“Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call” and Other Non-Festive Holiday Songs
BY CHARLOTTE HASS
With December comes the early morning chill, seasonal hot beverages, and Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” whistle-toning straight to the top of the Billboard charts, but for those apathetic to the impending holidays, these annual festivities leave much to be desired. And, though upbeat Pentatonix covers spark the holiday spirit, some music lovers desire songs with a more somber take on the winter season, which, between family reunions, gray weather, and New Year’s resolutions gone stale, can bring about complex emotions.
“MERRY CHRISTMAS, PLEASE DON’T CALL”BY BLEACHERS
But you should know that I died slow/ Running through the halls of your haunted home/ And the toughest part is that we both know/ What happened to you/ Why you’re out on your own/ Merry Christmas/ Please don’t call…
Bleachers seems to understand this better than anyone. On November 13th, the band, formed by American producer Jack Antonoff, released their long-awaited single, “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call,” a haunting ballad about a parasitic love that left the speaker wanting. In an Instagram post1 published on the song’s release date, Jack Antonoff writes, “This is for anyone who has come to realize someone’s been chipping away at them and does not intend to stop.” He goes on to explain that while the lyrics were inspired by something that happened to him years ago, the song was “not fit for a Bleachers album.” The song, recorded at Electric Lady Studios in New York City, is quintessential Bleachers, synth and reverb-heavy with poetic lyrics to boot. It’s perfect for anyone struggling to let go of unhealthy relationships this holiday season.
“TIS THE DAMN SEASON” BY TAYLOR SWIFT
I parked my car right between the Methodist/ And the school that used to be ours/ The holidays linger like bad perfume/ You can run, but only so far/ …We could call it even/ You could call me “babe” for the weekend/ ‘Tis the damn season…
Or, perhaps you intend to fuel the flames of a toxic hometown situationship during your days off of school or work. Maybe, unlike the speaker in Jack Antonoff’s ballad of boundaries and precautions, you’d rather throw caution to the wind this holiday season and rekindle a lost love from your high school days. The speaker of Taylor Swift’s finger-picked indie rock song frankly addresses an ex-lover. She does not care who he’s been with since they last spoke as long as he doesn’t ask for details about her past love affairs, and while familiar scenery floods her senses, so too, do rose-tinted memories of back road truck rides and small town bliss. The narrator—confirmed to be Evermore’s fictional protagonist Dorothea—will return to LA soon, perhaps to her lonely mansion in the hills, imprisoned by high ceilings reverberating her small voice and hollow successes, suffocated by sycophants invested in her burgeoning career. An equally self-effacing and self-aware plea for familiarity, “‘tis the damn season” offers an alternative perspective to the love-lust and love lost introduced in “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call.” Rather than confining youthful flames to the hearths of Chrstmastimes past, the speaker argues that “road[s] not taken” don’t lead home, but rather, to unexplored avenues with dead ends, consequences be damned. After all, it’s only for the weekend. What could go wrong?
“WINTERING” BY THE 1975
Now, stop the percussion, I wanna have a discussion/ And it’s Christmas so this is gonna be a nightmare/ I just came for the stuffin’, not to argue about nothin’/ Mark my words/ I’ll be home on the 23rd…
Hometown woes seem to be a common theme in the non-festive holiday song sub-genre. “Wintering” by The 1975 offers a tongue-in-cheek—albeit cynical—take on the conversations and ordeals one might expect during their annual visit. The speaker insinuates that while he’d rather not deal with contentious political discussions and familial drama, he feels an obligation to
his loved ones. Whereas Swift’s song entertains the prospect of a no-strings tryst, The 1975’s upbeat alternative pop song conveys the complex emotions the season evokes, dread, affection, and exasperation culminating in a compulsory pilgrimage to one’s childhood home, accented by interactions with old recurring characters. While discomfort is imminent, it is only temporary, and the speaker of “Wintering” seems resigned to ignore dinnertime disputes for the duration of his trip. Of the drum-heavy sardonic song, Matty Healy—controversial frontman of The 1975—says, “This is very much a vignette… it’s kind of about my family, and it’s kind of a Christmas song… everyone knows the feeling of getting home for Christmas and… not wanting to, but… needing to… ‘Wintering’ is just this moment of brevity, and I think it’s really nice.”
