Celebrating Art Garfunkel's 70th Birthday With Breakaway

“How terribly strange to be 70…” In the late 1960s, Paul Simon wrote those words, and Art Garfunkel sang them. At the time, they were young 20-somethings thinking ahead to old age, and their morose vision of 70 has little to do with the still-robust men they are today. Nonetheless, that age has always loomed as especially significant. Paul reached it three weeks ago, and today it’s Art’s turn. As Art’s place as my favorite living singer was cemented when I spoke with him briefly 11 years ago, I knew I’d have to find some way of marking this day, so I thought I’d turn my attention to Breakaway, one of the few solo Garfunkel albums I haven’t already reviewed. Produced, with the exception of one track, by Richard Perry, it’s an excellent example of Art’s skill as a vocalist and musical interpreter.

I Believe (When I Fall in Love It Will Be Forever) - Most of the songs on this album have mingled threads of romance and melancholy, so this piano-driven Stevie Wonder song is a good way to kick off the album. It’s an optimistic song, but there’s a lot of pain behind the hopeful words; it’s clear that this guy has been through a few relationships that haven’t worked out so well. Anguish tinges Art’s voice in the first verse, while the second feels less extreme. The chorus is the real kicker, though, especially the extended repetition at the end as he harmonizes with himself, flirting with the melody but rarely hitting it dead on as though to suggest that what he wants is within reach but he’s just not quite there yet. “I believe when I fall in love with you it will be forever. I believe when I fall in love, this time, it will be forever.”

Rag Doll - This song has a gentle lullaby feel to it with delicate chimes and soft percussion evocative of raindrops. Regret is the driving theme here as he sings of a woman who seems to have been just a shade offbeat. It seems that her oddity embarrassed him and it was only after he rejected her that he truly realized what a remarkable person he had lost. The tone here reminds me of Jack Shephard at the midpoint of LOST making a startling declaration about reclaiming the destiny he never wanted; he sounds very determined, but it seems most unlikely that what he desires will actually come about. Stirring. “The wind in the trees sings a sad, sad, sad song. I lie in my bed listenin’ all night long.”

Break Away - This, too, is about a fractured relationship, and while the tone is romantic, it’s hard not to read it in the context of Simon and Garfunkel, whose need for artistic space turned into a permanent breakup. Whether a singing partnership or a romance, the gist is similar; he wants to give the other person freedom but fears the consequences of a departure. Will he be left alone permanently? This was the first song on the album that I heard, and it remains one of my favorites. These days, it reminds me of Train’s Drops of Jupiter; she’s searching for herself, he’s torn between saying, “Go for it!” and “Please don’t go.” It’s sort of the opposite of Kelly Clarkson’s song of the same name, as she is the one leaving, while he is the one being left. The keyboard adds to the upbeat tone, and I love the bright vocal layers on the chorus, but this seems to be one of those songs that sounds a lot more cheerful than it actually is. “It’s not the place you’re goin’ to; it’s just a phase you’re goin’ through. Though I won’t stop you, I don’t want you to break away, fly across your ocean…”

Disney Girls - This mellow Beach Boys classic written by Bruce Johnston expresses a yearning for more innocent days gone by. The longest song on the album by more than half a minute, it’s an ideal vehicle for Art because of those exceptional Beach Boy harmonies. It too has a wistful quality to it, but the focus is on the beauty of those blissful days he’s not ready to relinquish. There’s a sense that he won’t be able to hang onto his personal Neverland forever, but for the time being, he’s going to try his hardest to live carefree. From the laid-back guitar and smooth woodwinds to the whistling at the end and the little melodic laugh on the chorus, the track certainly captures that breezy feeling. “Reality, it’s not for me, and it makes me laugh. But fantasy world and Disney girls, I’m comin’ back.”

Waters of March - This song, originally written in Portuguese by Brazilian musician Antonio Carlos Jobim, who also wrote the English lyrics, is a peculiar list of nouns. It’s made up of clipped sentences containing only a few words, and many of them begin with the words “It’s” or “It is.” The song reads a bit like one long word-association exercise; one image leads naturally to another and then another, but compare the images in one verse with another and you might not see a strong connection. There is a definite South American flavor to this guitar-driven reflection on life and all its little pleasures and discomforts. His delivery is very deliberate here as though this were a speech therapy exercise; each word is carefully pronounced, so although it’s an exhausting list, none of the lyrics are difficult to understand. “And the riverbank talks of the waters of March. It’s the promise of life; it’s the joy in your heart.”

My Little Town - It’s just a tad amusing that Simon and Garfunkel’s first post-breakup recording together would appear on an album entitled Breakaway. It also appeared on Paul’s Still Crazy After All These Years; the two titles juxtaposed are suggestive of the personal and professional tug-of-war that marked much of their association with each other in the post-duo decades. A part of them wants to just make a clean break, but ultimately, the friendship, messy as it may be at times, is just too important. At any rate, while this is a reunion, it’s also a song that reflects the album title, since it speaks of a hometown as a place of stagnation. It’s as though the speaker is trying to look back on his childhood fondly but just can’t quite manage it. The affection is disingenuous; he just wants to shake the dust off his shoes and move on. Paul’s lower voice gives this rather hard-edged song a very different sound than any of the others on the album, and there’s a bit of cognitive dissonance here because the lyrics eschew looking back, but boy, does it do the heart good to hear those voices together again. “And after it rains, there’s a rainbow, but all of the colors are black. It’s not that the colors aren’t there; it’s just imagination they lack. Everything’s the same back in my little town.”

I Only Have Eyes For You - I’ve heard many different versions of this song originally written in 1934, but this low-key version is my favorite. One certainly gets the sense that the speaker’s affections are returned, so this is perhaps the only song on the album without a hint of depression. Of course, tweak the words a tiny bit and it could be a total downer of an unrequited love anthem. Instead, however, the tone is one of pure joy that bubbles up from within him, and it’s just a delight to listen to Art’s delivery here, particularly toward the end when he hits those high notes with such enthusiasm. I also love the dense harmony on the word “garden” in the bridge. The instruments are great, though I would warn against listening to this one on the headphones; the opening bars create a curiously psychedelic ear-ringing effect that takes a few measures to shake. Nonetheless, this straightforward song of unbridled affection is one of his most romantic recordings. “You’re here; so am I. Maybe millions of people go by, but they all disappear from view, and I only have eyes for you.”

Lookin’ for the Right One - I kinda wish this track had gone before the last one so I could think of that song as the sequel to this aching one. There’s a quaver in his voice here as he sings of believing he has found “the right one,” only to be rejected time and again. Piano and guitar team up here for this sorrowful meditation. There’s a moment in the bridge that seems to be a musical quote of George Harrison’s Something, which would be fairly fitting; in fact, it seems to answer the question posed in that song in a far more despairing manner than the Beatles hit suggests. “They say there’s no use runnin’ after somethin’ you’ll never get, but my heart says, ‘Don’t say no.’ Somewhere in this lonesome city is the woman for me; will I wait another lifetime just to keep on looking for the right one?”

99 Miles from L.A. - Considering that Art is a native New Yorker, it’s interesting that the two songs on this album with the strongest positive nostalgic associations have a California connection. I remember reading that Art wasn’t sold on this song at first, but it’s one of the album’s strongest tracks, another expression of romantic regret and longing for reconciliation. I love the steady ripple of the acoustic guitar here and increasingly prominent plinking percussion that imitates the raindrops on his windshield. I’ve always presumed that he is headed to L.A. to connect with the woman he loves, though I suppose it’s possible that’s where he lives. In either case, it would seem that these two live fairly far from each other – though not far enough, perhaps, to merit a plane ticket. How did they meet in the first place? There’s a lot of story simmering under the surface here, and we’re only getting tantalizing hints as he contrasts his memories of their happy times together with his miserable present speeding along the freeway in the rain toward someone who might not want anything to do with him. “Passing the white sandy beach, we’re sailing; turning the radio on, we’re dancing. Ninety-nine miles from L.A., I want you, I need you. Please be there.”

The Same Old Tears On A New Background - This Stephen Bishop song ends the album on a note of feigned optimism. Like Paul’s American Tune, which came out a couple years earlier, it includes a repeated assurance of “I’m alright” that is basically contradicted by everything else in the song. He’s trying to put a brave face on things, but this guy is struggling. The lush piano and string combo here puts me in mind of All I Know, Art’s first smash solo hit, which covers similar thematic territory. A moody conclusion. “It’s the same old me crying the same old tears, and I’ll walk away like I always do, still in love with you…”

I’ll admit that the grainy black-and-white photo of Art with a woman on each arm, surrounded by half-empty wine glasses, is my least favorite of his album covers, particularly because one of the women is smoking a cigarette. Perhaps he was trying to break away from his largely innocent image? I’m not sure, but I could do without it, and I wish the album included something beyond a track list in the way of liner notes. With the music itself, however, I have no complaint, and it holds up well all these years later, when Art is a man of seven decades who can look back on more than half a century as a recording artist and truly be proud of his contributions. Happy 70th, Artie!

Charlie Tries to Participate in His Own Life in The Perks of Being a Wallflower

When I realized that it was Banned Books time again, I wondered what I could review to take part in the write-off. I haven’t read anything very controversial lately and I wanted it to be something fresh in my mind, so I figured this merited a trip to the library. A glance at the list of recently banned books turned up Stephen Chbosky’s The Perks of Being a Wallflower, which has long intrigued me as I am a wallflower myself.

In this epistolary novel, a high school freshman named Charlie chronicles his year from August to August through a series of letters to an anonymous recipient who never writes back. He neither expects nor wants a response; he simply likes the idea of knowing that somewhere out there, another person knows his innermost thoughts. The idea that an actual individual is reading his words gives them focus. While he goes off on tangents from time to time, it’s generally pretty easy to follow his line of thinking.

Charlie is a sweet kid who feels more like an observer than a participant in his own life. The book opens with his recollection of his only friend’s suicide earlier in the year. It doesn’t take long to see that Charlie is a deeply sensitive soul who cries at the drop of a hat and who intently watches everyone around him and develops keen insights into how they operate while they barely notice his presence. He comes across as deeply naïve, empathetic and anxious, always thinking primarily of the good of others, always obsessing over what he might have done differently in a particular situation, never knowing how to refuse a request that makes him uncomfortable or initiate something that he wants to have happen. While I have never been in most of the gritty situations he describes, I often found his general way of reacting to things comparable to my own, especially in high school.

