Monday, April 21, 2014
By Rick Johnson
(Continued from page 1)
As a DJ, Rick Johnson has endured listening to Christmas songs way too many times.
“Um, not that I’m aware of,” I said, backing away slowly.
Day after day, the Christmas aural assault continued. When I went home at night, images from the songs haunted my dreams, mixing and blending in bizarre ways. Sugarplum fairies danced to a synthesized waltz played by Mannheim Steamroller. Chestnuts nipped at my nose while Jack Frost was roasted over an open flame. Mariah Carey drove up in a sleigh pulled by Dominick the Italian Christmas Donkey, ready to take me on an endless quest to find the perfect pair of Christmas shoes (don’t even get me started on that wretched tune). It all became too much to bear.
These days, I quickly change the station the second I hear that horse start to whinny at the beginning of “Sleigh Ride,” no matter how lovely the weather might be. When I hear Bruce start to tell me how cold it’s getting on the boardwalk, I put in a CD. And I’m sorry, George Michael, but I no longer care what happened to you last Christmas. I’m done.
Unless, of course, I hear “Father Christmas” by the Kinks. That one has always been my favorite rock ’n’ roll Christmas tune, and I turn it up as loud as it can go every time. What can I say? I just can’t resist a good, loud guitar, regardless of the context. And let’s face it, a loud guitar trumps sleigh bells every time. Merry Christmas!
Rick Johnson is a Portland freelance writer.