“SO MUCH WINE” BY PHOEBE BRIDGERS
I had nothing to say on Christmas day/ When you threw all your clothes in the snow/ …Listen to me, butterfly/ There’s only so much wine/ That you can drink in one life/ And it will never be enough/ To save you from the bottom of your glass…
If hometown angst isn’t your speed, Phoebe Bridgers’s 2022 EP So Much Wine offers a haunting glimpse into an abusive relationship finally gone stale on Christmas day. The titular song, track one on the six song EP, depicts a lover’s substance-induced fit of hysteria and the immediate fallout, with the chorus providing the narrator’s reflections on her partner’s destruction. Holiday freak-outs are normal (and perhaps expected); extended family and obligatory social events stir the perfect cocktail for epic breakdowns, but “So Much Wine” depicts a dynamic far more severe and brutal than that of your typical stress-laden couple come Christmastime. The speaker is a passive bystander for most of the narrative. Perhaps over-forgiving—or, more optimistically, gracefully understanding—of her lover’s ills, she stays out of his way as he breaks down and waits for him to leave before escaping their home. When she returns for her things the following day, he is still dead to the world, teeth bloody and dangerously intoxicated. The speaker’s advice to him is a caution rather than an admonishment; she even endears us to her abuser with the nickname “Butterfly,” who, above all else, she hopes will find peace. The narrator’s kindness towards her ex rounds out the song’s tragic tale; though she’s reached her breaking point, she does not mean to burden him further, for he is a plague unto himself.
“BABY JESUS IS NOBODY’S BABY NOW” BY JULIA JACKLIN
She lost the baby, the house nearly burnt down/ Baby Jesus is nobody’s baby now/ Watched him pick the pack of smokes out of the bin/ This time of year has always been so hard on him…
For those craving religious cynicism and familial angst in equal measures this holiday season, Julia Jacklin’s “baby jesus is nobody’s baby now” delivers. The acoustic guitar ballad describes a disastrous family gathering that each member tries desperately to avenge, though with the past year’s troubles weighing heavy on their backs, it seems unlikely. Though a song’s speaker is not inherently its lyricist, this one appears to be autobiographical. Of the song, a 2020 single released weeks before Christmas, Jacklin writes, “2019 was a pretty rough one for my family… I was imagining Christmas as being this time where we all came together again and took a collective breath but then the bushfires hit… it felt apocalyptic and pretty hopeless. I wrote this in my room looking forward to 2020, hoping it would be a reset.”3 The “bushfires” she refers to crackled in Melbourne at the end of 2019, and Jacklin’s family, who lived out in the country, faced the direct threat of flames, choking smoke, and a “menacing” red sun. While the song’s melancholic title and philosophically ambiguous lyrics are up for interpretation, one possible analysis would liken the claim “baby jesus is nobody’s baby now” to the hopelessness Jacklin’s family feels during their distinctly non-celebratory gathering; by stripping the holiday of its sentiments and origins, Jacklin leaves space for grief to rear its ugly head. It’s as if she’s saying, “This year sucks—it can’t possibly be Christmas.” Alternative interpretations of Jacklin’s lyrics suggest someone in her family suffered a miscarriage around the holiday season, which made it impossible for the family to celebrate the birth of a child on the 25th. Regardless, Jacklin’s evocative ballad explores one family’s complexities and their motivations to condemn the holiday season.
Whether you, like the artists mentioned, experience holiday-induced pessimism, are skeptical of the holiday season’s saccharine overtones, or simply desire alternatives to “Silent Night” and “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree,” there’s a wealth of winter songs with somber sentiments waiting to be unearthed. Bah humbug, and happy (or gloomy) listening!
