"Happy Xmas", by Eric Clapton (album)

(2018, Surfdog / Polydor)

This is Eric Clapton’s first and only Christmas-themed studio album; the question then emerges, why this album, and why now? But let’s discuss that later. For now, let’s take a look at the album.

Produced by long-standing partner Simon Climie, together with Clapton himself, the album features a number of “usual players” – i.e. musicians with whom EC has worked and toured many times, and for many years now; these include Doyle Bramhall Jr. on guitar, Nathan East on bass etc. The album also features (on some of the tracks) a choir (backing vocals - by Metro Voices) and a string orchestra (I am not sure whom they contracted for that). Furthermore, it seems that Eric Clapton’s two young daughters also contributed their voices on some of the tracks (maybe on Jingle Bells?).

Since we talked about the presence of a string orchestra, and about Simon Climie, I would note that, at least at times, the album does hearken back (for me at least) to (one of my favorite albums) Pilgrim (1998). But since we are on the topic of style, let’s talk a bit about the overall style of the album at hand. From what I understand, Clapton’s main goal was to take certain songs - standards, i.e. Christmas, jazz, or blues standards - and to inject them with a bluesy inflection (if they did not possess that already, that is); in other words, a bluesy take on more-or-less standards, which is aimed overall (one would assume) at the general public. Indeed, that is - in general – what happens on this album.

As a whole, the album is a pleasant and enjoyable listen. At the same time, what stands out most for me is how it reflects both the wide and open horizons of Clapton’s musical interests and tastes, as well as his overall musical versatility.

Let’s look then at the particular styles "represented" on this album, remembering nonetheless that as a whole the album is indeed unified by that bluesy inflection we mentioned, and that it is (most probably) aimed for general consumption.

Broadly speaking (and categorizing), one groups of songs is represented by what could be called Christmas standards with that bluesy tinge. This group includes actual seasonal standards, such as Away in a Manger, White Christmas, or Silent Night, as well as a song by William Bell and Booker T. Jones, Everyday Will Be Like a Holiday. The latter is also one of the most sing-able songs on the album, with a very catchy refrain.

On the other hand, Silent Night is for me the least satisfying song on the album (maybe together with Jingle Bells, discussed below) –  mostly because in my view this song requires, by its very nature, a light-yet-solemn, dulcet and meditative, dare I say pious approach - and most often a choir, to achieve that. Instead, we have here a steadily-paced version, with a band and backing vocals, over which Clapton ad-libs “Silent night... etc.”. It is still light, and sweet in its own way, but overall it sounds too common, and much less interesting than it could have been (and, as mentioned, less true to the nature of the tune, as I see it).

The second category of songs could be called perhaps mainstream blues-pop. This group includes For Love on Christmas Day, composed by Clapton (with Climie and Dennis Morgan); the feel and lyrics of this song (“dying a little more each day / dying for love on Christmas day”) send us back to the melancholy-blue love songs of the album Pilgrim. A lovely piece, which is also the only original, Clapton-authored song on this particular album.  

I would include in this same group two tracks that are both covers of songs written, published and sung originally by Anthony Hamilton (and that appeared on Hamilton’s 2014 Christmas album) – namely, Home for the Holidays, and It’s Christmas. Interesting choice to remake songs that have been published so recently – but another indicator of how attuned and attentive Clapton is to contemporary music and musicianship, and to younger artists. And these are well-written songs which, one must say, are better produced and sound better on EC's album, than on the original. The style of these songs is closer to contemporary R&B and soul, and reminds me of Clapton’s collaborations with Babyface in the 90s (pointing out, again, at his openness toward this genre of music - soul - as well). Home for the Holidays is also one of the catchiest songs of the album - and the one that will imprint immediately, from the first listen.

