45pm, and got to hang out for a couple hours at least.  He was pretty pissed he had had to work all day while Smitty and I were in town.

"Hello there."

Zack was the first to fall asleep/pass out, snuggling up with 'his kid's' Paw Patrol blanket (I have my doubts.)  After he got up and went to bed, the rest of us attempted to figure out how to work his TV without a remote (Zack had apparently lost it months ago and instead downloaded some app on his phone to control it. . . which is beyond weird.)  Ultimately, we had Zack's son go into Zack's room and snatch up his phone for us, but even then Smitty and I couldn't figure out Zack's pass code to unlock the phone's lock screen.  On the edge of giving up completely, Smitty randomly found Zack's TV remote buried in the couch, and upon putting some new batteries into it, we were able to put on a movie to fall asleep to.  To the victor goes the spoils.

- Brian