The Curious Case of Xmas Albums

When I was a kid, my parents rented half our duplex to a lesbian schoolteacher. That arrangement went smoothly until her girlfriend’s “overnight tutoring sessions” became a bit too frequent, and she got the boot. I bring this up because this teacher once threatened to wring my neck if I didn’t stop playing the Chipmunks’ Christmas classic “Christmas Don’t Be Late” on an endless loop. Yep, I was obsessed with that song. In hindsight, I get it. Listening to Alvin and the gang whine about hula hoops 50 times in a row could push anyone to the brink.

Fortunately, I grew out of it—no more Chipmunks. In fact, I can’t remember ever buying a Christmas album, for myself or anyone else.

But here’s a thought: with all the Christmas albums released over the decades by every genre under the mistletoe—pop, rock, soul, country—do people actually buy these things? I mean, sure, every family has a few favorites that resurface each December, but who’s restocking their holiday soundtrack annually? My mom, for one, wasn’t. Every year, she’d send me to the attic to dig out the same dusty decorations and scratched-up records we’d been using since the dawn of time.

Now, the idea of giving a Christmas album as a gift is even stranger. Imagine opening “Jingle Rock ‘87” on Christmas morning—woohoo! Too bad the season’s basically over, and you’ll have to shelf it until next year. It’s like unwrapping a treadmill after finishing a giant holiday dinner: the intent is good, but the timing? Not so much.

Speaking of strange timing, let’s talk about the oddball Christmas albums out there. Ever wanted to hear Snoop Dogg rap about chestnuts roasting on an open fire? Or maybe Twisted Sister’s “Deck the Halls” headbangs its way onto your playlist?

And who could forget Bob Dylan’s 2009 holiday album Christmas in the Heart, which felt like a musical fever dream cooked up by record executives after too much eggnog.

Picture the meeting:
Record Exec: “Alright, Bob. It’s time. We need a Christmas album from you.”
Dylan: “A Christmas album? Seriously? Has my career sunk that low?”
Exec: “Oh, Bob. Jesus was Jewish, too!”
Dylan: “I’m not Christian, though.”
Exec: “Neither was Jesus.”
Dylan: “Touché. But this feels like career suicide.”
Exec: “Speaking of which, we could make you more profitable posthumously, but we’ll hold off. For now.”

Honestly, Christmas albums feel less like creative ventures and more like industry hazing rituals. “Congratulations on surviving three decades in music. Here’s your punishment: a holiday album.” If you’re lucky, you’ll come out the other side with your dignity intact. If not, well, at least an untraceable and tax-free balance transfer was made on someone’s behalf. “So jump in bed and cover your head, ‘Cause Satan Claws comes tonight.”