It helps that he spends so much of the book drawing in various references to pop culture. When one of his favorite memories involves watching the series finale of M*A*S*H and he includes a Simon and Garfunkel song on a mix tape, how can I not like this kid? The novel is also propelled by the reading of books, since Charlie’s English teacher, a hip young man who insists upon being called Bill outside of class, has given him a list of classics to ingest and write about as a sort of independent study. Charlie rarely goes into depth discussing these books, but they help provide a framework for the year.

Charlie’s home life is generally supportive. His mother dotes on him, while his father is more distant but never abusive, as Charlie is quick to point out lest his reader think he has it worse than he does. His macho older brother has just started his freshman year playing football for Penn State, a detail that made this Penn State Behrend alum smile, and his sister is a high school senior developing some very bad habits when it comes to boys. Their relationship is one of the most tumultuous and interesting of the book, and an early passage wonderfully illuminates the dynamic between them.

”I hate you.”
My sister said it different than she said it to my dad. She meant it with me. She really did.
“I love you,” was all I could say in return.

This exchange is typical of Charlie’s interactions with others. He always wants to think the best of people even when they have done terrible things. On the other hand, when he does something regrettable, he can’t stop beating himself up over it. When he does find some friends, he becomes the go-to shoulder to cry on, but while he enjoys his time with these vivacious people, he still often feels as though he is on the fringes, particularly when it comes to Sam, the senior who he considers the sweetest, most beautiful girl he has ever known.

If this book were a movie, it would most definitely be rated R. I can think of a dozen reasons why it might have been challenged, starting with the suicide. The book deals heavily with myriad aspects of teen sexuality, from Charlie’s first erotic dream – which he spends most of the year trying to forget – to the covert relationship between Sam’s brother Patrick and the quarterback of the high school football team. Throughout the year, Charlie is exposed to and sometimes ingests alcohol, marijuana and LSD, and he becomes thoroughly addicted to cigarettes. Other controversial topics that arise include molestation, domestic abuse, racism and abortion. Finally, while Charlie has a very clean mouth, he occasionally quotes the profanity of others, and most of it is pretty harsh.

If my first introduction to this book was that laundry list of topics, I doubt I’d be too interested in picking it up. As it was, I won’t pretend that some of the things I read didn’t make me squirm. However, Charlie’s compassion and idealism as he observes and weathers some very difficult issues keep this from being depressing or degrading. It also was a quick read, with the 210 pages only taking me a few hours to get through. While I wouldn’t recommend this to anyone younger than high school, I wouldn’t ban it either, and considering how many teens report feeling disenfranchised, I’m sure that many would relate to Charlie’s struggles to understand his place in the world. “I think everyone is special in their own way,” Charlie tells his unknown reader late in the book. “I really do.” Maybe that’s a message that a few wallflowers who feel that they have outgrown the affirmations of Mr. Rogers could stand to hear again.

My Favorite Versions of Traditional Religious Christmas Songs

It’s always a pleasure singing traditional Christmas carols in church, around the neighborhood or near our little Advent wreath this time of year. But as much as Christmas music is a communal experience, hundreds of musicians have recorded these sacred songs, giving us many different ways to enjoy them. Here are a few of my favorite specific recordings of various religious Christmas songs.

Angels We Have Heard on High – Having just recently seen Straight No Chaser in concert, I have to award them the honor of my favorite version of this celestial-sounding carol. Jerome Collins puts a soulful twist on the melody, and all those gorgeous voices coming together really does sound like a choir of angels. Throw in the visual element of some crystal blue lighting, and the effect is heavenly. “Gloria in Excelsis Deo!” This one is bundled with Hark! The Herald Angels Sing, and it’s a logical pairing; I always have to stop a minute to think about which song is which. Though it’s the former song that makes the bigger impression on me in this mash-up, both are beautifully done. “Hark! The herald angels sing. Glory to the newborn king!”

Away in a Manger – I consider this the most basic of Christmas carols, the first one that most children learn how to sing. There are two different melodies commonly used; I prefer the slightly more somber-sounding one to the one most Sunday school students cut their musical teeth on, but both are lovely. When it comes to conveying sweet simplicity, John Denver is hard to beat, and his gentle acoustic rendition of the “kid” version gets my vote. For the “adult” version, meanwhile, Anne Murray’s heartfelt recording, which incorporates both piano and guitar and includes a nod at the other melody, is my favorite. “Be near me, Lord Jesus. I ask thee to stay close by me forever and love me, I pray…”

Carol of the Bells - It has no words, and it starts out with God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen. It’s a little unconventional. But boy, do I love Trans-Siberian Orchestra’s electrified rendition of this song, which is one of the harder carols to sing anyway. I prefer clutching my invisible hand bells in my fists and ringing them out in time to the music. If you’re going to go with a vocal version of the song, I do love Straight No Chaser’s version of this one too, with the men using their voices to imitate the sound of bells. “Hark! How the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say, ‘Throw cares away.’”

Children, Go Where I Send Thee – This one isn’t exactly as in the mainstream as most of the songs on this list, and it’s a little funny that I like it so much since I find The 12 Days of Christmas so tedious and really, this song only makes marginally more sense than that one. But there’s something so joyful about it, especially when Peter, Paul and Mary, who introduced me to the song, belt it out along with dozens of choir members. “Children, go where I send thee! How shall I send thee? I’m gonna send thee one by one, one for the itty bitty baby who was born, born, born in Bethlehem.”

Do You Hear What I Hear? – This is a song that seems to be very hard to get wrong. I’ve heard probably dozens of versions of it, and everybody, from Kristin Chenoweth to Bob Dylan, seems to bring their A game to this stirring anthem that celebrates the birth of Christ and expresses a desire for peace at a time when the threat of nuclear war hung heavy in the air. But Vanessa Williams’ version has just an extra something in it that puts it at the very top of my ranking. Her vocals are so clear and soulful, and I just love the exuberant instrumentation and African chanting that comes into play later in the song. Whenever this comes on the radio, I’m completely swept away in the wonder of it all. “Said the king to the people everywhere, listen to what I say. Pray for peace people everywhere. Listen to what I say. The child, the child sleeping in the night, he will bring us goodness and light…”

The First Noel - Clay Aiken recorded a Christmas album that came out just a year and a half after he emerged from the second season of American Idol the runner-up. I was pleased with the album, but my favorite Clay Christmas recording remains this song from the American Idol compilation released late in 2003. The sparse accompaniment allows Clay’s voice to truly shine as he builds toward a dramatic finish. This is one of those songs I’ve always liked but that never stood out that much from the pack. Ever since I heard that recording, it does. “Noel, noel, noel, noel. Born is the king of Israel.”

The Friendly Beasts – I really love the traditional rendition on Peter, Paul and Mary’s Christmas album, with each of them taking a verse and doing his or her best to convey the personality of the animal at hand and the choir helping out on the other verses. Meanwhile, the song, with a reworked melody, serves as a cornerstone on Jimmy Webb’s oratorio The Animals’ Christmas; as the only song on the album that Webb didn’t write himself, it brings an air of familiarity to an otherwise wholly original work for which he recruited the vocal talents of Art Garfunkel, Amy Grant and the Kings College School Choir. “Thus, every beast, by some good spell, in the stable rude was glad to tell of the gift he gave Emmanuel…”

God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen - They call it Comfort and Joy, which really is probably a better title, albeit less instantly recognizable. Simon and Garfunkel never recorded much Christmas music, but for whatever reason, they did record a couple of traditional carols. While it always seemed to me that Silent Night was used for ironic emphasis, with the exquisite harmonies juxtaposed against the far from tranquil news broadcast, this a cappella rendition with the increasingly complex harmonies can be taken at face value. Just a very nice recording. If you miss the instruments, of course, there’s always Trans-Siberian Orchestra… “Remember Christ the Savior was born on Christmas day to save us all from Satan’s pow’r when we were gone astray. Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy. Oh, tidings of comfort and joy.”

Good King Wenceslas – My brother recently identified this very old ballad as his favorite Christmas song, and we set out in search of a version to play for him before he set out for college again after our little First Sunday in Advent service at the conclusion of Thanksgiving weekend. He didn’t think much of the Irish Rovers rendition we played; it was much too peppy, he informed us, and he preferred versions that really made us feel that faithful page’s pain. But there’s a lot of joy in this song about a warm and generous monarch whose chief concern is the well-being of one of his poorest citizens, so the Rovers’ exuberant version is fine by me. “Therefore, Christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing, ye who now will bless the poor shall yourselves find blessing.”

Joy to the World - This is a wonderfully ecstatic song, but it’s one that’s in danger of getting a little over-the-top, as it does on Clay Aiken’s Christmas album. I prefer versions that show a little restraint before going all-out, and my favorite is Anne Murray’s, backed by some nice Gospel-flavored piano accompaniment and eventually joined by a choir. It works quite nicely and is easy to sing along with. “Joy to the world, the Lord is come. Let Earth receive her King!”

The Little Drummer Boy – This gentle song about a little boy who gives the best that he has to the Christ Child is representative of a large sub-genre of Christmas stories, most of which are quite touching. The original Harry Simeone version is nice, but as far as basic versions go, I love the punchy way Bob Seger does it. But probably my favorite version is the odd pairing of Bing Crosby and David Bowie, with the counter-melody in which Bowie dreams of a day when people can learn to get along with each other. At first it seemed a bit of a strange juxtaposition to me, but upon reflection, it reminds me of the passage in Isaiah that concludes with “and a little child shall lead them.” Anyway, a very poignant recording, especially considering how late it came in Crosby’s life. “I have no gift to bring, pa-rum-pum-pum-pum, that’s fit to give a king, pa-rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum…”

O Come All Ye Faithful - Art Garfunkel recorded this one for some obscure collection a few years back, and it’s the most intricate, exquisite rendition I’ve heard. It’s a shame it’s rather hard to track down. With simple acoustic guitar accompaniment gradually joined by gentle percussion and accordion, what really makes this stand out is the dense layers of Art harmonizing with himself, especially toward the end. I also have to mention Trans-Siberian Orchestra once again, as their reworked rendition is quite moving, and Phil Coulter integrated the song into Christmas Morning Donegal, the haunting, nostalgic ballad that I’ve come to think of as the Celtic Thunder swan song of powerhouse tenor Paul Byrom. This is a song that tends to inspire the best in musicians… “O come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord!”

