Segarini – Jolly Olde Saint Bob’s Christmas Music List and Magical Memories

Amy Christmas 1979

Amy Segarini – Christmas in Stockton 1979

I can’t remember the last time I spent Christmas with Family.

…and I can’t remember the last time I spent Christmas with my daughter…and I have never spent Christmas with my Grandkids.

…but I am spending Christmas with Amy, Tilda, and Marshall THIS Christmas…and you have no idea how incredible and wonderful that is.

The reason Amy and I have not had a lot of Christmases together is simple…but let’s start at the beginning….

photo-15916

 

 

My mother, a woman who loved children SO much she suffered through eight still-born births, never giving up hope, and, desperate to have babies, refused to believe that God, or the Force, or just the Universe itself (in its pissy, self absorbed, dismissive attitude toward this podunk, hick, mudball that was continually swarming with woefully slow-learning creatures) would not see clear to give this woman, who was bursting with love to share unconditionally with how many ever progeny she could give life to.

It was not to be.

Concerned with her sadness, and her health, those who loved her (and they were legion) finally convinced her to admit defeat, but there was still a way.

Adoption.

…and that’s when I entered the picture….

=0=

Woodrow Wilson 1st Grade

When I was in Grade School I couldn’t wait for anything. Even though time stretched out in front of me as far as the eye could see, (barring a tragic lawn dart accident or life-threatening wedgie), I had little regard for having to wait for anything, let alone do it with any sense of decorum or grace.

=0=

good-humorThere were those who were much worse than I, of course, who would break down in tears and fits waiting for the Ice Cream Truck to finally roll to a stop and its window to slide open to reveal the Ice Cream man, resplendent his white shirt and pants, with a jaunty bow tie crookedly wrapped around his neck, and cheap whiskey on his breath. …but waiting for the bell to ring, or the Ice Cream Truck to open for business paled when it came to one thing that made every kid I knew bat-shit crazy…

Waiting for Christmas morning.

=0=

Having to wait an entire year for Christmas is the equivalent of water-boarding to a 6 year old kid with a pure and unsullied sense of time. If it isn’t NOW, it is too long to wait. Now that simple fact of life has been given a couple of different names and there are lots of drugs you can buy to treat being young and wound up.

anigif_enhanced-17913-1408664956-3

They have scarier names and connotations now, like ADD, OCD, AOL, WTF, and RUFKD-UP, but let’s call them what they are…enthusiasm, lack of focus, and zero patience, and the unbridled, unharnessed, unlimited supply of energy inherent in prepubescent children who are equipped with a lightning-quick metabolism, and enough sugar from the bowl of Atomic Sugar Lumps they had for breakfast to run Dad’s wood-chipper for a year. For most children, they were phases you used to be able to grow out of without concerned looks from mom, dad, your teachers, and the doctors with furrowed brows and dreams of a new powerboat, who looked at you like you were in need of a bucket full of Son Sleepytol or Daughter Downers. Some honest doctors kid poutknow that for the most part, these are not really mental disorders that have to be treated, they are normal behaviors in adolescents that were usually cured by a swift boot to the butt, or more attention from Mom and loss of privileges if you scream “I DONWANNA! for 10 minutes at the top of your lungs at Aunt Betty’s funeral, or write PENIS on the side of Dad’s brand new Beemer with a claw hammer.

