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!

East Lansing Rain

by Thomas M. Pender

A true story from my college days . . .

I must be a poet to do this during a storm

                  God, I need to learn to play the guitar

                  And pull it out at times like this

But I lay a blanket by my window

And watch

The headlights the windshield wipers the lightning the thunder

I put on Elton John

And I smile

I hear screams

Happy screams and laughter

I peer into the gray rain

And I see a young man in shorts

Carrying his lover on his back and running

And he slips on the wet grass

They fall

Tumble over one another

And laugh harder

I hear curses

Angry curses and mumbles

I look into the gray rain

And I see a young woman in a wet and wilted dress

Carrying her books and her broken umbrella

And she slips on the wet grass

She falls

And the books scatter and the umbrella flies away

And she rolls on her back

And bursts into laughter

As the rain dances on her face

The rain slows

The rain stops

And the world that existed during the storm is gone

A shame

written by t. michael pender  12/28/86

copyright 1986 T. Michael Pender.  All rights reserved.

I Remember You

This was a poem I wrote for a college course.  We had to write one poem per week, in a style that was pre-arranged for that week.  This was my epigram poem.  The idea was to take a line from a novel, song, poem or other artistic piece, and base an entire poem around the line.  I chose a great line from a favorite song off a favorite album of a favorite singer of mine.  The line contained so much potential backstory in just a few words, and I was able to easily build an entire situation -- complete with characters, history and emotions -- from just the one line.

 

I Remember You

“Beneath these branches, I once wrote

such childish words for you.”

- Elton John

I remember you

No really

You’re that one who once--

Well, you used to tell me you loved me, anyway--

And now you sit at the other end of the kitchen table

looking at your watch and you lie on the other side of

the bed

Awake

And you don’t look at me anymore.

I mean you look at me but you don’t . . .

Well, you don’t see me anymore

And you don’t hear me and you can’t listen because

you can’t hear me and I mumble and scream and throw things

and I . . .

Remember:

There was this woman once . . .

Okay there was this girl once who used to laugh and smile

and sing and tell me how her day was and ask me how mine

was and she would say why don’t we take a vacation or why

don’t we lie in bed all day long

Together?

And you’re the one I walk around now who gets in my way

who tells me I’m no good who can’t cook a hamburger to

save her life who never tells me I’m good-looking or

I turn her on or hey baby I’d love to rip those clothes

right off your body

Like you used to

(And you used to!)

You used to love my songs that I used to

write for you and you used to tell me I was the most

romantic man alive and I was all yours and you wouldn’t

give me up for anything and oh honey sing that song again

you know the one about how much you love me love me love me . . .

What do you mean that's the problem?

written by t. michael pender  1/88

©1988 T. Michael Pender.  All rights reserved.