The Great Christmas Record Odyssey, Ep. CXLII

Bring forth your children, America. Bring forth your children and let them partake in this Holiday musical offering . . 

Album Title:  All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth & Festive Favorites for Children

Album Artist:  Santa's Helpers

This kid on this album cover scares the living shit out of me.

Why would the label execs pull the trigger on having some cross-eyed kid with messed up teeth grace the cover of their Christmas album? Were they trying to be whimsical or something? Don't they know how weird this kid looks? There is nothing whimsical about a child who can only see his nose and can't afford braces, folks. This time of year is for festivity and merriment, not revulsion and horror; this child needs to be put back into his cage in the basement and washed down with a garden hose.

Anyway, this was another Dollar Bin score from Radio Wasteland, and one look at that little urchin on the album cover should tell you why I picked this up in the first place. Children's albums are almost always disasters, unless a.) they have a larger budget and a solid production team, b.) the track list is age-appropriate, fitting for the Holidays, and arranged halfway decent, and c.) the 'talent' on the album is used appropriately. Seeing the album cover in the record store a few years ago, I had little expectations that Santa's Helpers (the artists who put out this album, probably not affiliated with Santa at all - frickin' posers) were up to the task.

Side A opens with the title song, and it's got more accordion than a Goddamn polka festival, cranked up to '11', with only a walking stand-up bass for company. The ridiculous instrumentation is actually the best thing about this one, though, because the singing is f***ing terrifying. It sounds like an adult recorded this album in a broom closet while doing their very best to impersonate a small child singing. The trademark fake lisp associated with this song isn't cute or funny in this version, because you know it's an ADULT and not a child singing.

A rip-off of Dave Seville's Chipmunks follows, with much of Side A compromising a slew of Holiday songs sung in that obnoxious, high-pitched Chipmunk singing. However it is beyond obvious that these aren't the real Chipmunks, folks - these are cheesy knock-offs. The creepy dude who was acting like a child with a speech impediment in the last track stumbled from his hiding spot in the broom closet and has his vocals sped up to 45 rpm (or 78 rpm, whichever one they use for that 'Chipmunk' singing.) He's accompanied by some random dude who sounds like he's been drinking since 9am, because, you know, he's going through some serious shit at home and doesn't want to talk about it.

The first installment in this Go-Bots Chipmunk nonsense is 'Jingle Bells,' which is meh - these two weirdos don't make good Chipmunks at all - followed by 'Deck the Halls.' Between every song on this album, a mysterious entity with a booming, low voice starts to talk to the 'Chipmunks,' but the mix is so bad on this frickin' album that you can barely understand what he's saying. This malevolent force sounds like Durin's Bane crawling out of the depths under Khazad-dum, and is by no means anything you'd remotely want on a children's Christmas album. Jesus H. Christ.

 

As bad as that sounds, it gets worse. At least the previous two songs are secular Holiday selections. The next two numbers introduced (I'm guessing introduced, I can't understand the black speech of whatever the hell this thing is that speaks between tracks), are - and I kid you not - 'Joy to the World' and 'Silent Night.' Folks, I'm going to break this down for you real quick: Chipmunks should not exist in the same universe as Christianity. They exist in kids' movies and TV shows, sure, but nowhere in any of these mediums is religion referenced at all. . . and I assume this is because by having Chipmunks and a higher power in the same plane of existence would mean that some kind of deity exists that sanctioned the creation of these f***ing Chipmunks.

Just imagine the same god that signed off on the whole Jesus thing - the miracle of his birth, his teachings, his sacrifice and resurrection, the whole nine yards - just so happens to be the same, exact god that one day went, 2000 years later,"You know what this world of mine needs? Three, singing Chipmunks. Three - and later six - singing Chipmunks who will record multiple albums, launch multiple TV reboots and movies, and do so without having the decency of wearing pants. And they'll be able to speak English and will be roughly the same size as midgets."

So yeah, having Chipmunks singing songs praising aforementioned deity is a little creepy for laid-back, Holiday listening.

"The Night Before Christmas," which is basically some of these 'Santa's Helpers' sing-reciting the famous poem to some random music. It's not awesome by any measure, but it's the first time since dropping the needle on this album that I've heard a halfway respectable Children's Christmas song.

Half of Side B is taken up by a 'dramatic telling' of Dickens' A Christmas Carol (think of like the dramas people used to listen to on the radio back in the 1940's, with like voice actors and sound effects and whatever.) Again, this is done with some competency, at least compared to the opposite side of the record, with the Go-Bot Chipmunks shittiness, but its a very shortened version of the classic story, and is over in a matter of minutes.