Thanks to people who are just too damn lazy to raise their kids, and the PC crowd who will have your ass in jail if you try to straighten out your kid yourself, they are uncontrollable, because there are no borders set for them…and no consequences if kid with lighterJunior lights a fire in the middle of the living room floor. And if you let them out of the house without a Minion themed kiddie phone, medicalert bracelet, dorky looking titanium bicycle helmet, shin and knee guards, and completely covered in bubblewrap, and one of those nosy, usually childless, self-righteous ninnies happens to see them while looking through your garbage in search of an empty pack of rolling papers or an issue of Enormous Butts and Ta-Tas, you get your ass thrown in jail, Fido goes to Animal Rescue, and the kid is placed in a foster home 1200 miles away. Of course, if you add pulling the wings off flies and tying the cat to the bumper of mom’s mini-van, well then, yeah…you might want to make an appointment for Junior down at the clinic. Still, I do not know anyone I grew up with who didn’t snap out of it on their own by the time they hit high school with the help of a stern lecture or a mom or dad administered paddled butt, but then of course, parents could actually do ‘hands-on’ parenting and teach little Drake or Miley that acting out at the Grocery Store will not be tolerated. We grew up much less entitled than the current crop of snot-nosed little Prince and Princesses taking selfies and staring at their phones while sitting in the Elderly and Disabled seats on the TTC, because the sign informing them of that doesn’t have a “Like” button and why should they read something if it isn’t on their phone? Just for fun, how many serial killers, mass murderers, rapists, violent thugs and foul mouthed trouble makers did we have when you could discipline your kids, spend time with them, listen to them, and let them know they can ask you anything tell you focusynanything, and that you love them and are there for them, and guide them as best you can by being honest and communicative. Most of them grew up into pretty good people as I recall. Everyone I know that made it through to, and beyond middle age, learned the hard way, good, solid parenting, a life of their own, and not through chemistry.

Now…where were we…uhh…right…Christmas!

=0=

Waiting an entire year between Christmases was brutal, but with so many distractions throughout the year, you rarely had time to think about what would be under the tree in December.

Eventually, however, you would be slapped awake unexpectedly when you least expected it (see what I did there?). In the car with your folks, watching TV, listening to the radio, in an elevator or a department store. The reminder would always stop you in your tracks, a deer in headlights, the horror dawning so vividly, your eyes opened twice as wide as they normally could go.

You knew.

You knew the waiting and anxiety and frustration was beginning again. What was this 55128264-angry-cartoon-christmas-musichorrible event, this herald of insomnia, anxiety, and obsession?

It had many faces, many names. One year it could be pretty, one year loud. One year it could be Bing or Frank, Doris or Nat…eventually (Horror of Horrors) it could became a clutch of fucking Chipmunks or The Little Drummer Boy, the Nadir of the Christmas Clarion Call.

Christmas music. Holly. Candy Canes, a Santa on every street corner, mom in the kitchen baking herself silly…here we go…Let the Waiting begin.

=0=

When Amy was born, my Mother was so excited, she became Uber-Grandma within seconds, and by the time I got my scrubs off and loaded up with quarters to call everyone I knew on the pay phone in the hall outside the delivery room  to tell them I was a Dad, my Mother had beaten me to it…and this is years before speed dial.

…and the first time my Dad saw and held Amy in his hands, he lit up so bright, you could see him from the moon.

amy-and-my-dad 1

My Mother was in Montreal before the end of the next day, there for us like she always was there for the people she loved.

The next year, she began the annual gift of flying us out to California for the holidays…except I never went. Aside from not liking to fly, I was usually working, playing, recording, or just plain not up for the trip, plus it was my Mom’s time with the baby and Cheryl, and it became tradition. It was my gift to her in a way. With all my relatives in California, I got used to spending the Holidays alone, time I used to reflect on the year that had ended, and feeling a sadness that always comes to me this time of year. After my Mom passed away and Amy was married an spending time with her other family on Christmas, especially after the babies were born, my family-less holidays continued. But no more….

This year, this year I will be with my daughter and the grandkids for the first time since Marshall and Matilda were born. A truly Merry Christmas for me, and hopefully, a tradition that will continue for many years to come.

amy-marshall-tilda-goin-to-ago-go-cropped

Before we punch play and turn up the speakers, here is a column containing stories from other columns, which I have included in THIS column, making THIS column, The Turducken of Christmas Columns!

You’re welcome.

