And so today’s moment of happiness despite the news.
One of my favorite Christmas albums is the David Foster’s The Christmas Album. In fact, other than Trans Siberian Orchestra’s The Christmas Attic, I don’t think I own any other Christmas albums.
I saw David Foster’s Christmas Album first, as a television special in 1993. It’s a stellar performance of incredible vocal stars, and I was thoroughly enjoying it, until Michael Crawford came on and sang “Oh Holy Night”.
I adore Michael Crawford. And “Oh Holy Night” is my favorite Christmas carol. I was smitten, and bought the album. The first year I had Spotify, because my new car, a 2018 Chrysler 300S, didn’t have a CD player, I downloaded the album. I generally play it the entire month of December, including when I’m wrapping presents, and “Oh Holy Night” always gets hit with replay, replay, replay, replay. I sing until I am hoarse.
This year though, I didn’t hit play on The Christmas Album until today. As I listened to the album while driving back and forth on errands and appointments, I hummed along. Until I got to “My Grown-Up Christmas List”, sung by Natalie Cole. This song has a habit of making me choke up, but I usually listen all the way through, and sing where I can force my voice out through a clogged throat.
Today, I made it to the line, “And love will never end,” and I hit the pause button so hard, my car veered.
Okay. So this year, I won’t be listening to that song. This year, I’m not a grown-up with a Christmas list. I am old, or at least, I feel older than I ever have, and if I had a Christmas list, it would hold an impossible wish. Sorry, Natalie. We shall not duet this year. I am more than a little tired of crying.
When I hit play again, I immediately smacked the little arrow that makes it jump to the next song. And then I took a deep breath and began to hum.
When “Oh Holy Night” came on, I had just come back to the car after picking up a few things at the grocery store. I started the car, put on my seatbelt, and then heard the opening strands. I sat back, my car still warm from the previous trips, and listened.
When I was a kid, my favorite Christmas carol was “We Three Kings”. I loved the rhythm of it, and the alliteration (field and fountain, moor and mountain…), and just the idea of these three kings wandering around after a star. The anticipatory start of the refrain, the long-held and boisterous “ooooooOOOOOOOH!”, always put me in mind of a song sung by happy people at a party, and later, when I was older, at a bar.
Then, Christmas, 1978, I was sitting alone in my room, watching the Carpenters’ Christmas Special on my small black and white portable television. Richard Carpenter came on and played “Oh Holy Night”, accompanied by an orchestra. It was the first time I heard Richard Carpenter on his own, not accompanying his sister, but just throwing himself into the piano.
I was spellbound.
And from that point on, “Oh Holy Night” was my favorite. Whoever is performing it, I hear Richard Carpenter’s fingers flying over the keys, and I see him beaming as he reaches the emotional peak in the song.
So today, a day when I finally played my favorite Christmas album, and I couldn’t listen to, let alone sing, “My Grown-Up Christmas List”, I closed my eyes and sang my heart out with Michael Crawford, and heard Richard Carpenter playing with us both. I mean, I belted it. I didn’t care who was around me.
It is amazing how music can tear our hearts out. And it’s even more amazing how it can lift us up.
(By the way – I am totally butchering “Silent Night” and “Here We Come A’Caroling” in my piano lessons right now. The pets are all leaving the room again, though Cleo, at least, stayed on the stairs today. I will never ever ever be a Richard Carpenter. But that’s okay too. He will never be me.)
And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.