Then it's time for a children's choir, who shuffle in fresh on the heels of Story Time, for 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,' 'Twelve Days of Christmas' and 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas.' They're accompanied by a sad, dying church organ, which sounds like the musical version of the sad, dying woman who's playing it. Like, I get it, this is a Children's Christmas Album, you've got little kids singing and everything, but for THE LOVE OF GOD - you're trying to get kids into the spirit of Christmas, you really wanna traumatize them with this agonizing church organ? Remind them of sitting bored in church with their parents and grandparents, when they could be running around their segregated, 1960s neighborhood, playing stick-and-hoop or kick-the-can or whatever the hell it was kids did back then? Nobody around here owns an electric guitar or a trumpet or something? 

F***, I'd even settle for that weird accordion we heard on the title track at this point.

VERDICT:  2/10 - Reality TV (A train wreck of a Children's Christmas Album, but a couple not-terrible tracks save it from being the worst Children's Christmas Album I've ever heard.)

- SHELVED -

- Brian

The Great Christmas Record Odyssey, Ep. XXIV

Time for a double-header of straight-up Christmas classics, gang. . .

Album Title:  Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer

Album Artist:  Burl Ives and Co.

Honestly, I don't know why I'm even wasting the time to review this.  You know what this sounds like already.

I went out of my to by this album off Amazon (seriously), because I felt that it was classic that needed a spot in my Holiday music section.  I think I snagged it for $16, thereabouts.  Anyway, you already know exactly what this sounds like, because everybody in America - since the '60s - knows exactly what this sounds like.  Hell, I'm sure even the Dagombas in my old village of Sankpala can quote Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer by heart these days.

That being said, I want to focus instead on my main gripe with this album; one that pulls it's ranking down a solid two points.  What we have here are duplicate versions of the same handful of songs: Side A features vocals on all arrangements, while Side B features just the music.  Vocals on one side, instrumentals on the other.  Take that for what it is, I guess, but for $16 I think more than eight or nine songs - and their duplicates - would have been nice.

Know what I mean, Vern?

Now, I will say this:  the instrumental versions are a cool bonus. While Side A (featuring vocals) is definitely kid-centric and nostalgic, it's not necessarily something you'd want to throw in all the time.  You definitely have to be in the mood to listen to a kid's Christmas record (say, when your kids are in the living room and you want to feel nostalgic.)  Children's albums are indeed crucial to any Holiday music collection, but you need other flavors in there as well.  Some orchestral choir arrangements for the religious carols, some jazzy instrumentals (done right), some classics crooned by the masters, some genre-specific albums (honky tonk, rock and roll, oldies) etc.  Variety's the spice of life, folks.

This album's B Side, with their instrumental versions from the holiday special, are a welcome change from the vocals, and will undoubtedly increase the frequency of this album's playing throughout the Holiday season.  I just wish this was a two-disc album, with one LP being vocals and one LP being instrumentals.

Oh well.

VERDICT:  8/10 - Awesome (A children's classic, chock-full of nostalgia, that lose a couple points from lack of songs)

- REMAINS IN CIRCULATION -

Album Title:   Christmas with the Chipmunks

Album Artist:  The Chipmunks (feat. David SeVille)

  

Like Burl Ives' 'Holly Jolly Christmas' or Jimmy Durante's 'Frosty the Snowman,'  the Chipmunks' 'Christmas Song (Christmas Don't Be Late)' is so well-known it has become a household staple across varying cultures and backgrounds.  Whether or not that's a particularly good thing, I'll leave it up to you to judge.  

Where the hell are the Chipmunks' real parents?  Did they die?

I mean, let's be honest, here:  singing chipmunks aren't for everyone.


I found this album for 99 cents at a thrift store somewhere downstate over the summer, and picked it up for the same reason I picked up the Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer soundtrack, Disney's Christmas All-Time Favorites, and Vince Guaraldi Trio's A Charlie Brown Christmas album:  its yuletide nostalgia, and reminds me of all the awesome Christmases from my youth.

Does that necessarily mean that this album still holds up for a dude pushing his late 30s?  

Meh.  

I mean, upon throwing this on the turntable and giving it a listen, some of the back-and-forth banter is amusing, but after awhile the adult in you can't help but start analyzing the vocals on this particular album.  

For a truly terrifying experience, crank this baby up to 45 RPM. . .

The magic of 'holy shit, there are actual singing chipmunks on this Christmas record' that my two young daughters experienced when I put this on the turntable this evening has long since faded away.  Instead, Adult Brian starts thinking about three weird-looking guys, standing around in some '60s-era recording booth, singing these ridiculous vocal tracks that would eventually be sped up to a ridiculous speed in order to get that signature 'chipmunk' sound.