=0=

This column originally ran back in 2011 and contains articles written in 2008 and 2009. The holidays have always been kind of a tough time for me emotionally, but they have also been the scene of some of my fondest memories. Seeing as how our Monday contributors are out engaged in fist fights over the last 3D 4k 120 inch LG Flatscreen and Coffee Maker in the store, I thought I’d post this slightly updated relic for all to enjoy. Pop a Rum Ball and replenish the Nog…Christmas Time is Here Again….

Once again, it’s that time of year I dare not go near a radio. I don’t normally turn one on myself (too many memories, too much heartache) but when November rolls around the pain goes up a notch. From then until the first week of January, I have to be careful not to go anywhere that someone else has turned one on. Why? Because Christmas songs in the wrong hands are like giving lawn darts to an 8 year old; someone is going to get hurt.

Thankfully, it hasn’t gotten as bad as it could be, at least not yet. I have nightmares of being trapped in a room with a radio that has no on-off button that spews out Christmas song after Christmas song, always thewrong versions of the classics (Alice Cooper: Santa Claus is Coming to Town, Some Metal Band: White Christmas) or a new song celebrating the birth of Christ (Family Force 5: The Baby) orSnoop Dogg’s immortal A Pimp’s Christmas Song. Normally, I am a big fan of Mr. Dogg, but here when he intones the holiday spirited desire to “crack a bitch” for Christmas, I have to draw the line. Is this a trend? How many more Christmas’s until we hear MC Santa C’s “Buyin’ Bling Fo’ My Bitch”, or Lil Jailbird ft. MC Crackhead’s “I’ll Be Home For Mother Fuckin’ Christmas”?

=0=

I remember being home in Stockton for Christmas and showing a VHS video of a television show I had done to some of my black friends, when the Leon’s Furniture Store’s Christmas ad came on during one of the commercial breaks. When the announcer intoned the classic line, “Mo’ Ho fo’ Less Dough”, they started laughing so hard I thought some of them would have heart attacks. They were still laughing when I left the party.

Worse still are some of the Diva’s recordings of Christmas classics. I literally break out in hives when some of the more ‘unbridled’ of them strive to hit every note they can while searching for the melody. It’s like an aural version of pin the tail on the donkey, except the only blood shed is from my ears.

Thank God there aren’t a passel of CDs and songs released celebrating Easter, the 4th (or 1st) of July, or Thanksgiving. I don’t think I could refrain from going on a killing spree. Why are there so many Christmas releases? Well, Dear Reader, it’s all about the Benjamin’s. They can be re-released every year. Some will generate income for decades, most of which goes to the record company while some of the money will find its way to the artist and writers, at least to their publishers and managers. Where it gets to from there is anybody’s guess.

=0=

The rest of this column is made up of excerpts from two holiday pieces I did back in 2009. They appear courtesy of their original publisher, FYIMusic. Thanks and a Merry Christmas to Mr. David Farrell. Enjoy….

=0=

As usual, this time of year brings out the Best and Worst lists we all like to disagree with, argue about, and discuss. They’ve already started a bit early this year, just like the odd practice of radio stations playing all Christmas music 24 hours a day, 7 days a week for up to a month before Jesus gets swaddled, Santa cops your cookies, and your dad gets another tie, pair of socks, or 3 pack of Fruit of the Looms, while Mom gets a new Swiffer, or slow-cooker, and the kids get 2 or 3 thousand dollars worth of the latest technology, cell phone apps, and video games that allow them to virtually kill lots and lots of virtual people from the comfort of the family couch, instead of torturing the family cat.