The third group of songs leans more toward a pure, raw blues feel. This includes Christmas Tears (by Sonny Thompson and R.C. Wilson), which reminds me a bit of Clapton’s mid-to-late 80s discography – especially of his live albums. It is an enjoyable electric blues piece, which I would happily listen to at a bar. Merry Christmas Baby is, of course, a classic rhythm and blues song (by Lou Baxter and Johnny Moore) - a standard within its genre, which gets here a very bluesy approach, with a distort guitar etc. But perhaps the most “bluesy” song on the album is Lonesome Christmas (from Lloyd Glenn and Lowell Fulson, exponents of the West Coast blues), which is also the most “acoustic”-sounding piece on the album. Another thing that stands out about this song is its piano-intensive instrumentation, (which I greatly enjoyed); this might be explained by the fact that it was arranged by, and features at the piano, well-known Tulsa blues pianist, Walt Richmond (now aged 72).

Another category of songs, which I’d call EDM (yes, electronic dance music!), contains only one entry, namely Jingle Bells. Jingle Bells is probably one of the most challenging songs for a musician - namely, in terms of how it can be made “new and interesting” again. This is why an EDM approach could be just what the doctor ordered; I mean – go wild, if anything! Unfortunately, this dance version is much too tame, and somewhat blandly repetitive. Yes, EDM songs are repetitive in themselves, as genre - being made of programmed beats and chords, and their repetition (broadly speaking); however, this is exactly why all EDM songs are also spiced up by certain rhythm accelerations and drum swells that create a sort of "musical peaks", and that provide them with that exciting "plus factor".

What this version does have as a special feature is the presence (sampled? actual contributors? producers?) of African artists Salif Keita and Mafila Kante. But don’t be fooled – it is not as exciting as it sounds; it’s just that they provide certain African inflections and hooks. Another interesting aspect of the track - although not related to its musical features - is that the song is dedicated to the EDM artist Avicii, who died in 2018.

Overall, and nonetheless, this song does witness to what I was discussing earlier – namely, Clapton’s wide-open interests and wildly diverse (in the best sense) musical endeavors. (I have to mention here the entire album (!) of EDM (or electronic) music that Clapton seemingly published, under a pseudonym (and I guess working again with Climie), sometimes in the 90s or early 2000s; album that I could never find, or find more about, but which I would very much like to have and to hear.)

Another group of songs could be called jazz standards – not in the sense that all these songs are themselves so well known, as to be called "standards;" but because of their “style” - of “standard classical jazz”. Both songs (as well as one included in the “bonus tracks” category below) remind me especially of the Folks Who Live on the Hill track from the Old Sock album. (Unsurprisingly, because that song - "Folks..." - is in fact a jazz standard from Oscar Hammerstein II.) Again an indicator of the EC’s wide range of interests, musically.

This choice of genre also confirms for me a certain image of Clapton, today; that of the country (rural) gentleman, living out his life, at a settled pace, in Surrey, UK. I find this image (which I think is accurate) very comforting and reassuring.

From this album, I would include in this "jazz standards" group the not very Christmas-oriented, but overall holiday-fitting love song, Sentimental Moments (yes, that famous song, by film composer Friedrich Holländer). The other song in this category would be Christmas In My Hometown, which is a cover of a song by classic country artist Sonny James; but which, with the steady, settled pace of the version on this album, fits this “Jack and Jill, the folks who live on a hill” category.

A category perhaps closely related to the above-discussed jazz standards, and including only one song from this album, could be called orchestral pop, represented here by an arrangement of the standard Have Yourself aMerry Little Christmas. In fact, in this arrangement I could easily see it on a movie's soundtrack, perhaps over the final credits of a romantic comedy.

Finally there are – or there aren’t – two bonus tracks. There aren’t, because the US version of the album does not contain them, but they can be found on the European version, and also online. As usually with bonus (unlisted) tracks, less resources were spent on producing them, which means that they are less studio-polished, which – however - can confer them a certain directness and “realness” that is attractive. The first one, ALittle Bit of Christmas Love, is a “Christmas adaptation,” lyrics-wise, of a very upbeat and enjoyable hit by Roscoe Gordon. The second song would be a good fit (as mentioned above) in the "jazz standards" category (if I wouldn’t have included it in this “bonus tracks” category). I am talking about You Always Hurt the One You Love, which is a most enjoyable and pleasant song, originally from Allan Roberts and Doris Fischer.

