Ep. LXIX: 'The Gifts of Christmas' - Various Artists

Alright, alright. . . we got another thrift store find to dust off and subject to some audio scrutiny.

Album Title:  The Gifts of Christmas

Album Artist:  Various Artists

So, full disclosure here, I did not just pop this out of the sleeve and throw it on my turntable, folks.  I'm not a savage, give me some credit.  I picked this one up at the Bethesda thrift store a week or so ago (when I picked up that stack featuring a few of my previously-evaluated selections), and I gave each one of these sons-of-bitches a thorough cleaning on the ol' Spin Clean before dropping a needle onto them.  They were pretty gross.

The Wicker Man heralds the beginning of the Apocalypse.

So, this collection is from the 'Guideposts' people of Carmel, New York.  I have no idea what in the hell that means, but apparently this was a big deal and all, because this is an exclusive recording.  I mean, you can't just slap that name on any old album, can you?  God knows they paid out the ass for this top-tier art layout on the front cover (see right).  Check out the Wicker Man angel, for Christ's sake.  They only needed one picture for the front of this damn record, and that's the one they went with.

Maybe the music speaks for itself, so they didn't need to fork out a lot of dough on art direction, I don't know.  Let's see who exactly we're dealing with here:

Holy f***ing shit.

This is a Christmas no one alive still remembers.

You read that right, guys.  Percy Faith, Jim Nabors, Mitch Mitchell, Kate Smith.  That's like the Four Horseman of the Goodwill Vinyl Apocalypse.  I swear to God, if you go into a thrift store trying to find a diamond LP in the rough that is their moldy-smelling vinyl offerings, you're going to find each and every one of these assholes highly represented.  Wedged right in there among the Mantovani records, polka collections, church recordings, Mills Brothers, Lawrence Welk. . . you see where I'm goin' with this.

Well, these guys straight-up carpet bomb this album with shittiness.  I honestly can't see which one of these assholes I hate the most, they all sound like people pretending to sing.  Like, karaoke singing, if you will.  The arrangements themselves are of the Great Songs of Christmas variety, but lacking the Frank Sinatra and Julie Andrews talent that makes those compilations, while boring in their own right, at least somewhat palatable.

No, 70% of this album is pure garbage.  Like, 2/10 on the ol' Odyssey Rating Scale of mine, that's what we're dealing with here.  

But, then we have a couple rare glimpses of hope pop up from time to time.  A choir/instrumental medley on the third track of Side A isn't half-bad - if anything, it's generic background Christmas music.  Alas, when compared to the rest of the crap on this album, it shines like a frickin' star.  

Then, you have Johnny Cash with a track on here ('I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day'), and while it's not necessarily great (because, as I've said before, his Christmas songs rarely are), it's still Johnny frickin' Cash, and the man's mere presence on this record is enough to drag this sludge-fest up a point on its own.  Aside from him, there's a pretty soulful track from Mahalia Jackson (not sure if she's any relation to the dead child molester), who belts out a Southern Gospel-styled rendition of 'Go Tell It on the Mountain' that is way better than it should be, and, as such, stands out on this album like a sore thumb.

So, needless to say, consistency is definitely not this album's strong suit.  Honestly, I don't think it has one at all.  A dusting of songs on here are decent, most of the album is bottom-shelf, thrift store fare, and the arrangement styles are all over the damn place.  The only people who would possibly like this horrible, horrible collection are elderly people who shop daily at thrift stores, and who actually like artists like Percy Faith, Jim Nabors, Kate Smith, and Mitch Mitchell.

All the more reason for me to return this as soon as possible.  After all, there might be elderly women waddling about Salvation Army as we speak, looking for Christmas records to liven up the Hi-Fi's in their crotchet-covered living rooms.  And Christmas is a time for giving, America.

VERDICT:  4/10 - Boraphyll (A parade of Goodwill heavyweights let loose in all their shittiness, and not even Johnny Cash is enough to salvage this boring record from the dusty, mothball Hell from whence it came. . . and to where it'll be returning very shortly.)

- SHELVED -

- Brian

Ep. XIII: 'O Come, All Ye Faithful' - Kate Smith/ 'Give Me Your Love for Christmas' - Johnny Mathis

 Okay folks, be forewarned:  this one ain't gonna be pretty. . .

Album Title:  O Come, All Ye Faithful

Album Artist:  Kate Smith

Whored-up Grandma, anyone?

This may be the worst Christmas album I've ever heard.

And that's saying a lot.

No clue where I got it from, but the only reason I still own it must be due to the fact that the album cover features a hilarious, whored-up grandma on the cover.

I don't know who Kate Smith is, but I'm pretty sure that, at the time of recording, she was in her 50s.  Judging by the cover art, I'm also assuming that she's one of those 50-somethings that still dresses like she's in her 20s or 30s.  Maybe she was hot when she was younger and didn't get the memo that she's far past her prime, I don't know.

An 'ideal album,' you say?

What I do know, America, is this:  this album is horrendous.

The sound mix is juvenile, with instruments fading in and out so fast you'd think you were listening to TIE fighters screeching past your living room.  This assault on the senses is coupled with Grandma Smith's "bell-like clarity" (whatever the blue f*** that means.) I think that's the nice way of saying she 'sings pretty,' but I'd like to think that the guy that wrote the back cover notes is Kate's grandson.

Who wouldn't want to compliment their grandma's singing, even if she did sound like she was half-comatose from gargling a chubby handful of valium?

(F.Y.I. - Kate Smith sounds like she is half-comatose from gargling a chubby handful of valium.)

Anyway, I'm not only shelving Grandma Smith, but she's being Goodwill'd at the earliest possible convenience.

VERDICT:  1/10 - Ohio  (Makes me question the existence of a supreme deity)

- SHELVED -

Album Title:  Give Me Your Love for Christmas

Album Artist:  Johnny Mathis

Dottie strikes again.

Oh, Mr. Mathis. . . what the hell am I going to do with you.

This record, evidently, comes from the collection of "Dottie". . . whoever the hell that is.  Dottie has a really, really weird taste in music.

Plus, with a name like "Dottie," you know she's a crazy old lady.  Who probably lives with fourteen cats and is obsessed with porcelain figurines.

"Give me your love.  Or else."

Anyway, this album sounds a lot like Johnny Mathis' other album I reviewed earlier - mellow crooning, backed by a '60s 'swinging' soundtrack that is both accessible and forgettable.   Honestly, I don't know how the hell this guy sold so many albums back in the day.  Sure, he can carry a tune, but the arrangements we have here are sooooo boring that its hard to sit through the two sides of the record without falling asleep.

Or killing yourself.

It seems to me that the market for this kind of music - as small as it must be - is ridiculously flooded with similarly-sounding artists, and so Johnny Mathis fails to come across as anything unique, here.  Instead, while he's belting out his Christmas carols, he instead reminds one of a mega-lame version of Tom Jones.  Tom Jones sings over similar arrangements, but at least Mr. Jones sounds more alive.

Nice vest, bro.

Plus I don't think I'd want to get in a fight with Tom Jones in a bar:  the dude looks like a caveman.

Humperdinck, Whitaker, Williams, Johnny Mathis, etc. - if it sounds like women in their 70s would be flocking to it in a casino at 3pm on a Tuesday, odds are their Christmas album is going to sound like total shit.

Mission accomplished, Mr. Mathis.

VERDICT:   3/10 - Seriously? (Another shit job from Mr. Mathis. . . but he gets points for sorta sounding like Tom Jones.)

- SHELVED -

- Brian