The Christmas season seems to be starting earlier every year, a Hallmark Card, retail store driven avalanche so numbingly obvious and omnipresent, that by the time the actual day arrives, a day we used to celebrate with Midnight Mass, a family get together, and a real, honest to goodness Joy to the World feeling, that I can hardly wait to toss the damn tree on the fire, ornaments and all, drink something besides eggnog, and turn on the TV again without fear of another night of Charlie Brown Christmas’s, Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeers, Frosty the Snowman reruns and Christmas episode television shows that have some maudlin message attached to them as a high-five to Jesus, Santa, or for all those Grandmothers out there that send internet chain letters to everyone all year long that promise wealth, health, and happiness to the people that forward the heart warming stories of non existent little boys and girls, pictures of embarrassed looking puppies dressed as Nuns, Batman and Robin, or Johnny Depp,  old people surfing, and wet little kittens, along to 10 of your friends, who will never speak to you again if you do.

I loved Christmas when it was special. Christmas and New Year was spent at home, no school, my mother making divinity, fudge, and rum balls, salting and roasting almonds, having friends and family over for drinks or dinner, my dad bartending in the back room of his grocery store, spending time with his customers and the salesmen and farmers that supplied his merchandise, and the whole family driving over to San Francisco to look at the animated scenes in the display windows at the Emporium, City of Paris, and The White House. Failed angel Clarence got his wings only once, because “It’s a Wonderful Life” was an event, usually shown on Christmas Eve, and not 3 times a day on 17 different stations for weeks at a time.

Let’s face it, Christmas is for kids…and, if you or the negative people in your life haven’t had him or her strangled, suppressed, or denied, the kidin you.

The Kid In You is very important. He or she is that part of you that allows you to be optimistic in the worst of times, have hope in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, laugh at your own foibles, mistakes, and whatever current kettle of fish you’ve gotten yourself into, and deal with the obstacles that life tends to throw in front of everything we hope to accomplish. In other words, without your Inner Child, Christmas can be a depressing, soul wrenching exercise in regret and self-recrimination, another year gone by and what have you done to better the quality of life for you, your family, and others. If you can keep your bearings until New Years, the checklist gets put away, and a new year, complete with a fresh start, opens up like a door into summer. Another year, and another chance to make yourself, and your world, a little better.

Until then, however, this time of year can be tough sledding for some folks.

‘They’, (whoever ‘they’ are), keep saying the economy is on the upswing, that things are improving, and that everything is going to be just fine, but I don’t think that this good ‘news’ is affecting anyone I know. Even my rich friends…aren’t.

My Dad always used to say that if you can’t have a good time without money, you won’t have a good time with it.

I used to think he was nuts when he said shit like that.

Now of course, I realize that the odd things my dad used to say weren’t nuts at all. I was just too stupid to understand the wisdom he was trying unsuccessfully to impart to me. My father, as usual, was right.

So this Christmas season, keep my father’s words in mind. We don’t need money to have a great Christmas. We need family and friends, a good sense of humour, and a grasp of why this should be a joyful time of the year. We celebrate a miracle that occurred not in a mansion, but in a manger.

So don’t feel guilty or inadequate because the wine comes in a cardboard box this year, the turkey dinner is a handful of fish sticks and some oven baked frozen french fries, because the cards and presents will be lovingly hand made, destined to become cherished treasures, kept and rendered dog-eared, from opening and looking at them for the rest of your life.

It will be a Christmas fondly remembered for the same reasonany Christmas is remembered…for the people you share it with, and the love you feel for one another. You probably don’t even remember what you got for last Christmas, but that’s okay. Great memories last a lot longer than a pair of socks, a Swiffer, or a video game. Count your blessings, not your gifts.

Have a merry Christmas, and to all you politically correct folks, Happy Holidays.

=0=

And now, some Holiday Memories…

Holiday Memory Number One…

Yesterday I saw a homeless guy in a Santa hat passed out in a doorway. He had a light dusting of snow on him and was running in place, like he was dreaming about chasing a car. I stopped for a second, wondering if I should wake him up because the wind was kicking up and it was getting really cold. I needn’t have worried. Just about the time I had decided to give him a tentative kick on the bottom of one of his running shoes, a very attractive woman in her 30’s came around the corner carrying two cups of coffee, pulled up short and yelled at him.