This being the musical content of the Happy Xmas album (and what a British title!), the question arises, again – why this album? and why now? Was it released because Clapton had something specific to say? or was it because he is bound by contract to release a certain number of albums within a certain number of years (as it often happens); or is it because he wants to release albums periodically, just as such? or was it just a tool to make money? Or is it perhaps a combination of all these reasons and factors? After all, Christmas albums are in general a surefire way to sell albums!

The thing is, I am not really interested in the answer to this question. Moreover, I find frowning over work that an artist produces “in order to live” terribly hypocritical – raising expectations from artists that we ourselves do not meet, in our own professional lives and choices. 

Why would the artist have to starve (I am not talking about EC here - but in general), especially given today’s starvation-prone artistic climate? I am talking here about the overall situation in which real musicians find themselves nowadays, with so few venues and outlets, and so little exposure available. (This, of course, is not applicable to the handful of mass-produced and industrially-promoted pop superstars. No, I am talking about real artists - blues, jazz, classical musicians.) 

Such a dismissive attitude also betrays a deep lack of understanding of the condition in which artists have always found themselves, in fact throughout history (and I am not referring only to musicians). Underlying an artist’s creative peaks and extraordinary achievements (if any) is and was the daily struggle to make a living – to find clients interested in paying for the (always expensive) artistic endeavor, and to obtain a daily source of income. This was true for Michelangelo (and the arduous fight and trials related to obtaining and maintaining the costly commissions, that had to support him for decades, and that allowed for the production of one or two of the masterpieces that we know today), as well as for Haydn (Count Esterhazy’s court musician!): for Mozart, as well as for all those musicians that you hear playing night after night at the Memphis or Nashville bars (some of the few fora actually available nowadays for earning that daily bread). There is a certain romantic view of artists as starving bohemians on the banks of the Seine – which might have been true of the Impressionists, but is not a status that any of us aims for personally – well, not for the duration. In short, the “journeyman” quality of the life of the artist is also part of that specific artistic condition (Journeyman is, by the way, an Clapton album from the 80s). This is why - to make a long story short – I am not tremendously interested, right now, in the question of “why” he made this album.

Although it does remain true... that we inherently expect from music and from art to be “true”; yes, I do expect that, as well. And music that has something to say, through which the artist intends to communicate something personal and genuine, will always occupy an elevated place, and will remain with the listener, long after the album was played - and for years to come. This closeness of art, as a means of human expression, to truth – our desire for that – remain. But, at the same time, to ignore – as said – the “journeyman” dimension of the life of the artist, comes across as both ignorant and arrogant. So let us leave it at that.

What interests me here, in this case, of Clapton’s Happy Xmas album, is (1) that this is an enjoyable album; that (2), if not filled with memorable pieces, it has a few that one listens to, over and over, with pleasure (e.g. Home for the Holidays etc.); and (3), how it reflects Clapton’s musical versatility and multifariousness (which is an aspect of him that I greatly enjoy).

Finally - and as an afterthought, almost - I do appreciate that this album contains both purely "secular" songs (i.e. holiday- and love-themed), and songs that do express and make reference to the “Christ” dimension of Christmas. This aspect is also reflective of a certain wisdom, earthly and spiritual, which I think Clapton has accumulated - and is now living on, in his settled, calm family life, in Surrey. And I like that, as it is not often that one finds (even earthly) wisdom in the realms of stardom (to the contrary, more often than not what one finds behind the glittering doors of fame is misery and tragedy). So it is somehow comforting to find – as I think it is the case – someone who has survived the turmoil and tragedies of the life in the limelight (and EC’s life has had its significant share of these), and was able to settle in a wiser, better life, while remaining an artist.

With such (perhaps) comforting thoughts, a Happy Xmas to all!

Happy Mondays: The Greatest Hits (2)

Continuing thus with our overview of the greatest hits of the famous 80s-and-early-90s band, Happy Mondays (not),

here is Dylan Moran, who for me is the foremost “stand-up comedian” of today. “Stand-up” sounds cheap, and it often is; but Moran (who is Irish) stands out, because he accomplishes this role in a way that is very close to what humor – and humorists - should, in fact, be.