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel - I’ve always thought that this Christmas carol had a very Jewish feeling to it, so it seems appropriate for Neil Diamond to take top honors here. His version feels mysterious and solemn, and the pairing with We Three Kings just emphasizes the idea of this birth being a long-anticipated event. “O come, o come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel…”

O Little Town of Bethlehem – There are plenty of appropriately somber versions of this song floating around, but my favorite is the peppy, bluegrass-tinged Prairie Home Companion edition, in which it is mashed up with It Came Upon a Midnight Clear and We Three Kings, which makes a smashing chorus. There are much more traditional versions of each carol readily available, but Garrison Keillor and his band really do a bang-up job on this one. “O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie. Above thy deep and dreamless sleep, the silent stars go by…”

Silent Night – Now this is certainly a tough one, since it seems almost everyone who has ever recorded a Christmas album with any religious content at all has recorded this song. I love Simon and Garfunkel’s version, and Prairie Home Companion has an unusually bouncy instrumental version that’s a lot of fun. I find the Muppets’ German rendition quite moving. But I think I gotta go with Celtic Thunder on this one, especially since they paved the way for it by recording Christmas 1915, which incorporates the beloved carol. Their version of Silent Night itself is richly harmonic, with an interesting backing chorus, and one of the verses is entirely in Gaelic. It’s hauntingly beautiful. “Silent night, holy night. Son of God, love’s pure light…”

What Child Is This? - This is a pretty carol with a rather melancholy edge to it, largely because it takes the melody of that lovely lament, Greensleeves. I love John Denver’s simple but heartfelt rendition for all the reasons I love his Away in the Manger, and the faint presence of the harpsichord just makes it all the more appealing. “This, this is Christ the King whom shepherds guard and angels sing…”

O Holy Night - I always tell people that this is my default favorite Christmas song. In the month or two leading up to Christmas, my favorite will change on any given day, but if I’m not particularly gripped by anything at the time, O Holy Night is what I always fall back on. But I don’t have a favorite version. Of all the versions I’ve ever heard, the one that affected me most profoundly was a performance by a seven-year-old girl at a long-ago Christmas pageant. No version I’ve heard since can quite recapture that experience. Preferred versions include Josh Groban’s, Celine Dion’s, Straight No Chaser’s, John Denver’s and Celtic Woman’s, but I’m still on the hunt for that elusive definitive version. If anybody has any recommendations for me, I’d be happy to take them – bonus points if it includes my favorite, often-left-out verse. “Truly He taught us to love one another. His law is love and His Gospel is peace. Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother, and in His name, all oppression shall cease…”

So there’s my list. It doesn’t begin to cover all the great Christmas music that I love so much, but it’s a start anyway and gives you a good idea of where my musical tastes lie. Of course, at no time of year am I more likely to embrace new artists than at Christmas; the familiarity of the songs opens a door for me. So I hope this list continues to expand…

GLEE - Grilled Cheesus

Kurt faces a family crisis, Finn has a religious experience and everybody in the Glee Club has deep thoughts on the brain in Grilled Cheesus.

Clay Aiken and Ruben Studdard Buddy Up on August 6, 2010, in Chautauqua, NY

When I think of musically significant years in my life, 2003 is one year that shines out especially clearly. That’s for two reasons. The first is that 2003 was the year I finally got to see Simon and Garfunkel in concert, thanks to their much-anticipated Old Friends Tour. Those two have been a major part of my musical landscape since I was seven, and given their rocky relationship, I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to see them live. But see them I did, in October, and though I was irritated that it was probably the most I’d ever paid for a concert and the worst seats, even though I bought them in a presale, the show was amazing, and I enjoyed anticipating and rehashing the tour with my friends on Art Garfunkel’s message board.

The Internet also played a role in my other major musical obsession that year: American Idol, then in its second season. As the show progressed into the semi-finals and the Wild Card round, I found myself falling hard for a contestant by the name of Clayton Aiken, and in those pre-YouTube days, I spent long nights downloading the videos of his various appearances, both on the show and off. I chatted with random fellow fans on one of his first unofficial fan sites, and I held my breath every week to see whether he would make the cut yet again. While I cheered on Clay, my best friend Libbie rooted for Rickey Smith, a gold-hearted guy whose favorite activities included singing to the ducks in the park, but neither of us begrudged velvet-voiced Ruben Studdard the crown he eventually claimed.

Over the past seven years, we’ve continued to follow the progress of these young musicians, particularly Clay. We caught the American Idols Live tour that summer, and I saw Clay in concert three times after that, while Libbie and I also managed to see and even meet Rickey here in Erie once. We’ve followed their public appearances, with my grandparents often tipping me off that Clay or Ruben was about to appear on a morning television program. These marvelous entertainers have made their way into many of our conversations, both online and off, and when Clay turns up in their paper, they make a point of sending me the article. I also have Clay to thank for introducing me to my friend Cynthia, who found me on MySpace thanks to a mutual love of Clay and John Denver.

So these guys have been a big part of my life for a while now, and by the time Libbie and I went to see Clay and Ruben in concert yesterday, they felt like “old friends” themselves. Certainly, their affection for one another, apparent from their days as contestants, was a big part of their reason for launching this particular tour, and their easy rapport with one another was one of the most enjoyable aspects of the concert.

We went to see them in Chautauqua, NY, at the same amphitheater where I saw Peter, Paul and Mary perform in 2006. The crowd this time was comparable, with few empty spaces in the crowd and several fans who preferred to stand at the top of the amphitheater rather than venturing down to find a seat. Whenever it came time for one of the more upbeat numbers, these people on the outskirts were always the first to get up and dance. Although we had a long line ahead of us, it would seem that most of the first-comers were in the Preferred Section, since we were able to get seats near the very front of the General Section. We also arrived with plenty of time to go up and peruse the souvenir stand, though this didn’t amount to much, since the only items on sale were CDs and t-shirts. I had hoped to buy a program, but I satisfied myself with a Chautauqua newspaper featuring an article about the concert. I wouldn’t have minded a t-shirt, which had nice photos of Ruben and Clay on the front and a list of tour dates on the back, but ultimately I decided that I didn’t need to plunk down another $30 when I already have three Clay shirts.

Even though I didn’t buy anything, I’m glad I looked at the souvenirs when I did, because if I’d planned on scoping that out during intermission, I would have been out of luck. That’s because Ruben and Clay sang for a full two hours without any break. Well, I should say without any break for us, since backup singers Quiana Parler and Casey Thompson each had an opportunity to shine as soloists while letting Ruben and Clay get off the stage for a bit. Additionally, each of the headliners had a couple of full-blown solo songs, so there was ample time for both of them to rest their voices.

The concert began in a most entertaining fashion, as Ruben came out and launched into Flying Without Wings, his American Idol victory anthem, only to be pushed aside by Clay singing This is the Night, which would have been his victory anthem had he won - though the vote was so close and the subsequent album releases so comparably successful, it really felt more as though Ruben and Clay had tied. For several minutes, they went back and forth, finding more devious ways of relieving each other of the spotlight. This good-natured bickering went on throughout the night.

The bulk of the show consisted of tributes to the 60s, the 70s, the 80s and the 90s, with each decade largely represented by an expansive medley. The downside to this was that we only got to hear greatly truncated versions of several of the songs, and they came so rapidly after each other that it was sometimes hard to adjust. Nonetheless, it was a fun overview, and each decade also included full-length songs to balance things out better.

Prior to the first medley, I enjoyed Clay’s conclusion that Ruben’s 60s were a lot different from his 60s. After they had finished, I concluded that my 60s were quite different from either of theirs, since they’d included no songs from the folk movement, even folk-rockers like Simon and Garfunkel. What’s more, not a single Beatles song was to be heard, though I wonder if that had more to do with licensing issues. I hope so, because otherwise it seems an egregious oversight. But the songs they did perform were a lot of fun, from Elvis Presley’s Suspicious Minds and the Beach Boys’ Wouldn’t It Be Nice to the Turtles’ Happy Together and Roy Orbison’s Crying. Casey closed out the decade with a powerhouse performance of Aretha Franklin’s Natural Woman.

The 60s led naturally into the 70s, where R&B and pop again dominated, leaving no room for mellow singer-songwriters like John Denver, Jim Croce, Don McLean or James Taylor, whose songs have often been a part of Clay’s past concerts. Clay had two big solos during this set: Still the One, which I’ve heard him sing before, and Barry Manilow’s Mandy, which I haven’t. Both showcased his voice very well, while Ruben was right at home with a Marvin Gaye medley and a flawless rendition of Karen Carpenter’s Superstar, one of his signature Idol performances. As with the other medleys, Clay and Ruben were onstage together, along with Casey and Quiana, as the songs continued in rapid succession, but for the most part they switched off on vocals, with only a couple, like Earth, Wind and Fire’s rousing September, being genuine duets. The 70s gave Quiana her moment in the spotlight with Chaka Khan’s I’m Every Woman, the last full-blown solo of the night for either of the women.

The tribute to the 80s began with an entertaining, albeit slightly overlong, sequence that involved “Pastor” Ruben, garbed in a white robe and spoofing money-grubbing televangelists, receiving a sizable donation from Clay’s mother to cure him of his inability to dance. Clay’s supposed lack of rhythm was a running joke throughout the first half of the concert, and this segment brought it to its natural conclusion. Ruben and Clay both cite the church as a major factor in their musical formation, an influence they explicitly noted last night since the seating in the amphitheater is pews, so I didn’t take the bit to be mean-spirited, but Libbie’s mom was a little uncomfortable with the extent of the ribbing, and Libbie and I were both surprised that Clay, so squeaky-clean the previous times we saw him, swore prominently a few times throughout the evening, though the profanity was mild and mostly used for comic emphasis.