“DAD!!!”

The old guy sat up with a start and blinked himself awake. “Dammit, Punkin’, you scared the shit out of me.”

I quietly hoped he wasn’t being literal.

Then his daughter noticed me standing there. “What are you looking at?”, she challenged. “Uhh…I thought he might need to get out of the cold before he gets sick, or uhh…maybe find a shelter…homeless people have frozen to death when it gets really co…” She looked at me like Homer looks at Ned Flanders. ‘What are you, a fucking Boy Scout? He’s not homeless, he’s drunk. I had to pick him up at his office party because his secretary called me and said if I didn’t, she was going to shove him out a window. Same thing every year. He throws a party for his staff, gets drunk, and ends up making a fool of himself and pissing everybody off.”

“Oh.”, I said, chastised. “I thought…”, She stopped me with a look that made me afraid of her. “Don’t think, just help me pick him up, or hold the coffee.”

I helped him to his feet. “Thanks Carl, nice job this year, fine job”, he said.

Who the fuck is Carl?

She handed him one of the coffees and gave me a cursory ‘thanks’, took her father by the arm, and guided him down the street past me. “Merry Christmas”, I shouted at them through the wind. “Whatever”, she shouted back, and they walked down the block. Well Screw-iddly you-diddly, I thought. The old man started singing Jingle Bells as they disappeared from view.

I wished I was that drunk.

Holiday Memory Number Two…

New Years Eve, 1969. Roxy had just finished a set somewhere in Hollywood, and we were on our way back to our house in Laurel Canyon to party and welcome the new decade. We stopped at Hugh’s Market on the way to buy some alcohol, chips, and dip. It was about 11:30, plenty of time. I grabbed a bottle of Jack and a jeroboam of cheap champagne. The other guys were running around getting their favourite libations and I got in the line.

The line was long.

While I was standing there, I reflected on the year behind us like I do every year. It had been a hectic one. My life had changed completely in the last 12 months. A long time relationship had ended, (she ran off with my dope dealer), and a new one which would last almost 30 years had begun. I no longer lived in Stockton, but in the Hollywood Hills, and I was on a new label, had a new band, and a new LP. The great Charley Manson Scare had finally died down, Nixon hadn’t blown us all to smithereens yet, and, after a year of turmoil and change, things were looking pretty good. I smiled.

The line lurched forward.

I looked behind me. The line now stretched into the baked goods section of the store. A couple of the guys waved to me from the tail end of it. I motioned them to join me up towards the front. They declined. Apparently they had had their lives threatened when they tried to move up behind me when they first got their booze.

The line inched forward and I went back to daydreaming.

I thought about touring again, about recording another album. I remembered nights out with friends that were becoming famous, and wondered if we were going to join them in the new year. I remembered that a year ago, when everything had fallen apart, I felt like nothing good would ever happen again. It was a familiar feeling this time of year.

I was almost to the front of the line.

It will be nice to start the year surrounded by good friends, celebrating, and looking forward to the opportunities ahead. Great way to start the new year, I thought. It bodes well. They say that your surroundings and company at the stroke of midnight usually predict the year, or in this case, the decade, to come.

I got to the check out and put my purchases on the counter. As I did so, a great whoop went up from behind me. I heard noisemakers. I looked up. Both hands on the clock over the cash register pointed straight up.

1970.

I am starting the new year and decade in a liquor store, surrounded by drunks.

Holiday Memory Number Three…

New Year’s Eve, 1986…

Unless I was playing, I usually liked to stay home on New Year’s Eve, because I always had believed that it was the night all the amateurs drank. I had seen things at New Year’s Eve gigs that…well…no one should ever have to see. This year, however, I figured we could go out and have a great time, safe in the back of a rented stretch limo. Cheryl and I were going to a big party and making the rounds, and I had hired a limousine to pick us up and take us around town in comfort and safety. It pulled up in front of the house, and we carefully walked down across the lawn to the street. It had been snowing, then raining all day, but the rain had stopped several hours ago and the sky had cleared. It was, however, very, very cold.