I'm not gonna lie, guys:  it's a bit weird.  

The second you peek behind the curtain of The Chipmunks, they instantly lose all credibility and, consequently, listening to this album becomes a trial in patience.  You do nothing but wonder what these three singers sounded like in real life, what kind of a paycheck they got for singing these songs fifty-odd years ago, and how fast the tapes were sped up in order to get this 'chipmunk' sound.  

They got this on 8-Track?  Why don't I own this?!

Yes, while my two girls dance around the living room to these festive little rodents, Yours Truly just frowns at the back liner notes of this album, tearing up a little as the veil of Childhood Innocence falls away from his eyes.

Thanks a lot, Alvin.

Alvin?


ALVIN!!!

VERDICT:  6/10 - Decent  (A nostalgic Holiday album that sadly doesn't hold up as well as some of its brothers, but - despite its low score - will remain in circulation this season 'cause my kids love it.)

- REMAINS IN CIRCULATION -

Periodic Exhibitions from the Month of Caesar

Tropical storms over Ginger Mill

If the title of this one confounds you, dear readers, be aware that the much of July was created by - and named after - Julius Caesar.  His grand-nephew, Caesar Augustus, would later be impressed by this feat, and copy his famous uncle in creating/naming a month in his name (hint: it's not February).

Fun facts.  As an Ancient History teacher, I'm frickin' full of 'em.

Having said that, I figured I'd post some pictures from the last two weeks.  We haven't really done all that much, actually.  June was pretty chaotic - with visits from Marcy/Grandma Jordan, Mom/Grandma, Alayna's graduation and birthday party, a trip to St. Augustine, and multiple professional development workshops (from which Yours Truly pocketed an easy $1000) - but, so far, July's been pretty dull.

Thank.  God.

Nay, instead of the hectic-ness, July's been full of pool-lounging, tanning, and side-projects.  Here's a little of what's been going on for the Houghs these last couple of weeks - enjoy:

I recently purchased some dumbbells and a weight bench off of Amazon (as always, I did hours upon hours of research to make sure I was getting one of the highest-rated and most popular models for both).  I've been using these religiously over the last couple weeks, and its been awesome.  As you may know, I loathe exercise in general (I only run when I'm being chased by something), but strength training via free weights allows me to throw in a DVD and work out without realizing I'm working out.  That's the way to do it, folks.

Putting together the weight bench, having some wine, and watching The Muppet Show.  That's how I roll.

I'll spare you the tedious tasking of counting - there are 24 candles on this 'cake.'

My roommates picked out this bitchin' hat and balloon for me.  As you can see, I'm pretty happy about it.

Fortunately, I was able to blow out all 24 candles in one burst of man-breath.  

The kids were after my pie.  I'm not down with that.

Lately our neighborhood - specifically our house - has seen a lot more hawks hanging around.  They're constantly hanging out along our fence, watching us swim and looking terrifying as shit.  Here, atop the streetlight that stands in front of our house, a sparrow is about to square off against the hawk. . . which is really, really stupid.

Another day wasted away playing around in the pool, under the sun

A butterfly makes a pass at our Lemon Tree.

The other day I looked up at the door of my Study and saw the dried remains of a f***ing FROG stuck up at the top.  Now, I was inside my Study at the time, meaning I had opened the door to enter the room and the frog had not fallen down from the top of the door. . . which means that rigor mortis must've set in and this guy dried up in the same position he was in when he died. 

So yeah. . . Ol' Crunchy must've gotten in when we had the door to the garage open on the Fourth of July (Kris and I kept the door open so we could listen for the kids while we watched fireworks in the driveway).  This means he was up at the top of the door for over a week before I finally saw him.  Which, obviously, is really, really disgusting.

During a bad lightning storm at the end of June, our router was fried.  Fortunately, it was within the warranty, so NETGEAR was good enough to replace it for us.  While we waited for a replacement, we had zero Wi-Fi in the house. . . which, although a relatively minor inconvenience, forced me to use the local Library for a few days to work on some of my editing work (I didn't want to sit on the living room floor by the entertainment center to use the Internet, as the only way to get online was to connect directly via ethernet cable.)  I'm a huge fan of the Library, though, so I didn't mind - its got lightning-fast Wi-Fi, and there's zero distractions.

Later in the week, while picking up Abby from her classroom, Alayna's class - in a patriotic parade through the other classrooms of the school - marched through sinking Yankee Doodle.  Up yours, Great Britain!

Like almost every afternoon during a Florida summer, a nasty storm comes rolling in. . . this one bigger than most, though.