Of all the banter of the evening, my favorite probably occurred during the 80s set, when Clay and Ruben went back and forth talking about what the 80s meant to them. As Clay rattled off “macho” icons like MacGyver, Rambo, Mr. T and Rocky, Ruben reminisced about Care Bears, Smurfs, Teddy Ruxpin and My Buddy dolls, even singing the jingle for the latter. In the end, Clay won out, though, launching into the medley with an adrenaline-packed rendition of Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger, in which Ruben promptly joined in. Other songs included Toto’s Africa, Peter Cetera’s Glory of Love and Heart’s Alone, all of which were energetic, but it was Kenny Loggins’ Footloose that got everybody in the crowd up and dancing.

Ruben kicked off the 90s with an ultra-smooth rendition of Bryan Adams’ Everything I Do, which funnily enough was covered by Clay on his album A Thousand Different Ways. My favorite singers seem to gravitate toward this song; Ryan Kelly also sang it on Celtic Thunder’s It's Entertaiment. At this point, I’m inclined to award Ryan top honors by a whisker, but Ruben and Clay also interpret the song admirably.

The 90s quickly went from earnest to silly when Clay came out in Hammer pants adorned with a gold chain and gave an enthusiastic performance of Montell Jordan’s This Is How We Do It. Most of the songs in the 90s set were ripe with comedic possibilities, and Clay and Ruben got as many laughs as they could out of such numbers as Billy Ray Cyrus’s Achy Breaky Heart, Hanson’s MMMBop, Ricky Martin’s Livin’ La Vida Loca and Sir Mix-a-Lot’s Baby Got Back. The concert ended rather abruptly with Boyz II Men and Mariah Carey’s One Sweet Day, the final song in the medley, but the four quickly returned for an encore of Dirty Dancing theme song Time of My Life, which felt much more like a concluding song and once again got everyone up out of their seats.

While Chautauqua tends to draw a slightly older audience, I saw people of all ages in the crowd, ranging from young children to silver-haired ladies who could boogie with the best of them. We ended up sitting just a couple of rows behind one of my dad’s colleagues and his wife, and when we bumped into them after the concert at the Refectory, a quaint ice cream parlor in convenient proximity to the amphitheater, they told us how much they had enjoyed the concert. While Libbie confessed disappointment that Clay hadn’t sung Invisible, this tribute to pop greats of the past seemed like a fitting way to honor some of Ruben and Clay’s formative influences and give us a peek into pop history. In many ways it reminded me of Clay’s Jukebox Tour, though that did include a set from the 2000s, which allowed him to draw from some of his contemporary recordings, while Ruben and Clay, aside from the opening number, only went as far as the late 90s, which is long enough ago now that many of the songs from that time invite nostalgia.

It’s hard to believe that Clay and Ruben have both been in the business now for close to a decade. Both of them have recorded several albums, and judging by the enthusiasm of the crowd last night, there’s no reason to think that they can’t continue to have lucrative careers. While they may not dominate the charts these days, they continue to put out excellent music appreciated by their ardent fans, and I suspect that these oddly matched buddies will continue to cheerfully support each other long after they have gone on to separate projects.

Art Garfunkel and Alan Dale Enhance Flight of the Conchords' Final Season

Back in 2007, my brother introduced me to Flight of the Conchords, an HBO comedy about a pair of awkward New Zealanders who come to New York City in hopes of making it big as a folk duo. Jemaine Clement, a big lug with a deep voice and thick glasses who starred in a string of memorable Outback Steakhouse commercials, and Bret McKenzie, whose delicate features and soft voice landed him a role as an Elf in Lord of the Rings, play fictionalized versions of themselves in this hilarious, albeit sadly short-lived, show.

This January, I bought the second and final season of Flight of the Conchords, which, at ten episodes, is even shorter than the first. I’d previously seen one of the episodes online, but since we don’t get HBO, I counted on catching the rest on DVD. It was a worthwhile investment.

The beginning of the second season finds Jemaine and Bret attempting to manage themselves after their hapless manager, Murray Hewitt (Rhys Darby), diverts most of his attention to his new act, the Crazy Dogs. They soon discover just how much they don’t know about the music business, and the episode ends with the three gaining a renewed appreciation for each other. Darby remains impeccable as the hopelessly naive and ineffectual Murray, who in many ways can be considered a third member of the group.

Season one is stuffed with goofy, catchy tunes, rendering season two a bit sparse by comparison. While Bret and Jemaine, already a band before the show began, had plenty of material to draw from initially, they had used most of it by the end of the first season, forcing them to produce a lot of new material, most of which doesn’t make quite as much of an impression as the earlier songs.

Probably my favorite ditty of the season is Friends, from Murray Takes It to the Next Level, in which Murray decides it’s time to hang out with the guys as a buddy. This mellow, nearly a cappella ode to friendship is upbeat and harmonious, in the style of a barbershop quartet. Along with a great sound, it includes several clever descriptions of what constitutes a friend, and I like it enough to forgive the one crude line.

Unfortunately, low-brow humor isn’t that hard to find in season two. In season one, they mostly keep things fairly innocent, or at least take things no further than awkward innuendo. But in season two, it’s harder to forget this aired on cable rather than on one of the big networks.

On the other hand, Bret and Jemaine remain riotously inept, so their attempts to be seductive generally fail spectacularly, particularly in A New Cup. While this is probably the most risque episode of the season, it’s also one of the best, thanks to an absurd premise that confirms just how unsuccessful these two really are, a zany side story about Murray’s decision to invest the band’s meager funds with a Nigerian businessman who contacted him over e-mail and a tragi-comic conclusion that serves as a metaphor for their lives.

The one episode that I saw ahead of time was The Prime Minister, which I’d highly anticipated because I knew it featured Art Garfunkel. While his actual appearance is very brief, it’s quite amusing, especially considering the events leading up to it - events that involve Bret and Jemaine getting a gig as a Simon and Garfunkel tribute band and Jemaine hooking up with a girl who insists that he continue to dress as Art Garfunkel whenever she is in his company. It includes perhaps my favorite line of the season, to Murray: “So we look like some Simon and Garfunkel look-alikes who don’t look like Simon and Garfunkel?”

Additionally, it introduces the magnificent character of New Zealand’s Prime Minister Brian (Brian Sergent), who is even dopier than Murray and makes one start to wonder whether all Kiwis are a bit daft. While I was disappointed that there were no Simon and Garfunkel-style songs here (just very brief manglings of Scarborough Fair and Bright Eyes), Bret’s random karaoke performance of a Korean love song has some of the funniest (subtitled) lyrics of the season.

Each episode has something to recommend it, whether it’s an appearance by LOST and Ugly Betty’s Alan Dale, adding to his haughty boss repertoire as the Australian consulate leader who bullies Murray, or a disastrous attempt by Jemaine to help Bret prove himself chivalrous to a love interest. Kristen Schaal continues to be uncomfortably overzealous as Mel, the duo’s lone fan, as evidenced in the episode in which she presents the guys with disturbing portraits of themselves. The season - and series - ends in a way that feels very fitting for this saga of these chumps who will never let life get them down, despite a steady stream of failures.

While I’m sad to see the show go, I’m happy to know that Flight of the Conchords lives on, and I hope to catch them on tour one of these days. Until then, I’ll be content to giggle my way through the 22 episodes of their wonderfully quirky comedy.

Experience Simon and Garfunkel Unplugged in Live From New York City 1967

Back in 2002, Simon and Garfunkel released a live album from a concert that they performed at Philharmonic Hall in January of 1967. I'd never seen Simon and Garfunkel in concert, and the chances of them reuniting for a tour seemed increasingly remote, so I was excited to get my hands on this official, pristinely preserved recording. Little did I know then that I'd get to see them the following year. I eagerly snatched up my copy, admiring the shiny packaging and lyrical liner notes by Anthony DeCurtis. I confess that in my years as an avid Simon and Garfunkel fan, I've tracked down some unofficial recordings, so I wasn't entirely new to the experience of the duo performing live in the '60s. But the recording quality here is much more consistent, and besides, it's on the up and up.

Knowing of those recordings makes me just a little wistful that they had recorded something during this particular concert that wasn't from their albums. But there's no changing now what they did then, so that complaint would be more pertinent for the 1969 album, which draws from several concerts. Among the several rare gems I unearthed, my favorite is The Lightning Express, an old folk tune once recorded by the Everly Brothers, sung by Simon and Garfunkel in Paris in 1970. Live From New York City 1967 includes no such surprises. Nonetheless, it's exciting to hear Paul and Art singing together in such intimate harmony, with nothing to come between their voices except Paul's guitar. Additionally, about half of the tracks include some sort of introduction from either Paul or Art; they divide the speaking duties pretty evenly, and though there are few revelations here for the die-hard fan, it's great to hear them offer these nuggets themselves.

Following the opening number, He Was My Brother (an rather surprising choice for the first song but a reflection, I suppose, of the prevalence of the Civil Rights movement), Art, in a blissed-out tone, breathes, "Wow! Carnegie Hall!" before launching into Leaves That Are Green. Paul's the one who introduces Sparrow, earning a laugh as he does so; a couple tracks later, he describes You Don't Know Where Your Interest Lies as "almost finished". Paul takes the lead again on A Most Peculiar Man, explaining its genesis in a four-line article in a newspaper in England that struck him as "a very bad way to go out".

Art describes The Dangling Conversation as the song that took the longest to write and record and also claims it as their favorite at that particular time, though the highly intellectual number was never especially popular. While that song references Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost, Richard Cory is practically lifted right from the Edward Arlington Robinson poem Art says was "written many years ago and studied by myself in junior high school." It was high school for me, but I can relate!

Before For Emily, Paul laughingly tells an unruly audience to tone it down, which is odd since the same thing happens just before For Emily on the 1969 album. By the end of the set, he seems to be in a thoroughly goofy mood, doing a Beatles impersonation before launching into Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M. and concluding the song - and concert - with a brief guitar homage to Yankee Doodle. But the best spoken bit on the album has to be Art's recollection of the photo shoot for the Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M. album cover. This live track was included in the Old Friends boxed set, so it won't be new to everyone, but I never get tired of hearing Art, by way of introducing Poem on an Underground Wall, tactfully mentioning "the old familiar suggestion" that none of them had noticed plastered all over the wall where against which they had been standing.

The songs without banter are, of course, lovely as well. I was particularly surprised by Benedictus, which doesn't seem like it would be a concert selection, but they perform it gorgeously. Other tracks include Homeward Bound, Feelin' Groovy, A Hazy Shade of Winter, Blessed, Anji, I Am a Rock, The Sound of Silence and A Church Is Burning. If you're a fan of Simon and Garfunkel, particularly unplugged, then Live From New York City 1967 is for you.