AAA Cheryl 1984I was wearing a suit and a nice, warm overcoat. Cheryl looked absolutely beautiful in her favourite dress and an awesome fur coat my mother had given her. We looked like we could have been on the cover of Vanity Fair. Especially Chuck…she looked amazing.

We reached the limo. Feeling chivalrous, I waved the driver back inside the car, and opened the rear door for Cheryl. I bowed behind the door, closing my eyes for just a second.

She took one step and disappeared from view.

Like magic.

Like David fucking Blaine.

I looked around. She was nowhere to be seen. I looked behind me, in front of me, back up towards the house, and over the roof of the car.

No Cheryl.

“Bob?”, Cheryl’s voice. Ethereal. Distant.

“Cheryl?”

“Bob?” Cheryl’s voice again sounding far away, yet close, somehow. Now, I’m beginning to think there had been a rift in the space-time continuum, and she had fallen through it into a parallel universe.

“Where are you?” I asked, my skin tingling in anticipation of a religious experience, or possible alien abduction.

“I’m right here,” came her muffled response, “Help me.”

I looked down. Sticking out from under the limo were the high heeled shoes she was wearing.

“I see your shoes”, I said, wondering if your clothes fell off when you passed into the other universe.

“They’re still on my feet. Help me, dammit!”

I looked again. It was dark. My eyes focused.

Yep. She was under the car. “What is she doing under there?” I thought to myself.

I leaned down and took a hold of her feet. She slid out from under the limo easily, kind of like a puck on an air hockey table.

No magic.

Just ice.

I knew if I laughed, I was a dead man.

Holiday Memory Number Four…

Christmas, 2008…

Pie and I had been laid off on the same day back in April. We had used the last of our savings to pay December and part of January’s rent.

Our last few Christmas’s had been a lot of fun, with each of us buying the other lots of little gifts, going out to dinner, or having our friends who were without family over for a big dinner and party. This year would be different.

On Christmas Eve, Pie made her usual trip to Mississauga to have dinner and visit with her grandparents, her dad, and her mom, open presents with them, and then come home and beg me to let her open a present. This year, there were just a couple of small gifts, and we decided to wait until morning.

Pie had put decorations on the fake trees I’d bought years ago for an old apartment that now resided in our kitchen, and hung pictures of Minnow and Bagel on the tree in little frames on ornament hooks. She displayed the Christmas cards we had received in and around the large room where our office, dining room, and kitchen were located. She would bring doggie bags back from her families homes, and we would have a nice dinner Christmas day.

In the morning, she woke me up around dawn, just as excited as she always is at Christmas, giggling and laughing, a bright and shining light in what had been a very difficult year. We made coffee, talked, and played with the kitties until she could wait no more. We exchanged gifts.

Later, we would eat a fine meal made from last night’s leftovers, and spend the day and evening talking and cracking wise, our worries put aside for the time being, and comforted by each other’s company.

Tonight, when I started to write this, Pie was sitting on the couch watching TV and I asked her what we got each other for Christmas last year. She couldn’t remember.

Neither can I.

We can’t remember what we had for dinner either.

Pie looked over at me and, with wisdom far beyond her years, said simply, “We had each other, that’s all that’s important.”

She is right.

As we face another potentially difficult year like so many other people, what she said resonates with truth. We have family and friends, Minnow and Bagel, and most importantly…each other.

Looks like another fine Christmas to me.

=0=

And so it goes.

Looking back over these old stories, I am reminded that Life Goes On (Obli-Di Obli-Da). The relationships remembered here both dissolved and all parties moved on. The memories, however, will always remain.

