Let’s conclude this monthlong exploration of American Christmas carols and
songs with a comparatively shorter Book Notes by asking two different but
interrelated questions: What is the most popular American Christmas song of
all-time, and what is the best American Christmas song of all-time? Regarding
the latter, any academics reading these Notes will immediately ask, “What’s
your criteria?” Regarding the former, it’s a straight-forward quantitative
decision. As they say in sports lingo and on election night, the results are in and
you can find them at Billboard, Spotify, and even the Guinness Book of
World Records.
Spoiler alert, it’s not “White Christmas.”
Regarding the best Christmas carol or song, well, that’s a matter of taste and, as
some Roman wag said a long time ago, “De gustibus non Disputandum est,” or
“there is no disputing about taste.” You like Brussels sprouts (so do I), but many
don’t; you’re a Red Sox fan, about which the less said the better; or, well,
whatever, as was said, “there is no disputing about taste.” Still, if one is to anoint
a song the best Christmas carol ever, it seems appropriate to establish some
criteria.
First, it must be melodious, which I realize is so elementary a statement as to be
virtually meaningless. In order to avoid turning this into an exercise in
musicology, which I am not qualified to conduct, I simply mean it must be
pleasing, soothing even, to the ear. No John Cage dissonance, no hard rock
screeching. It must, in the old show business axiom, leave you humming
(preferably silently and to yourself). It must speak with appreciation to the
season, its totems and customs. That means that none of last week’s cynically
sassy songs will ever make the cut. In speaking to the season, it must make at
least a nod to the holiday’s Christian origins while at the same time
acknowledging that the holiday, almost from the start in America, has
transcended those origins to become an ecumenical mid-winter celebration of
life, family, friends, community, and a shared cultural heritage. It must be
inclusive, welcoming all to share in the season of joy.
And, lastly, it must have just the right dash of schmaltz – that sense of comfort
and security only the very best chicken-soup can dispense. It must be
sentimental, but not overly. It must stoke some hint of childhood innocence,
evoking warm memories of huddling under the dining room table waiting for the
department store Santa to read your letter on the radio. It must take you back to
that time when you still believed all the lights would turn green, when you still
believed your life would unfold just as you imagined, when you still believed
everyone you met was good and true, and the taste of newly falling snow on the
tip of your tongue was nature’s finest liquor. At its best, if only for a moment, it