Caroliteraoke: A Mock "Review"

by Thomas M. Pender

Last year at this time, I performed in a local Macon event entitled "Caroliteraoke."  This was a holiday version of "Literaoke," which had become a local phenomenon of folks performing literal analyses of rather ridiculous song lyrics.  Inspired by author Steve Almond's original skewering of Toto's "Africa," this comical performance practice is enjoyable to write, perform and hear.  Being Christmastime, I thought it would be timely to reprint my "review" of the lyrics in "Rubber Chicken Soup."

You don't have to be familiar with this rather obscure Elton John song to grasp the writing, just follow along and enjoy.  However, if you wish to listen to the original tune before, during or after reading, it can be found on YouTube at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iXP5OXm3v8k.

HO! HO! HO! (Who’d Be A Turkey At Christmas)

by Elton John and Bernie Taupin

An open letter to Elton John and Bernie Taupin, entitled simply “How Not To Get A Visit From St. Nicholas”:

Christmas is a time of giving.  Of joy.  Of Santa Claus.  Or, for you Brits who can’t seem to follow the superior traditions of your more successful offshoot country, “Father Christmas.”  Here’s a guy who takes it upon himself to provide all the world’s people with free gifts every Christmas morning.  To accomplish this, he must get around the world and visit every house in the span of an evening.  This is a pretty great thing.  Something that deserves thanks.

The song "Ho! Ho! Ho! (Who'd Be A Turkey At Christmas)" is NOT a great “thank you” card!  Let’s review:

Sitting here on Christmas Eve

With a brandy in my hand

Right out of the gate, we’ve established that you’re drinking.  This song was, in fact, penned and recorded during Elton and Bernie’s infamous drinking days.  So, in short, nothing we learn from you from here on out is trustworthy, or should be taken to heart.  A truly magnanimous warning.  To continue:

Oh, I’ve had a few too many

And it’s getting hard to stand

Now, Mr. Taupin and Mr. John, you have upped the ante, by informing us that you are so wasted, vertical maintenance has been breached.  Again I submit, and now with even more rigorous fervor, the two of you should not be trusted to convey accurate information.  A mere four lines into this ditty, I’m already wondering why it was written, why it was recorded, and why I’m still listening to it.  Frankly, I think it’s the giggling, babbling elves and the obviously schnockered background screechers.  I don’t know where this song is taking me, but I do know that I’m going to enjoy witnessing the wreck at the end of the journey.

Next:

I keep hearing noises

From my fireplace

I must be going crazy

Or the brandy’s won the race

I concur.  If you are, in fact, hearing noises from your fireplace – and we assume here that either it is not the crackle of a hearty fire, or that your blood-alcohol level has reached such proportions as to render you incapable of recognizing the sounds coming from a standard fireplace – that you have indeed lagged behind brandy in the Christmas Derby.  Speaking of your hops-inspired hearing impairment:

And I keep hearing

Ho Ho Ho!  Guess who’s here?

Your fat and jolly friend draws near

Ho Ho Ho!  Surprise, surprise!

The bearded weirdie’s just arrived

I say “Halt,” gentlemen.  We’ve established that the singer is home (or, at least, he believes he’s at his house) on Christmas Eve.  He is hearing someone (physically present or not) saying particular phrases.  Now, if we give enough credit to this soused troubadour, we can say he has established that it is Santa Claus’ weaker cousin Father Christmas who is arriving to distribute gifts.  To me, one of the last things one should do upon learning that someone has arrived at his house to give out freebies is to insult him!  Here, the slosher – er, the singer – has already called Papa Christmas “fat” and a “bearded weirdie,” while somehow attempting to make up for this slap in the face with a lame “jolly” tag.  Well, I don’t know about Daddy Christmas, but with the Star-Spangled Santa Claus, this behavior will earn you a healthy-sized briquette in your stocking!

On my roof there’s snorting sounds

And bells inside my head

My vision’s blurred with colour

And all I see is red

Being a literature buff, I’ve always enjoyed the writing device of symbolism.  Not one to assume or accuse, nor even to imply, I do find it interesting that someone in the music business would use the word “snorting” in a song that involves, to some degree, “snow.”  Perhaps it’s not the brandy that’s causing the slosher to see and hear assorted yuletidian images, if-you-know-what-I-mean!

There’s a pair of large-sized Wellies

Coming down my flue

And the smell of burning rubber

Oh, is filling up the room

Okay, a wee bit of American translation is needed here.  “Wellies” is a common Brit term for Wellington boots, which are big, bulky, shiny black boots one could safely associate with Father Santa.  However, without this knowledge, it makes the stanza vague at best, and deliberately confounding at worst.  Was this song written with the intent to only be distributed in Merry Old England?  Or did the creators feel that foreigners didn’t deserve an explanation?  Without one, we are left to wonder why the smell of burning rubber is filling up the room!  And if you do know what it means, you are horrified by the realization that someone in the household – drunk or otherwise – has lit a fire in the fireplace, on the very night that Santa Christmas is due to drop down that particular architectural orifice.  Presents, you say?  “Like hell,” Pop Claus retorts, as he shinnies his way out of the brick birth canal to leap into his sleigh and tear out of this alcoholic’s abode!  As if to overemphasize how plastered and how ignorant he is, the singer actually repeats the insulting chorus:

And we keep hearing

Ho Ho Ho!  Guess who’s here?

Your fat and jolly friend draws near

Ho Ho Ho!  Surprise, surprise!

The bearded weirdie’s just arrived

So, as he has insulted the world’s nicest person this side of The Easter Bunny, virtually guaranteeing he will never again receive another solitary Christmas gift, he rebelliously kicks it home with more name-slinging.  Now, that takes guts!