Hear History in the Making With Simon and Garfunkel's Live 1969

Back in July, I made two startling musical discoveries. One was that Celtic Thunder had just released a new album. The other was that Simon and Garfunkel had released a "new" album as well - several months earlier. I was surprised I didn't know Take Me Home had been coming up, since I'd checked several times to see if there was anything new in the works from my favorite newly-found band. But I was shocked I hadn't heard a thing about Simon and Garfunkel's live album, since I'm always very up on their news and have several friends who are as well. I snatched the albums up together, a decision made all the easier by the fact that Amazon was selling them both for half-price. Though Simon and Garfunkel fans won't find much here that's genuinely new, it's still a nice album to have.

Several years ago, Simon and Garfunkel released the album Live in 1967, an acoustic set drawn from a single concert right in the middle of their principal period of musical partnership. I love the intimacy of that concert, the quietude of just the two voices and the guitar and the little bits of banter that Paul and mostly Art provided. Live 1969 is a little different. A few of the songs are acoustic, but the bulk of them are performed with a band whose members include Joe Osborn on bass, Hal Blaine on drums, Fred Carter, Jr. on keyboards and Larry Knechtel on keyboards.

The tracks are drawn not from a single concert but from several. Something of the innocence of that earlier recording seems to be missing, and occasionally Art's quips seem to hint at the strain between him and Paul. Mostly, though, this is just a chance to hear the duo live in their prime, making it easy to imagine what it must have been like to be part of one of those early audiences. As someone who saw them live in 2003, I can attest that Simon and Garfunkel in concert is a pretty amazing experience.

For the die-hard fan, there's nothing too new here songwise. Of 17 tracks, only one is a song not drawn from their studio albums. That's the exquisite That Silver-Haired Daddy of Mine, a Gene Autry song recorded by the Everly Brothers, Simon and Garfunkel's most profound early musical influences. But even that isn't new if you got your hands on Old Friends, the three-disc boxed set released in the 1990s. The novelty, then, lies mostly in these particular performances and hearing the dynamic between the men and their audience, with the attractive packaging and heartfelt introduction by Bud Scoppa a plus.

Song for the Asking is the first really interesting track, as it includes an introduction from Art as well as some lovely harmonizing, which is absent on the Paul-centric studio cut. Art delivers a gorgeous performance of For Emily after shushing a mildly unruly audience. Scarborough Fair is performed without Canticle (despite the song list label to the contrary), as it's always seems to be in concert; I suppose they could only pull off all those rich layers of harmony in the studio. Still, this more basic version is lovely.

Track seven, Mrs. Robinson, is the first with the band, and Art introduces them accordingly, while getting testy with an audience member who complains the keyboards are too quiet and accidentally starting to introduce the wrong song. Why Don't You Write Me is fun because, unlike most of the other studio songs, it's not one they perform in concert these days. So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright includes a nice little introduction in which Art explains that he'd studied architecture at Columbia and had suggested Paul write a song about Frank Lloyd Wright. (Of course, the song was really more about Art, but I read an interview with him years later in which he claimed not to realize that at the time.)

Of all the tracks, perhaps the most fascinating is Bridge Over Troubled Water, simply because there's a sense that you're listening to history unfold. On the other tracks, either Art, who pretty much does all the talking, announces the song, or Paul plays the opening chord, and the audience erupts into applause as they realize what they're about to hear. But on Bridge, Larry starts playing that iconic piano opening, and Art notes that this is a new song, and there's dead silence. It seems nobody in this November 28 audience has heard it before; I presume the silence denotes not lack of enthusiasm so much as a desire not to drown out any of this brand-new listening experience with applause. But silence it is, up until that final glory note, when the audience erupts into one of the most exuberant ovations I've ever heard. Just getting the experience second-hand is pretty powerful.

Other tracks include Homeward Bound, At the Zoo, Feelin' Groovy, The Boxer, The Sound of Silence, I Am a Rock, Old Friends / Bookends, Leaves That Are Green and Kathy's Song. One thing this concert drove home to me is that Simon and Garfunkel aren't very interactive in concert; there's never an invitation to sing along, and the chatter is minimal, though you do get more of that on the 1967 album. If you've never seen them live, either of these albums is the next-best thing.

The Beatles Go Out on a High Note With Let It Be

If you were to ask me to name my favorite band, I’d quickly answer Simon and Garfunkel, the legendary folk duo recorded together during the 60s. From individual songs to their rise to fame and subsequent break-up, their story has many parallels with another quintessential 60s group: the Beatles.

They lamented lonely lives poorly memorialized (A Most Peculiar Man / Eleanor Rigby). They sang about the anguish caused by the communication gap between parents and children (Save the Life of My Child / She’s Leaving Home) and about companionship in one’s later years (Old Friends / When I’m 64). They presented vivid tributes to roads of personal significance (Bleecker Street / Penny Lane) and used birds as metaphors for people relegated to the fringes of society (Sparrow / Blackbird).

But perhaps the most striking song parallel is between Bridge Over Troubled Water and Let It Be, the title tracks to both bands‘ final albums. Released the same year, both are lengthy, sweeping, piano-driven inspirational songs that draw people together, yet they accompanied the division of the duo and the quartet. They speak of finding comfort in difficult times; both include the gloomy “darkness” and “trouble”, but also the more optimistic “see“ and “shine”.

On most days, if you asked me what my favorite Simon and Garfunkel is, I would probably reply that it’s Bridge. I fluctuate more with the Beatles, but Let It Be is always in the favorites rotation. Paul’s gentle lead vocals grow stronger with each verse, and by the final repetitions of the chorus, it’s hard to resist jubilantly joining in.

It’s a wonderful song for groups of people; my cousin played it on the guitar at my family reunion over the summer as we fumbled our way through the lyrics, and I’ll never forget the spectacle of thousands of people singing along in the dark while holding cell phones at glow sticks aloft at the Super Bowl. There have been many lovely covers of it, and Brooke White’s classy performance of the song during the first American Idol Beatles night was probably my favorite of the season. Of course, nothing can quite compare to the original.

Up until a few years ago, I, like many fans of the song, assumed that “Mother Mary” referred to the Virgin Mary. It was more personal than that, with the song stemming from a dream Paul had about his own deceased mother, who just happened to have the name Mary. I can’t help but suspect the song wouldn’t have carried quite the same power if she’d had any other name. But whichever mother you’re thinking of when you listen to the song, it’s an uplifting ode, a song of faith and fortitude that is most sustaining in trying times. I’m sorry that the song heralded the Beatles’ breakup. But I sure am glad they recorded it.

Campy Life on Mars Pays Tribute to the 70s

The fifth season of LOST was very much wrapped up in the 70s, one of my favorite decades. When I realized how important that era would be to the season, I couldn't help but wonder whether LOST and Life on Mars, the trippy, campy throwback crime drama that aired in the next time slot, were in cahoots. Life on Mars was a remake of the British show that ran for two seasons. Each contained eight episodes, making it almost exactly the length of the U. S. edition, which ran for 17 episodes, though series creators were hoping to go longer than one season. At least there was sufficient notice to give the show some resolution, though I wonder whether the series got the intended ending; it's hard to tell when a series is cancelled at the last minute like that, though I would hope they had the conclusion in mind from the outset.

Ironically enough, Life on Mars is a British import starring an Irishman acting the part of an American (who, in one episode, has to go undercover as an Irishman). Jason O'Mara is Sam Tyler, the detective who is utterly bewildered to find himself zapped to 1973 after a car accident. The show actually began airing in the fall, and previews led me to believe that Lisa Bonet ("in her first television appearance since The Cosby Show!") would play a major role in the series, but her part was much smaller than I expected. However, other characters, along with the terrific setting and the mysterious premise, were enough to keep me watching.

Sam is a pretty ordinary modern guy. A decent fellow who loves his mother, who raised him almost single-handedly, and cares deeply about justice, he is startled by some of the methods employed by the police force of the 70s and troubled by revelations he receives about his own family in the course of his work. Although the show is billed as a drama, I was never entirely able to take it seriously because it spends so much time consciously parodying the 70s, and in particular cop shows of the 70s. There are many sly winks at the audience that are a lot funnier if you are familiar with the pop culture of that decade. Of course, some of the references are hard to miss, like Sam's use of the pseudonym Skywalker when he first meets his mother (Jennifer Ferrin) in the past.

The show is mostly episodic, with a new case to solve every week, but at the same time, Sam is collecting clues about his past and trying to piece together just what happened to land him in this strange place. Sam finds himself in a department run by Lieutenant Gene Hunt (the superb Harvey Keitel), who is a tough guy who doesn't mind throwing his weight around, though underneath all that intimidation is a heart of gold. His most antagonistic coworker is Ray (Michael Imperioli), a crude, seemingly misogynistic man with a mustache half the size of his head. Balancing him out is ambitious Annie Norris (Gretchen Mol), who longs to gain detective status and who is the only one in the department who thinks there might be something to Sam's insistence that he comes from the future. There's also Chris (Jonathan Murphy), a sweet, Jimmy Olsen-ish sort of character who is the young buck on the force, and at Sam's apartment building is an eccentric, free-spirited woman named Windy (Tanya Fischer) who flits in and out of his life. Fischer and Bonet appear in the same number of episodes, but Fischer makes a much bigger impression.

Every episode is filled with little jokes making the most of the time frame, but the best evocation of the era comes in the form of the music. My jaw dropped when I watched the conclusion of the second episode, which has Sam and Windy dancing together to Simon and Garfunkel's I Am a Rock on the record player. Just two episodes later, Sam recognizes his mother to the tune of Simon's Mother and Child Reunion. Finally, toward the end of the season, it was back to the duo with Fakin' It for a scene in which Annie goes undercover. I spent most of LOST's fifth season waiting for Simon and Garfunkel to turn up on the Dharma record player, and while I was never satisfied on that score, it was nice to know that I was likely to have more luck with Life on Mars, which also featured music by Elton John, Ringo Starr, the Partridge Family, Cat Stevens, Three Dog Night and the Turtles, among many others. Not only is Jim Croce's Bad, Bad Leroy Brown the backdrop to a raucous bar fight, but Sam actually rubs elbows with the tragically short-lived troubadour in one scene and warns him to stay away from small airplanes.

