The Great Christmas Record Odyssey, Ep. CXI

Dear Jesus. Lock up your grandmothers, America - Diet Tom Jones is here. . .

Album Title:  Christmas Tyme

Album Artist:  Englebert Humperdink

Humperdink, your reputation proceeds you.

And by that, I mean Tom Jones' reputation.

Englebert (what kind of loveless mother even thinks of naming her little, baby boy that abomination, by the way) has made a career out of being a Tom Jones knock-off. Like, if you wanted 'Tom Jones' but felt that the price was steep on Amazon, you'd try and order Tom Jones on, say, Ali Express - the large, East Asian online market where shit takes about eight weeks to reach you, and it's always a gamble of what's actually going to show up at your door. 

Sure, it only costs about a third of the price as the legit item on Amazon, but. . . sometimes you open up the box, months after ordering your Tom Jones, and find yourself with a shrink-wrapped Englebert Humperdink instead. And the box is covered in weird scribble-scrabble symbols that don't make sense in the slightest.

And also the box smells weird. But hey, you saved yourself some money, right?

Guys, seriously. This dude's name is only the tip of the iceberg of what's wrong with this Holiday offering. Can he carry a tune? Yeah, sure. . . but so can Tom Jones, and if I wanted this type of singing, I'd just go tell my nearby Alexa device to play me some motherf***ing Tom Jones. 

Because I do not own Tom Jones on vinyl.

This guy looks like the sort of man who drugs his dates and beats his wives. The sweater, while sorta festive (if we're knit-picking - see what I did there?), it doesn't seem necessary. . . since the guy is clearly standing in front of a cheap, photo background. I think the guys in charge of the overall design of this album art should be beaten to death with the severed limbs of their children. Maybe at first glance there's not a lot to criticize, but from what we've seen on this here blog of mine over the years is far superior album packaging from much more obscure artists. 

You blew it, assholes.

I mean hell, we don't even get a 'from our house to yours' message scrawled on the back side of the outer sleeve. . . just super shitty fonts and a couple guys' names who were involved in releasing this shitshow.

Anyway, what's the music itself like?  Well, there's a lot of crooning, a lot of belting out when it's not necessary, a lot of overly-dramatic strings. . . pretty much what I figured going into this. This is '60s casino music for sexually neglected housewives, and about all it has going for it is that the poor son of a bitch whose job it was to mix this release at least knew what they were doing. Instruments and vocals are mixed well, songs fade in an out appropriately, etc. - it's clear that there was a competent adult somewhere in the production of this album.

The novelty - if we can even call it that - with this release is that Side A is a run of the mill collection of Christmas songs, which fine, whatever. Side B, however, is actually four, distinct medleys of Christmas songs. . . each with some kinda 'theme' that are cleverly (or not-so-cleverly) spelled incorrectly in order to match the title.

So is 'tyme' more old timey than 'time'? Why is this purposely spelled wrong so many times (or should I say, tymes) throughout the album? I'd think they were just trying to be vintage or something, but then again, based on the rest of this album cover's design, maybe they're just idiots and don't know how to spell. Could go either way. 

Anyway, in summary:

Does your grandma enjoy Tom Jones?  Can she not afford an authentic Tom Jones Christmas album this Holiday season?  Do casino-quality, buffet-proximity music acts and sleazy string sections get her feeling young again? Do men in their early 50s who start drinking vodka cranberries at 10am on a Wednesday get those grandma juices flowing? 

Then boy howdy, do I ever have the Christmas album for you. . . .

VERDICT:  3/10 - Seriously? (Get the f*** out of here with this nonsense, Englebert. And just so you know, I prefer Prince Humperdink from The Princess Bride over this crap. And that dude employed six-fingered men and considered Andre the Giant a reliable source of freelance labor.) 

- SHELVED-

- Brian

The Great Christmas Record Odyssey, Ep. XIII

Okay folks, be forewarned:  this one ain't gonna be pretty. . .

Album Title:  O Come, All Ye Faithful

Album Artist:  Kate Smith

Whored-up Grandma, anyone?

This may be the worst Christmas album I've ever heard.

And that's saying a lot.

No clue where I got it from, but the only reason I still own it must be due to the fact that the album cover features a hilarious, whored-up grandma on the cover.

I don't know who Kate Smith is, but I'm pretty sure that, at the time of recording, she was in her 50s.  Judging by the cover art, I'm also assuming that she's one of those 50-somethings that still dresses like she's in her 20s or 30s.  Maybe she was hot when she was younger and didn't get the memo that she's far past her prime, I don't know.

An 'ideal album,' you say?

What I do know, America, is this:  this album is horrendous.

The sound mix is juvenile, with instruments fading in and out so fast you'd think you were listening to TIE fighters screeching past your living room.  This assault on the senses is coupled with Grandma Smith's "bell-like clarity" (whatever the blue f*** that means.) I think that's the nice way of saying she 'sings pretty,' but I'd like to think that the guy that wrote the back cover notes is Kate's grandson.

Who wouldn't want to compliment their grandma's singing, even if she did sound like she was half-comatose from gargling a chubby handful of valium?

(F.Y.I. - Kate Smith sounds like she is half-comatose from gargling a chubby handful of valium.)

Anyway, I'm not only shelving Grandma Smith, but she's being Goodwill'd at the earliest possible convenience.

VERDICT:  1/10 - Ohio  (Makes me question the existence of a supreme deity)

- SHELVED -

Album Title:  Give Me Your Love for Christmas

Album Artist:  Johnny Mathis

Dottie strikes again.

Oh, Mr. Mathis. . . what the hell am I going to do with you.

This record, evidently, comes from the collection of "Dottie". . . whoever the hell that is.  Dottie has a really, really weird taste in music.

Plus, with a name like "Dottie," you know she's a crazy old lady.  Who probably lives with fourteen cats and is obsessed with porcelain figurines.

"Give me your love.  Or else."

Anyway, this album sounds a lot like Johnny Mathis' other album I reviewed earlier - mellow crooning, backed by a '60s 'swinging' soundtrack that is both accessible and forgettable.   Honestly, I don't know how the hell this guy sold so many albums back in the day.  Sure, he can carry a tune, but the arrangements we have here are sooooo boring that its hard to sit through the two sides of the record without falling asleep.

Or killing yourself.

It seems to me that the market for this kind of music - as small as it must be - is ridiculously flooded with similarly-sounding artists, and so Johnny Mathis fails to come across as anything unique, here.  Instead, while he's belting out his Christmas carols, he instead reminds one of a mega-lame version of Tom Jones.  Tom Jones sings over similar arrangements, but at least Mr. Jones sounds more alive.

Nice vest, bro.

Plus I don't think I'd want to get in a fight with Tom Jones in a bar:  the dude looks like a caveman.

Humperdinck, Whitaker, Williams, Johnny Mathis, etc. - if it sounds like women in their 70s would be flocking to it in a casino at 3pm on a Tuesday, odds are their Christmas album is going to sound like total shit.

Mission accomplished, Mr. Mathis.

VERDICT:   3/10 - Seriously? (Another shit job from Mr. Mathis. . . but he gets points for sorta sounding like Tom Jones.)

- SHELVED -

- Brian