I am thankful for the time spent with these wonderful people, and I couldn’t be happier for them and the partners they found to share their lives with. So, to the sweet, caring, patient, deserving Cheryl, and the loving, supportive, caring Tom, and the sweet, funny, bright and talented Jade and the talented, sweet, and caring Ruslan…Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. May your love and lives together continue to bring joy and happiness for many years to come.

…and now…

Back to the Future for some fine Holiday Musica!

=0=

December 2015

It is an eclectic list, to be sure, and not for everyone, but it is from Me to You and shared in the spirit of the Holiday season.

I love music. It can be the greatest gift of all, or a screeching aural water-boarding or a maudlin nap-inspiring Nyquil for the ears, depending on where your taste lies when it comes to raising the hair on your arms, making your pants tight, or filling your heart with feels. There may be something for you here, or not, but out there, somewhere, like Jimmy Hoffa’s body the Malaysian Airplane, or a decent craft beer, there is music that will soothe the savage breast or ignite the loins. Go find it if it ain’t here. It is ALWAYS worth the effort.

=0=

Our Favourite Little Elves/Santa’s Helpers and Benched Reindeer play the Ghosts of Christmas today, beginning with Phil the Fill, The Stormin’ Mormon,  The Little Drummer Boy Hisself….

Xprime – Christmas with Phil

They had a hit with “Cool Kids” and I fell in love with these 4 siblings who ranged in age from 15 to 21 when they recorded this. The lyrics were written as a poem in 1863, and set to music in 1872. This is my favourite version.

Take that, Max Martin and your 2300 co-writers.

Echosmith – I Heard the Bells On Christmas Day

Not only is she the forgotten Catwoman from the Batman TV series, she OWNS this song. Madonna, and all the others, in trying to mimic this sensual purrr, only prove Ms. Kitt’s innate and and real sensual, sexual power. Sorry girls…this is a woman who is sexy without trying and ending up looking like Honey Boo Boo got into mommy’s makeup and whore closet in the process.

Eartha Kitt – Santa Baby

Fucking Luthor. Gone too soon and on the same cloud with Marvin, Sam Cooke, and Danny Hathaway. Kanye? Drake? Weeknd? Bitch, Pleeeeze!

Luthor Vandross – Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Luthor Vandross – A Kiss for Christmas

Oh look! Our second Ghost, Steph and Fetch-it, The Tesla of Tunes, The Wizard of Wired, steps up with a re-write of the Owl City earworm and charms us like a kitty in a Santa hat.

Xprime – Christmas with Steph

Harmony. Country. Brilliant Classic Song. Hotel Lobby. Hell Yeah!

Rascal Flatts – I’ll be Home for Christmas

My sweet and insanely talented Arn-Horn twins, and the talented, stunningly cool Brandon (who replaced the hip, talented David who is playing in this smokin’ clip with Mercedes and Phoenix) should break through this year…(but I don’t care how long it takes, they will), offer up the standard you just heard Rascal Flatts do, and prove that a GREAT song can be interpreted by any artist in any genre and be just as wonderful in all of them.

Courage My Love – I’ll Be Home For Christmas

The Doo-Wop version of the Christmas chestnut goes nose to nose with Der Bingle’s classic recording and makes the song bop and weave. The ’50s Boy Bands still touch my rock and roll soul.

The Drifters – White Christmas

You don’t like Boy Bands? How can you not LOVE this? …and every note you hear are their voices. Ain’t an instrument in sight except these incredibly gifted artists.

Naturally 7 – Christmas Medley

A sad time of year for some of us. Away from friends and family, the loss of a loved one, it can be a difficult time. Vince Gill, whose voice is transcendent, mourns the loss of his brother and in doing so, helps you mourn our losses in 2015.

Vince Gill – It Won’t Be the Same This Year

James is so important to me for so many reasons. His voice, his calmness and spirituality, and his unique and wonderful way of playing guitar defies imitation.