That's one of the few instances in which Sam does something in a conscious effort to change the future. Like season five of LOST, Life on Mars is very preoccupied with issues of meddling with the established space-time continuum. On both shows, one especially difficult decision involves the question of whether it is morally permissible to kill a child, knowing he will otherwise grow up to be a reprobate. While one character on LOST sees himself as an infant, Sam is actually able to interact with his pint-sized self, though he resists the opportunity for a long time, fearing the consequences. Ultimately, Sam's situation doesn't resonate quite as strongly with LOST as I had suspected, but I enjoyed contemplating parallels from week to week, especially when both shows explored similar issues on the same night.

I missed a few episodes of Life on Mars in the fall, when I often worked the evenings it aired and didn't have LOST as a lead-in. I understand that one of those episodes was especially well done and gave the tantalizing impression of a complex mythology underpinning the plot. However, as I mentioned before, I was never able to invest myself in the show fully. The gap between LOST and Life on Mars is comparable to the way I experienced Harry Potter and A Series of Unfortunate Events. While I found the latter very entertaining, those characters never became real to me as J. K. Rowling's did. They were more like caricatures, and even during the most perilous moments, I couldn't muster up very passionate feelings of concern. So even before I realized that Life on Mars was getting just one season, I didn't expect the ending to move me much or make a lot of sense. From that viewpoint, I found the conclusion strange but mostly satisfying, and certainly less depressing than some I had envisioned. I didn't love it, but I didn't hate it either. However, some of my friends despised it, and that seems to be a common opinion, so that may be something to consider before you commit to all those viewing hours.

If you don't mind a bit of the nonsensical, check out Life on Mars for the outstanding soundtrack, the amusing homages to the 70s and the great performances, especially by Keitel, whose character is much more complicated than he at first appears. It's a shame the show got cut short; I was hoping for another team-up with LOST. But as a stand-alone season, it's a fun, retro romp, so if you think you'd like to get to know Sam Tyler and his pals, hitch a ride with the Rocket Man and get ready for Life on Mars.

My Top Ten Movies of the '60s

A grand decade for Disney, the 1960s included some of my all-time favorite movies, as well as a lot of flicks that are highly watchable once, with limited replay value.  All of my top ten are ones I'd be happy to sit through multiple times.  And have.

Peter Pan (1960) - Though I'm not a fan of the Disney version of the J. M. Barrie classic about a boy who stays forever young on a magical isle called Never-Neverland, I love this version, a television adaptation of the musical starring Mary Martin. She is endearingly spunky, and I never seem to mind much that she's a girl. Perhaps that softens Peter's bravado; even when he's bragging up a storm with I Gotta Crow, I don't find him nearly as obnoxious as the animated Disney imp. I love the songs throughout the film, and the performance of Cyril Ritchard as sinister but silly Captain Hook / ineffective Mr. Darling is the most entertaining aspect of the whole movie.

Swiss Family Robinson (1960) - Two words: ostrich races. Not to mention the treehouse of my dreams and what may have been the beginning of my love affair with stories about folks shipwrecked on seemingly uninhabited islands.

The Sword in the Stone (1963) - I can trace my love of King Arthur back to this Disney cartoon, in which he is a scrawny kid known as "the Wart" living under the thumb of his corpulent uncle and brutish cousin. Merlin serves as a wise but comical mentor, with some help from the requisite animal sidekick, Archimedes, who bears a strong resemblance to the owl from Bambi. Sticking with the fairly light-hearted portion of T. H. White's The Once and Future King, heightening the slapstick and doing a lot of simplifying, it's among the funniest animated Disney films, even if it was less successful than most.

Mary Poppins (1964) - A real contender for my all-time favorite movie. The songs showcase the Sherman Brothers at their best, from peppy classics like Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious to my personal favorite, the compassionate, religiously loaded Feed the Birds. The cast is wonderful, especially Julie Andrews as eccentric but exceptional Mary and Dick Van Dyke as irrepressibly jolly Bert. An engrossing tale of magic, imagination and parents and children coming to appreciate each other, it's also the movie that made me fall in love with London.

Cinderella (1965) - I've seen many versions of this story, but this television adaptation of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, starring Leslie Anne Warren, will always be my favorite. She makes such a perfect Cinderella, sweet and starry-eyed, dutifully doing her chores amid abuses by her absurd step-mother and step-sisters but taking time to imagine better things. The prince is dreamy, with loads more personality than the Disney version, and Cinderella's step-family is hilarious. The step-sisters even evoke some sympathy, as the lady of the house is scarcely any kinder to her own daughters. It's all very low-frills, with scarcely any props at all, but the story and the fantastic songs more than make up for it. This is my second-favorite Rodgers and Hammerstein musical.

The Sound of Music (1965) - This, naturally, tops the list. Rodgers and Hammerstein's crowning achievement, it's another movie starring Julie Andrews as an unusual nanny who swoops in to repair a family with unruly children and a distant father. But in this case, she plays an aspiring nun who hadn't bargained on falling in love with the dashing captain so excellently portrayed by Christopher Plummer. The sweeping cinematography, the iconic songs, the historical backdrop, the religious overtones, the humor, the romance... It all blends perfectly for a movie I can watch over and over again with rapt enjoyment.

The Russians are Coming, the Russians are Coming (1966) - Quite possibly the funniest movie of the decade. Of course, by the time I saw this, Russians no longer seems a great threat, so I never had much reason to see Alan Arkin's merry band of accidental invaders as antagonists. I just reveled in the relentless slapstick and silly one-liners. But I've also come to think of it as an inspiring tale underneath all that comedy, one that dares to hope that people who are supposedly enemies can be united by a common goal and can overcome suspicions to form unlikely friendships.

The Graduate (1967) - It took a couple of viewings for me to really appreciate this movie, which stars a hilariously awkward Dustin Hoffman as confused young college graduate Benjamin, who is lured into an affair with the wife of a family friend. But now that I've been in Benjamin's shoes - as an aimless college grad, that is, not someone who channeled that aimlessness in such an unhealthy direction - the film seems very apt. And what kind of Simon and Garfunkel fan would I be if I left this off the list?

The Jungle Book (1967) - Another triumph for the Sherman Brothers, this story of a boy raised by wolves features an intriguing array of creatures, each with a distinct personality. No-nonsense panther Bagheera, sibilant snake Kaa, haughty elephant Colonel Hathi, lackadaisical bear Baloo, ambitious orangutan King Louie, sinister tiger Shere Khan and a hapless quartet of vultures all make an impact on Mowgli's journey. With the exception of the cats, they all have a song, too, each in a different style. Kaa has a hypnotic lullaby, Hathi a crisp march, Louie a jazzy scatfest, the vultures a Beatles-esque harmonious ode. Baloo, of course, gets one of the bounciest numbers in Disney history. A simple story magnificently told, with lush animation every step of the way.

The Love Bug (1969) - I just love WV bugs, and this is why. Herbie, the little white beetle with the number 53 on his side, is more lovable than any car ought to be. He doesn't talk; he simply uses a series of mechanical noises to communicate emotion, and he maintains control over his own steering. This is the first of his adventures. Though Dean Jones, David Tomlinson and especially Buddy Hackett make terrific co-stars, this little automobile is clearly the star.

Don't Cast Away This Crop of Movies From 2000

It's funny to look a few years back and realize how few releases I've seen from that year. I would think that all the extra time would've given me plenty of opportunity to catch up, but by my reckoning I've only seen about 15 releases from 2000. So I certainly can't call this a definitive list, but I really did love these ten movies.

Cast Away - I've always had a special fondness for castaway stories, and Tom Hanks has long been one of my favorite actors. Reuniting him with the Forrest Gump dream team for a lost-on-an-island drama sounded like a formula for success to me, and boy, did it deliver. I'm still a little surprised Hanks didn't win for his demanding performance, which includes that grueling stretch of time with no one to talk to but a volleyball. And so compelling is Hanks that he makes Wilson's eventual departure rank high among my list of most tragic movie moments.

Almost Famous - This one caught my attention when I heard Simon and Garfunkel's America on the previews. When I saw it, I got an even heftier dose of my favorite band when the aspiring young music journalist purchased Bookends, and his horrified mother, hilariously portrayed by Frances McDormand, exclaimed that she could tell just from the album cover that they were on drugs. Simon and Garfunkel references aside, I would still be a big fan of this film that offers an inside look at the music business and the perils of potentially losing one's integrity in the pursuit of fame. In many ways it's like Tom Hanks' That Thing You Do!, but darker. Nonetheless, it ends on a pretty uplifting note.

Chicken Run - I love Wallace and Gromit, so I was excited to learn that the team that created that lovable duo would be doing a full-length film. Ultimately, I think Chicken Run is my favorite of all their projects. I spent much of the movie laughing hysterically; these bird-brained biddies are full of great one-liners, and the puns are relentless. The kids' meal tie-in toys and the more elaborate contraptions we snagged from the bargain bin that Christmas are great fun as well.

Fantasia 2000 - I always found Fantasia a strange animal, but there are segments of it I really love. Of course, one of those is The Sorcerer's Apprentice, which is repeated in the 2000 version. As for the rest, on the whole, I like the new segments even better than those in the original. Some of the animation is simply stunning, particularly during Pines of Rome, which features a magnificent pod of flying whales. Other favorites are The Carnival of the Animals, featuring an irrepressible flamingo who annoys the other members of his flock; Piano Concerto Number 2 in F Major, which is the backdrop for a cheerier version of Hans Christian Andersen's Steadfast Tin Soldier; and Pomp and Circumstance, which has a sweet and funny love story between Donald and Daisy Duck taking place on Noah's Ark.

How the Grinch Stole Christmas - The story of the Grinch competes only with The Lorax as my favorite Seuss story, so I was excited to see it come to the big screen. Though it is, in many ways, different from the book and animated special, I guess it was probably necessary to change the focus a bit in order to stretch it out to an hour and a half. The end result is pretty much the same, and along the way we get some absolutely dazzling visuals and the thoroughly endearing performance of Taylor Momsen as Cyndi Lou Who. Oh, and Jim Carrey makes a pretty convincing Grinch.