Our kids are huge fans of thunderstorms. . . until they start.

Getting free Slurpees at 7-11 on July 11th.

Every Tuesday, the local cinema offers a free kids movie at 10am.   I recently decided to roll the dice and brave taking the offspring.

The movie in question, F.Y.I., was f***ing horrible.

One of Alayna's friends and classmates, Kayla, happened to be there with her grandfather, so we all sat together so the two five-year-olds could talk incessantly about whatever-the-hell five-year-olds talk about.

Keeping the younger, more impatient one occupied while we wait for the movie to start. . .

Striking a pose, after the movie

The bar's become heavily stocked over the last couple of months.  I'm a huge fan of this.

Abby at the Doctor's for a routine check-up (she was actually the better-behaved of the two, if you can believe that.)

More to come.  Stay tuned.

- Brian

The Devil in Red Fur

Terrifying.

When I was a kid, I had a reoccurring nightmare that freaked the hell out of me.

It takes place in Fraggle Rock (I'm serious), and there's this levitating, demonic specter that somewhat resembles the Grim Reaper from Terry Gilliam's The Adventures of Baron Munchhausen.  Anyway, this horrible being is flying around Fraggle Rock, strangling Fraggles and scaring the bejesus out of everyone.

At one point in time, the Storyteller Fraggle is brutally murdered - strangled - right before my eyes.

Almost as scary as Fraggles.

Eventually, I find myself trapped at the end of a long, rocky corridor - deep within the bowels of Fraggle Rock, where I'm finally cornered by this Grim Reaper-ish guy.  He's at the opposite end of this rocky 'hallway,' so to speak, and begins to fly towards me.


But the scariest thing about this onslaught isn't that the guy's flying at me to kill me (even though that is scary, don't get me wrong).  No, it's the pace and - more notably - the inevitability of his attack.  He's flying down this hall, screaching and flailing his arms around, but I'm frozen in place and can only watch in horror as he SLOWLY draws closer.

It's a long, horrifying build-up.  And when he finally reaches me, I wake up.

Someone needs to make a movie about this.  So I can not watch it.

Anyway, the reason I'm talking about spooky-ass nightmares, is that our two-year old, Abby, is beginning to have nightmares herself.  And not just little 'there are monsters in my closet' sort of nightmares, either.  No, these are 'wake up every hour and half screeching at the top of one's lungs', full-fledged, staring wide-eyed into blank space, sleep-walking night terrors.

They're a blast.

Day or night, in her bed, our bed, whatever - the night terrors have been in full-force this weekend.  At first, we chalked it up to Alayna watching Alvin and the Chipmunks Meet the Wolfman on Netflix (yeah. . . it exists) with Abby in the room.  I mean, the show's ridiculous - and far from terrifying (I won't bore you with a plot summary) -but hey. . . little kids are pretty retarded.

Anyway, Abby was once again able to showcase her cowardice this weekend when we took the girls down to Sea World (yes, we live there now) after church.  Every Halloween, Sea World hosts a 'Spooktacular,' which is billed as being a 'not-scary' affair.  We haven't taken the kids out since Alayna was about four months old, so we figured we'd try it out again.

We had no intention about doing the usual 'hey kids, let's stare at dolphins' bit - instead we wanted to check out the Sesame Street stage show 'The Count's Halloween Spooktacular.'  Sure, it says its the Count's spotlight - I mean, he is the most Halloween-ish of the 'Street, right? - but let's be realistic, here:  it's still Elmo's World.

* * * Note:  Now, here's where I could divulge into a huge tirade and groan dramatically about how that red, furry little bastard ruined Sesame Street and brought about the end of the children's television as we know it. . . but I won't.  I mean, I'm sure I will later, but we should probably just move this along. . . * * *

Waiting for the Sesame Street show to start, checking out some crabs. . .

. . . and fish.

Girls in a glass box.

Waiting for the show to begin. . .

The stage looks like Tim Burton and Hemmingway had a baby together.  On acid.

I'm not sure the show has a 'plot,' per se. . . something about The Count, and teaching the other 'Street' Muppets about Halloween.  Pretty 'meh' if you ask me.  Straight-up crack for pre-schoolers, though.

Familiar faces.

From Left to Right: Random Muppet, the MC, the Product of a Marketing Team, and Satan

Shit gets creepy. . .

Abby lasted about 10 minutes into the hour-long show.  Alayna, about 20.  As it turns out, dim lights and six-foot versions of something they see on television practically every day equates to pure, bone-chilling terror.

. . . so, funned out with Sea World after a hefty hour and ten minutes, we decided to head home.

(Kris loves Sea World.)

- Brian