And So This Is Christmas

I have to admit I'm not a big fan of Christmas Season.  The overwhelming commercialism is bad enough.  We start with a guy who preached continually about the dangers of materialism and celebrate his birthday with an orgy of materialism that props up our entire capitalist system.  Unlike the list of things Alanis Morissette sings about, that actually is ironic.

For me, though, the real nightmare is the music.  Let's skip over the carols.  They're overwhelmingly schlock, and as Bob Rivers in American Comedy Network sang it, "I think I'd rather have you shove a chainsaw in my ear."  But at least they're short and have no pretensions.  I have to note, though, that one of the best of them, "Carol of the Bells", is actually the Ukrainian New Year song "Shchedryk", dating from back when New Year was in Spring.  Then New Year got moved back to January, and some Anglophone got hold of it, wrote new lyrics, and voila it was a Christmas carol.  Just another example of Christmas flopping its bloated carcass all the way across every stage it lands on.

Anyway.  The real disappointment is the classical side, where the worst is held up as the best.  Menotti's worst opera, Drivahl and the Nut Visitors, becomes his only work anyone knows.  I swear if I hear one more audience chuckle nostalgically when "This Is My Box" starts, I'm going to take a flame thrower to the place.  Crutnacker is Tchaikovsky's worst ballet.  I have to admit I have little use for dance, and ballet is definitely dance, but musically...come on.  An evening of Tchaikovsky will give you hyperglycemia, and the Second Act Endless Parade of Horribles is excruciating even by Tchaikovsky Second Act Endless Parade of Horribles standards.

And then there's Handel's worst oratorio, The Mess.  Thirty minutes of material crammed into two-and-a-half hours.  I've performed the thing more times than I care to think, both choir and orchestra.  I'll take orchestra.  At least hiding in there you can use all that down time to do something constructive, like re-reading Война и мир.  Up in the choir you have to just sit there with a pious, enraptured look on your face while you stare into the abyss.

As I do every year, I'll just be glad when it's over.