Miss Congeniality - Despite a fairly lame romantic subplot, this tale of a tomboy forced to go undercover at a beauty pageant is funny and touching. Sandra Bullock is terrific throughout, while Heather Burns is terribly sweet as the ditzy girl-next-door type she befriends. Michael Caine in a gentle mentorly role and William Shatner as a lovable doofus antagonized by Candice Bergen (prefiguring Boston Legal?) add considerable charm to this comedy.

My Dog Skip - A coming-of-age drama about a boy and his dog, it's a family film for the most part, though it does get to be a bit dark in places. All the elements of a great kid-and-animal-companion film are here, and not only is the Jack Russell made famous on Frasier clever and adorable, but young Frankie Muniz turns in an impressive performance that is sometimes emotionally heavy, particularly in scenes with Kevin Bacon as his strict dad and Luke Wilson as the troubled young man the boy idolizes.

Pay It Forward - I saw this one solely because of Haley Joel Osment, who became a good enough excuse for me to see any movie after I saw him in The Sixth Sense. He's terrific here as a slightly older boy with some similar issues; he lives alone with an overworked mom, he's not particularly popular with his peers, and he's angry. In this case, the root of his rage is not supernatural; he's upset with his mom for drinking so much and is worried that she might take back his abusive father. Like Cole, he finds a confidant in an older man, a disfigured teacher portrayed by Kevin Spacey, and a purpose in a brainwave that involves a pyramid scheme of random acts of kindness.

Remember the Titans - I'm not much of a sports buff, but I do love a good inspirational sports movie. This based-on-a-true-story film about a football coach struggling to racially integrate his team, in which many of the players are deeply prejudiced, is a powerful testament to the power of close human interaction in breaking down barriers. A stellar soundtrack and great performances from a cast that includes Denzel Washington and a pre-cheerleader Hayden Panettiere help make the Titans very easy to remember.

The Tigger Movie - This was almost certainly the most heavily advertised and merchandised of the various Pooh movies that have come out in recent years. Its clever posters and toys with the various characters dressed up in Tigger costumes were great fun; one of my favorite finds on my trip to England the following year was a nearly complete set of Happy Meal toys with the Hundred-Acre Wood residents all decked out in stripes. The movie is fun and bouncy but also sweet and reflective as Tigger discovers that his friends are his family, so he needn't feel too lonely as the only one of his kind. I love the new songs, with input by notable Pooh fan Kenny Loggins, and the tear-jerking tenderness of the conclusion. It's ever so much better than Piglet's Big Movie. If they ever get around to making a movie that revolves around Eeyore, I hope it turns out as well as this one.

I could definitely stand to see a few more movies from 2000, but I still think this is a fine representation of some of the best 2000 had to offer, especially for a softie like me.

Sing We Now of Christmas: Join Me in Celebrating the Songs of the Season!

One of my favorite aspects of the end of the year is listening to Christmas music. I'm one of those people who has endless tolerance for these seasonal tunes, though generally I discipline myself and only listen to them for about two months so as to enhance my appreciation for them the next time around. I have a thick stack of Christmas albums at home, and every year I happily pull them out - though for the third year running, a local radio station has provided all Christmas music, all the time, decreasing my motivation to put the old favorites into rotation. There's something exhilarating about stumbling upon a song I absolutely love when I'm not expecting it. I have the radio tuned to the sounds of the season as often as possible, and whether I'm putting away stock at work or dozing away in my bed, there are certain songs that always cause me to stop for a moment just to listen (and maybe, if I am sufficiently unaccompanied, sing along). Below is a list of my favorite non-traditional Christmas songs; most are ones I regularly hear on the radio, but I've also included a few that ought to be in the rotation.

Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men

What better time than Christmas to try to embrace our better natures and build a bridge to a brighter tomorrow?

Do They Know It's Christmas? - This hit single released in the early 80s by a group of pop stars going by the name Band Aid is every bit as timely today as it was then. It's an important reminder of how many people there are living in hunger and poverty in the world. The focus is on Africa, though the sentiment could be expanded to encompass other continents as well. The point is to look at "the world outside your window" and do something constructive about its problems. The song is a little simplistic, and watching the video with its line-up of 80s idols with bad hair is rather amusing, but songwriter Bob Geldof's efforts to raise global consciousness are admirable, and it also happens to be one of the catchiest songs on the radio this time of year. The pounding percussion! The resonant tolling of bells! The searing accusation by Bono! Boy George's eerily feminine pipes joyfully encouraging us, "Throw your arms around the world at Christmastime!" Why, thank you... I think I will!

Happy Xmas (War Is Over) - While we're on the subject of saving the world, I must let John Lennon have his say. I first heard this song on Neil Diamond's Christmas album; when I finally heard the original, I was surprised at how similar the arrangements were. I've since heard another version that is also nearly identical. It's a very simple song, but the counter-melody is such a perfect complement to the main vocals that any embellishments would detract from its power. Like much of Lennon's work, it advocates peace, and the choir of children is representative of a hope that future generations will better learn how to live with one another. It too is sadly as appropriate today as when it was written, with its pleading mantra of "War is over if you want it." While there's no acknowledgment of the divine in this song, at least there's not the sense that Lennon was bashing religion (which I must admit he did a bit in Imagine), and I can't see anything anti-Christian about his desire for brotherhood. This is my favorite song from Lennon's solo career.

Someday at Christmas - I couldn't tell you when it was that I first heard this song, but last year was when I really took notice of it. When I finally looked it up, I felt like a dolt because I'd thought the song was sung by a woman, when in fact those were the dulcet tones of Stevie Wonder I'd been hearing. He has several songs in the regular holiday rotation, and I like them all, but this is my favorite by far. Its basic message is very similar to Happy XMas, expressing optimism that people can refrain from violence. The melody is beautiful, and while the provocative first line - "Someday at Christmas, men won't be boys playing with bombs like kids play with toys" - is quiet and backed with instrumentation vaguely reminiscent of a music box, it builds in intensity, with choral backing and lots of soulful vocals, particularly on the wistful line, "Maybe not in time for you and me, but someday at Christmastime."

Light One Candle - I never hear this one on the radio, and more's the pity. This is one of two outstanding songs penned by Peter Yarrow that appear on our well-worn Peter Paul and Mary Christmas album. The Magi (The Heart of Man's a Palace) is just as fantastic, but Light One Candle sticks in my head more, probably because it's generally accompanied by a crowd of glowing lights from the audience. Additionally, they don't restrict its use to Christmas concerts. This is actually a Hanukkah song, with specific references to the Maccabees and the central metaphor of ever-burning candles, but it's an anthem that's also intended to reach further than that. It's a universal call to keep (or find) the faith; by the time they get everyone in attendance singing along in jubilation, the burden and promise of justice prevailing feels tangible.

Something About Christmas Time - Easily confused with Jon Bon Jovi's I Wish Every Day Could Be Like Christmas, which is nearly as good, Bryan Adams' song, like most in this category, intensifies as it goes on. He's joined by an inspiring chorus, and there's just enough of a rock edge to this song to make me want to do a fist pump in time to the Christmas bells that chime in partway through. Another song that urges everyone to let Christmas seep into their hearts. "I know it's not too late. The world would be a better place if we can keep the spirit more than one day in the year. Send a message loud and clear."

Snoopy's Christmas - This should probably go with the novelty songs, but while some might find a sound effects-laden song about Flying Ace Snoopy to be a little hard to take seriously, I can't help but find it heartwarming. It's a very peppy song, augmented by a military drum roll, an austere recitation of O Tannenbaum and some very cheery-sounding bells. In part, I take the song as a tribute to the 1914 Christmas truce between German and British troops; in any event, it's a joyful narrative about the wonder of Christmas yielding compassion from unexpected sources. The implication? If these foes can bury the hatchet for the day, why not everyone else? Plus, it's awfully fun to hear those Royal Guardsmen growl, "the Bloody Red Baron!"

Christmas 1915 - Speaking of the Christmas truce, I discovered this gem after compiling this list.  Written by Cormac McConnell, it was recently recorded by the group Celtic Thunder, whose members harmonize gorgeously in this haunting account of a fleeting peace and the carnage that followed.  Exhilarating.  Heartbreaking.  And my favorite new Christmas song of 2008.  "Silent night.  No cannons roar. / A king is born of peace forevermore. / All's calm, all's bright, / All brothers hand in hand / In 19 and 15 in No Man's Land."

A New York Christmas - This is a 2010 discovery thanks to the mall radio.  This inspring anthem has a rock edge to it and a melody that grabbed me from the first time I heard it and just wouldn't let me go.  It captures both the grit and glory of New York City in this time of year, and its plea for an open-hearted response to the disenfranchised of society is just the sort of rallying cry that's needed in a too-often apathetic age.  "Call on your angels, come down from the city. / Crowd around the big tree, all you strangers who know me. / Bring your compassion, your understanding. / Lord, how we need it on this New York City Christmas."

In the City of David...

While many contemporary Christmas songs focus on the general joy of the season and often sidestep the Nativity altogether, several are specific to the first Christmas. These are some of my favorites.

Mary's Boy Child - This one is borderline traditional. My aunt once performed it in a choir concert, and we sang it during a Sunday School Christmas program several years back (when I was incensed at the insistence upon replacing "man" in the chorus with the gender-neutral, dorky-sounding "folks"). Still, I can't quite lump it together with sing-along favorites like Joy to the World, Angels We Have Heard on High and The First Noel, in part because I consider there to be only one definitive version of this song, and that's Boney M's. A typical group of carolers just can't replicate the energy and exuberance of their rendition, which never fails to leave me grinning from ear to ear. It helps that there's so much going on in the song, particularly towards the end, when the spiritual Oh My Lord is expertly incorporated. The harmonies are wonderful, the energy infectious, the steel drums and Caribbean accents irresistible. Simply one of the happiest Christmas songs I can think of. "Hark now hear the angels sing, a king is born today, and man will live forevermore because of Christmas day!"