On the one hand, the humorist (or the jester) is the observer that points out that the world is, actually, topsy-turvy. For that, however, he (or she) needs to have the acuity and the courage of perceiving the truth, and of pointing out that what we take for everydayness, for the generally acquiesced normalcy (the king and his clothes) is actually in an absurd and paradoxical conflict with the truth of existence (the king has no clothes). It is this conflict between the reality that we all perceive, of which we are all aware, deep down – and the quotidian compromise and going-along, or downright lie, of the generally accepted, that creates the absurd or the paradox that gives rise to laughter. This ability to see underneath, to look at the deeper layer, is what sets a true humorist apart.

Oh, but how few comedians or humorists are able to do this, and to be this! It takes a certain acuity and existential honesty that, well, not everyone has, or dares to possess.

On the other hand, Moran is also a wordsmith, a literate person, and a literary mind - a writer, in other words. His words, stories, his construction of the “jokes” can be savored as a text that is rich, multifaceted, inventive, witty; this is smart and intellectually enjoyable writing. This is why the term humorist fits him as much as that of (stand-up) comedian; only that he tells these mini-texts in front of an audience.

Here are therefore three excerpts: two from a stand-up routine (or album – Monster), and the other an ultra-short film on (how appropriately) a bitter moment from the life of a writer (regarding the latter, see also Moran's brilliant TV series, Black Books).

"The End of the Affair," by Graham Greene

[audiobook, narrated by Colin Firth]

I found this version of the (audio)book while searching on YouTube for free audiobooks, and stumbling upon audiobook “trailers” (a new genre of videos, for me) to an “award-winning” narration of Graham Greene’s book, The End of the Affair, featuring British actor Colin Firth. I have read the book before, certainly, but this perked up my attention. I was not disappointed; Firth’s reading has depth - his words and the world that he portrays have depth, they “have been lived in”. I would also say that Firth is now at just the right age to read aloud such a text that expresses a certain tiredness with existence, of having hurt and having been hurt – which is what the main character of the book exhibits and does.

It also helps that I have not read the book in a good while, and that I’ve also seen the not-so-good movie adaptation (featuring Ralph Fiennes and Julianne Moore); all of this contributed to blurring out the details of the plot, and to making me forget the tone of the book. Although I wonder if I’ve really perceived this tone before, when I read the book before - or if I did so fully. If not, that might have to do both with age – my age when I read the book vs. my age now, and also with how this tone is conveyed by Colin Firth’s reading.

And it is this specific tone that most stands out from (listening to) this book. Firth conveys it masterfully: it is weary, most of all; cynical (but not in a cheap way); spiritually bitter and angry; somewhere deep down, at the deepest levels of the self, perhaps almost crying. Of course, this is all “underneath” the text; what we hear and understand at the beginning is only (or mostly) the world-weariness, and the expressed anger of the main character and narrator of the story, Bendrix (what a good choice for his name!). After finishing the story, however, we understand what's been underneath all along, from the beginning; as the story is told in retrospective, by the person who actually lived through it, already in the tone of the beginning of the narration there are the echoes of the end - “of the affair.”

So listening to this narration brought it (the story, the book) to life in a way that I sincerely did not expect. I have been using audiobooks, for the past few years, to fill some of my long drives, and especially when coming back from hiking; yet most of the audiobooks that I have thus consumed have been on the lighter side, because I did not want to “waste” a good (or “real”) book, by listening to it (which I found, and in a way still find, to be a more superficial engagement with the text), before I actually read the text. However, listening to a book that you’ve already read works, works very well. I am referring here, of course, to real books, to real literature; e.g. one should actually "read" Dostoevsky, before “listening” to a rendition of it. (There is something about the encounter with the text, versus that with the sound of it. There are some exceptions, which I will talk about later.) Having thus listened to mostly easier fare, beforehand, (of the John Grisham kind, let’s say), the juxtaposition of that kind of writing with - well, real writing - was, although by no means surprising, still quite revelatory and informative. Yet again, it illustrated the difference between real literature (and superior actor’s craft), on the one hand – and, broadly speaking, tosh or commercial fare, on the other. The difference? - one could call it of existential depth, namely of how close the thing is to life – as lived, in its polysemantic complexity, depth and breadth, and eventual inexpressibility. 

