Feeling The Season
December 04, 2017
Christmas music is emotionally damaging and a hazard to our health.
Yes, the Guardian’s signature inversion of the festive spirit has once again started to blossom:
‘Tis the season when you can recite every single word of It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year because you’ve heard it 25,671 times this morning already and, let me tell you, there is nothing remotely wonderful about the kids jingle belling and everyone telling you to be of good cheer. It’s extremely annoying.
So writes columnist Arwa Mahdawi, who, it seems, and unlike most grown women, has yet to master the controls of a music player or radio.
To bolster those eye-catching claims of musical health hazards, Ms Mahdawi cites a report sharing the hitherto unguessed-at news that round-the-clock exposure to in-store Christmas songs can irritate a significant minority of retail staff. Yes, I know. I’ll pause while you steady yourselves. However, these anhedonic tidings extend beyond mere in-store playlist repetition:
The report [notes] that 43% of people who hate holiday music think it’s too repetitive and 26%, who I imagine all read the Guardian, said they the dislike the materialism of Christmas music.
Yes, people are buying their loved ones things that they might like. How ghastly.
It’s true that a lot of festive music is extremely materialistic.
It’s a “futile materialism,” apparently.
But, worse still, a lot of it is just deeply weird if not outright disturbing. Santa Claus Is Coming To Town, for example, a classic of the genre… can be read as an early warning about the powers of the surveillance state and the pervasiveness of sexual predation.
This, remember, is written by a grown woman.
And then there’s the 1944 call-and-response duet Baby, It’s Cold Outside, which is listed by Urban Dictionary under the heading “Christmas Date Rape Song.” It’s basically a man plying a woman with booze so she can stay a little longer because, baby, it’s cold outside, “what’s the sense in hurting my pride.”
We’ve been here before, of course, and will likely be here again next year, thanks to the tin-eared dogmatism of Guardian columnists and their readers, whose urge to signal disapproving wokeness apparently trumps all else, including the songwriters’ obvious intent.
Directly below Ms Mahdawi’s reminder that she, being progressive, is above such attempts to conjure jollity and goodwill, is another reminder. Specifically:
The Guardian’s independent, investigative journalism takes a lot of time, money and hard work to produce.
I’ll just leave that one there, I think.