The Gift - When I first heard this song on the radio last year, it stopped me dead in my tracks. I immediately turned up the volume and stood riveted to this gentle story of an impoverished young girl who nurses an injured bird back to health just in time for the grand presentation of gifts at the local church. While the version I've heard is a cover, it's so exquisite I have no great desire to listen to the original. The singer is Aselin Debison, a young girl herself, and the purity of her voice perfectly matches the innocence of the young protagonist. One thing I love about this song is the fact that it's narrative; not only that, it has no chorus, instead wandering along gradually through the verses in a refreshingly unhurried manner. Its first eight lines are a cappella, which accentuates the beauty of Debison's voice and renders the guitars that serve as the first accompaniment all the more beautiful. Even more lovely is the flute toward the end, which is meant to imitate birdsong. Basically, this is yet another variation on The Little Drummer Boy, which has essentially spawned a sub-genre among Christmas tales; it's particularly similar to the picture book The Most Precious Gift. It's pretty obvious how the story will end, but that doesn't make the journey any less awe-inspiring.

Down Among the Bushes of Jerusalem - This Irish Rovers song written by Tommy Sands doesn't stop with Jesus' birth. John Reynolds' wonderfully earthy, expressive vocals carry this lengthy ballad that describes Jesus as a rebel from his earliest days. The song is filled with Celtic instrumentation, including accordion and Irish drums. I almost think of it more as an Easter song, along the lines of Lord of the Dance, but it's on their Christmas album, and I suppose it fits in rather nicely with such songs as Mary Did You Know? "Born of honest parents and below a shining star, the word went 'round the country, and they came from near and far..."

Christmas Canon - This doesn't exactly focus on the Nativity, but it references the Christ Child and carries a note of profound hope in awaiting His return: "We are waiting. We have not forgotten." I first heard this song in its revamped version, entitled Christmas Canon Rock and featuring electric instruments and a powerhouse soloist. It wasn't until the perpetual Christmas music airplay began that I heard this original version. Both are by Trans-Siberian Orchestra, and I still can't decide which is my favorite, but I do love the classical sound of this one and the pristine vocals of the children who sing each of the three counter-melodies. They sound truly angelic. It doesn't hurt that the basis for the song is Pachelbel's Canon in D, which has long been a favorite of mine.

The Star Carol - Don't expect to hear this one on the radio either. I listen to this obscure recording, only available (as far as I know) as a part of the 3-CD boxed set Old Friends, and think, Why, oh why, couldn't have Simon and Garfunkel released a Christmas album? I know, I know... Too commercial, and I don't suppose Paul was too interested in singing an album almost entirely comprised of other people's material, or of composing a dozen original Christmas songs, especially when he is Jewish. Art did later record a Christmas album, albeit a most unusual one. At any rate, this is one of the few Christmas songs Simon and Garfunkel recorded and the only one that is not what I would call a traditional carol. I've never heard it elsewhere, though I understand that Aaron Neville also recorded it. The song sounds older than it is; though it was written in the fifties, its third and final verse is peppered with thees and thous. It's a very simple song reminiscent of Away in a Manger, but the harmonies are exquisite, and there's a sincerity to it that's lacking in the rushed rendition of Go Tell It on the Mountain from Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M.. It's my favorite of their Christmas offerings because it's so different and so lovely, without any subtly dark undertones. It's quite a shame that it isn't more readily available.

Just for Fun

I'm such a sucker for Christmas specials, and a lot of awfully fun songs have been drawn from those. Others are delightful bits of silliness independent of any overarching story.

The Chipmunk Song - You know I had to stick these guys in here. What would Christmas be without squeaky Alvin pleading for a hula hoop and ignoring the musical direction of an ever more irritated Dave Seville? This song does a great job of capturing the impatience many children feel at Christmas, and it does so with trademark bickering humor and high-pitched harmonizing. Another amusing ditty along these lines is VeggieTales' hyper I Can't Believe It's Christmas, sung by Junior Asparagus, Laura Carrot and various other Veggie tots.

Oh Santa is my favorite Veggie offering, though. Larry, always the ambassador of childlike naivety, anxiously awaits the arrival of Santa (who, viewers will note, is Bob the Tomato in a rather transparent disguise). Before the big guy shows up, Larry is visited by several unsavory guests: a bank robber, a Viking and an IRS agent. While the lengthy song is certainly silly, it also has a good message, since Larry is willing to share his specially made Christmas cookies with those who have come to do him ill, and in turn, his assailants drop their attack. Another one you won't hear on the radio, but I love it!

Mr. Heatmiser - This ragtime song from Rankin and Bass's The Year Without a Santa Claus is arguably the most memorable tune to come from their many Christmas specials. Two climatically opposite brothers square off against each other, each assured in his position that his end of the thermometer is superior. I always get a kick out of hearing the version by the Big Bad Voodoo Daddies on the radio, though I prefer the original; I find it especially annoying that the wording of one line is changed without changing the line that rhymes with it: "I’m Mr. White Christmas. I’m Mr. Cool. I’m Mr. Icicle. I’m Mr. 10 Below." If you must change it from "Snow" to "Cool," can't you change the fourth sentence to something like "I'm Mr. Cancelled School" or "I'm Mr. 'Blizzards Rule!'"? That lack of a rhyme is just jarring. Otherwise, though, this piano-drenched face-off is loads of fun.

You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch - I like this one even better, though it sounds more appropriate for Halloween than Christmas. Thurl Ravenscroft's distinctively deep voice and those deliciously ostentatious instrumentals do justice to Seuss's seriously skewered lyrics. Each line is expertly articulated, but I think my favorite moment has to be when he snarls, "You're a rotter, Mr. Grinch!" Out of context, this couldn't be less Christmassy, but it's quite a testament to the power of Christmas to think that it could transform a creature whose "soul is an appalling dump heap overflowing with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable rubbish imaginable, mangled up in tangled up knots," into a compassionate spirit.

I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas - I only discovered this one a couple years ago, and I wonder how it could have escaped my notice for so many years. It was on an album by the Countdown Kids, who did several cheesy Christmas records that I wore out when I was little. We must have about every album except that one. When I first heard the song, I didn't believe it was actually sung by a little girl. I was convinced it was an adult trying to sound girlish, and not succeeding very well. But Gayla Peevey was only ten when she recorded the song as a fundraiser to bring a hippo to the Oklahoma City zoo. Her brassy voice reminds me of Ethel Merman. John Rox's goofy lyrics (I'm especially amused by his reference to a "hippo hero") and the brass band backup complement her over-the-top delivery, and they did the trick; the zoo got its hippo. I, however, am still waiting for mine. I guess I'll just have to sing louder!

Home for the Holidays

These last few are songs whose primary focus is domestic, with the emphasis on loved ones and how they interact with this holiday.

Aspenglow - I couldn't conclude this list without mentioning John Denver at some point. He has no shortage of qualifying songs, but I choose this one for its gentle, evocative beauty and its association with Colorado. Christmas for Cowboys is lovely as well, albeit less easily applicable. Though it's a tribute to one particular beloved town, most of the things Denver sings about in the guitar-heavy Aspenglow are the sorts of things that make a Christmas celebration merry no matter where you are. "Aspen is the life to live. See how much there is to give. See how strongly you believe. See how much you may receive."

You Make It Feel Like Christmas - One of my favorite Christmas albums is Neil Diamond's, and I've always been a fan of this original song, which is cozily upbeat. Aside from the title line, there are only a few specific references to Christmas; most of it is more of a general love song, a grateful tribute to a wife whose love endures and always manages to catch him off guard: "When people ask how we stay together, I say you never let me down." Given the fact that Diamond is Jewish, I take this song to be semi-autobiographical at best, perhaps reflecting his feelings but not the holiday trappings; then again, if he recorded an entire Christmas album, maybe he does have a tree in his living room in December after all...

It Doesn't Have to Be That Way - This Jim Croce song is a fairly recent discovery for me. I was startled to hear it on the radio a couple of years back; given his short career, it isn't often that I come across a "new" song by him, and I certainly would have thought I would have been aware of a Christmas song. This somber guitar-driven tune is very much along the same lines as Photographs and Memories, and it offers a window into the heart of those for whom Christmas may bring more pain than cheer, while leaving an opening for the possibility of a reconciliation between the man and his estranged love. "The windy winter avenues just don't seem the same, and the Christmas carols sound like blues, but the choir is not to blame."

Old City Bar - Trans-Siberian Orchestra is known for high-octane instrumental music and exhilirating light shows.  But of all their songs, my favorite is this acoustic ballad in which the focus is entirely upon the lyrics, which are delivered in a warm but ragged style reminiscent of an aged storyteller regaling his grandchildren with a tale by firelight.  Humble in presentation, epic in length, it is the one track upon which the narrative of Christmas Eve and Other Stories hinges.  A crusty bartender, a homesick girl and an angel in disguise interact in this powerful recollection of a Christmas miracle.  "If you want to arrange it / This world you can change it / If we could somehow make this / Christmas thing last / By helping a neighbor / Or even a stranger / And to know who needs help / You need only just ask."

Same Old Lang Syne - I'm ending with this because it's so unique among all the Christmas songs that get regular play on the radio, and with Dan Fogelberg's death last year, it has an even more melancholy flavor to it now. Piano and strings are the driving instruments in this reflective song, which tells the true story of a Christmas Eve encounter Fogelberg had with a former, now-married girlfriend. His vocals are achingly tender, with the sting of loss in the back of his throat before he can enjoy a moment of his reunion unencumbered. The layering of his vocals amplifies his loneliness, and his falsetto heights on the choruses are an eerie illustration of his plaintive state of mind. What's remarkable about this song is how accidentally it came about, right down to the timing. If this had happened in July, it wouldn't have gotten half the airplay it does, but because of the date, it gets to be in the Christmas rotation. It also gets an absolutely devastating last line, accompanied by instrumentation expertly approximating precipitation. "As I turned to make my way back home, the snow turned into rain." Brilliant.

So that's my list of favorites, though it's far from definitive. For instance, I didn't even touch Michael Card, who probably has a couple dozen or so original Christmas songs. I don't feel like trying to figure out which is my favorite, so suffice it to say that any of his are worth checking out, though none is likely to grace the radio airwaves, except perhaps on a Christian station. I'm sure as soon as I post this I'll think of a couple more absolutely essential Christmas songs, but this will have to do for now. If I'm up to it, traditional songs will be up next.

Meanwhile, I invite other writers to join me in celebrating your favorite Christmas songs, as few or as many as you'd like. If you'd care to join my Sing We Now of Christmas Write-off, drop me a comment or e-mail and I'll link you up! I'll keep this going through the end of December. Happy singing!