James Taylor – River

YAY! Our last Christmas Ghostie comes front and center. It’s The Real Neil, The Neil of the Feels, The Curly Haired Viagra of Niagara, The Ace of Bass, the love child of Harpo and a Minion whose wan yet maniacal smile reminds us of Ringo and Harpo, leads us into the stretch. Take it away, Kid Carson….

Xprime – Christmas with Neil

Brian Wilson found their music and was inspired enough to gift us with The Beach Boys, and re-gifted the world with the harmonies brought forth by this legendary and seminal group. This clip is not the originals, but the name and the sound live on. Incidentally… they started out as yet another boy band

The Four Freshmen – Walking In a Winter Wonderland/Christmas Time is Here

I was shocked years ago when I was tasked with finding the best version of this classic for a corporate Christmas Party. If you know me, you know I am not a fan of this talented woman, but even up against 2 dozen versions, including the author’s (Mel Torme) and Nat King Cole’s…hers was the most soulful and ethereal. Still is.

Celine Dion – The Christmas Song

My Adele. My Favourite. My goodness, why isn’t this next artist the success on this side of the Atlantic that she should be. Maybe her North American tour will change that.

Rumer – Maybe This Christmas

…Because Santa has to dance and we don’t want him to lose his groove.

Chance, Travis, Walker, and Nate – Christmas Funk

Daryl Hall is truly an American treasure. His talent and ear for music and other great artist’s talent is undeniable. Christmas at Daryl’s House….

Hall and Oates – Take Back Christmas

Laugh if you want, but K-Pop, South Korea’s Virgin Radio/Pop Music/Max Martin genre is more melodic, charmingly written and infectious, without being smarmy, overly sexual, or embarrassingly desperate. Miley and Nicki-free music for young girls and boys that sends a message of both fun and class, and style and finesse. These girls get an education, a career, and all learn at least 3 languages during the course of their schooling. Also…dancing.

Girls Generation – Dear Santa

Girls Generation – Dear Santa (English Version)

I have included the entire seasonal album from my absolute favourite group of my absolute favourite players. This just effortless, A-list music and musicians, and perfect as background music for your Christmas dinner, or cranked up afterward so you can hear how wonderful these players are.

Fourplay – The Complete Snowbound Album

…a little gift for my guitar playing friends…

James Taylor wishes us all a Merry Christmas, and as a gift to my guitar playing friends, he teaches you how to play God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. Seriously cool.

…and another little gift courtesy of Peter Kashur and the Boys in the Band…

Sadly, there exists not one Christmas song by Rival Sons, Dirty Loops, or Saint Paul and the Broken Bones. Maybe next year….

=0=

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everyone!

Be Safe and Be Well. …and be Happy.

=0=

Segarini’s column appears whenever Joanie Loves Chachi

Contact us at dbawis@rogers.com

Bob “The Iceman” Segarini was in the bands The Family Tree, Roxy, The Wackers, The Dudes, and The Segarini Band and nominated for a Tilda January 2015Juno for production in 1978. He also hosted “Late Great Movies” on CITY TV, was a producer of Much Music, and an on-air personality on CHUM FM, Q107, SIRIUS Sat/Rad’s Iceberg 95, (now 85), and now publishes, edits, and writes for DBAWIS, continues to write music, make music, and record

One Response to “Segarini – Jolly Olde Saint Bob’s Christmas Music List and Magical Memories”

  1. great read Bawb. But you left out Christmas at Wackering Heights. The one when Cheryl, Cherie and I made cornish game hens. We had a gigantic Christmas tree that we took off of a high school stage at one of your gigs. We did not steal it but asked if we could have it and they gave it to us. Remember Steve and Tim putting it in on top of the equipment? Remember Jan’s infamous dance in the living room. We got a huge Hersheys bar and frozen steaks from Jac Holzman. I think that was the night that Cherie and Mike had a fight and broke all the glass in Cherie’s room. Cherly and I dressed up in vintage clothes and Fasion took a picture of us with the candy bar. It was a very high time.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: