Have an Existential Christmas (Circa 1965)

(Reprinted from PopKrazy)




Yessir there’s plenty of Christmas pop and rockers, do-wop-a-doers, and soul twisters. They never stop coming, every year brings more remakes and holiday pastiches and original turns, a few good uns too; the rock and pop Christmas tune never going out of sight or out of style. Had a million different favorites myself, liked ‘em serious, solemn, sexy, soulful, antic, blasphemous, tawny, jazzy, woeful, sarcastic, folkifized, solo Beatle, real Beatle, Beatle-like, corny, powerpoppish, reflective, heartfelt, satirical, rebellious, preachy, old school, trad, subversive, and even sweet.

Right now, today, this December, my current absolute fave rave, the one spinning repeatedly on my internal holiday season turntable, the current Tops of the Christmas Pops is The Sonics 1965 “Santa Claus.” It’s a propulsive and molten stomp all over the still ruddy cheeked Santa archetype, a plaintive holiday yelp with a backbeat (signaling “Farmer John”) where the lead vocalist (with a truly glorious garage rock guttural howl) asks Santa for no more than “a brand new car, a twangy guitar and a cute little honey with lots of money.” The cool daddy holiday surprise is that this early 60’s version of Santa lays the shattering truth on the entitled-mondo- boot-wearing-rebel-with-a-bleat–it’s-always-about-me-shaking-my-hair-budding-protest –kid with a stark indifference, as the dumbfounded singer exclaims in the chorus:

“And he just say nothing,

Nothing

Nothing

Nothing

Nothing

Nothing

Nothing

Nothing”

Right after the first delivery of the in-yer-face chorus sputters a pluck and warble guitar solo, engulfed in garage rock bravado, with pure torture-the-chicken fidelity, finally roaring its way into some emblematic Christmas fuzz. Who knew? The Sonics are certifiable sonorous Christmastime carolers, not only just one of the very first of the garage rock pioneers. I never really understood the great American northwest, but The Sonics are among those indigenous discoveries that help make think that that portion of this country is downright mysterious, impenetrable, pure left field baby. Like me, on this just passed-over Christmas, the Sonics fiercely just said nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing …in a Merry Christmas kinda way.