And, speaking of “tone,” I remember that I was somewhat surprised by the tone and “position“ on which the book actually ended; I did not remember him choosing, so to speak, the bleak nothingness, the dull non-committal, the temporal limbo... at the end.

Here is a montage with short interviews and excerpts from reading sessions - to Colin Firth’s audiobook of Graham Greene's The End of the Affair:

Happy Mondays: The Greatest Hits (1)

Of course, the Happy Mondays is the prominent UK indie band of the 80s, early 90s; you might know them from hits such as Step On:

But this post is not about this band - nor will the subsequent posts be about them. Instead, Monday is probably the most appropriate day to share some great hits of comedy, or humor, or satire (these terms not being synonymous) - because, why not? If not now, then when? If not us, then who? If not here, then whence?

***
So, for today, here is a bit from a British panel show. British panel shows, as a genre, are a special beast, and a very Brit-specific one, as well. Whatever the theme, or the gimmick - commenting on the week's news, pop music, or being a simulacrum of a quiz show - they are in fact platforms for comedians, music, film, or TV stars, political figures, and other public persona, to appear in front of the public, on a constant basis, and within a - usually humorous - context. As such, they are an excellent bread-giver to the rich British stand-up scene, whose members would scarcely be able to have such constant national (and international) exposure .

One of the best such panel shows is Would I Lie To You, which is helped both by a strong permanent cast (moderator and "team captains" - Rob Brydon, David Mitchell, and Lee Mack), and by (usually) inspired selections of "team members". Over the years, some of these guests received "legendary" status, whether through specific interventions, or through a consistent high quality participation in the show - which simply means that their contributions are consistently hilarious, refreshing, and surprising (which is important, given the theme of the show).

The gimmick of the show is that there are two teams, and the members of the teams take turns to read out a story about themselves (something that happened to them), while the other team, through questioning, need to figure out whether they are telling a lie, or telling the truth. Of course, the stories (whether true or false) are designed to be outrageous, scarcely credible, or of a dubious nature.

This is one of those legendary interventions, featuring Scottish comedian Kevin Bridges - and is also probably one of the funniest things I've ever seen on TV. Enjoy! and Happy Mondays (the band)!

R. Jelinek Slivovitz (5-year old)

Rudolf Jelinek's plum brandy (aged 5 years) is one of the best plum brandys I've had the pleasure to taste, after what I consider to be the standard for this type of drink - the home-made pálinka from Transylvania (e.g. around Cluj, Satu-Mare etc.)

But what is a "plum brandy"? It is the basic variety of the fruit brandys known under various names in Central and Eastern Europe - as pálinka / palincă in the areas with Hungarian cultural influence, as țuică in some of the Romanian regions, as slivovitz (in various spellings) among the Southern Slavs (countries of former Yugoslavia), and, seemingly, among the Northern Slavs as well (Jelinek is made in Czechia).

Its closest relatives are the various wassers produced within the German cultural sphere (Kirschwasser, Zwetchgenwasser, and so on), and the French eau de vie. Also related - in terms of its taste world - are the Italian grappa, or the South American pisco, although those are made from grapes, while the brandy from Central-Eastern Europe is made from fruits: the traditional plum, but also pear, apricot, cherry etc.

Palinka (let's just use this as a generic name for these fruit brandys) is a clear, transparent drink made from fermented fruit, while the resulting liquid being double distilled. The best palinka is about 70-80 % alcohol (140-160 proof), and tastes and smells like a pure essence of fruit.

the plum variety ("Damson") from which brandy is made

And that is what sets this drink apart from what I would consider to be brutish drinks like vodka or avkavit. The best (or real) palinka is actually a fairly subtle drink, that can be enjoyed both from an olfactive and from a gustatory point of view. Its purpose is not to "get you drunk fast"; it is to be savored for its taste, and not swallowed in quick "shots" for the purpose of abrupt inebriation. At its best, it truly tastes like essence of sublimated plum - it is quite a delight! The best palinka should not be heavy, but should taste rather on the light side; it should not be weak, but should exhibit decisive strength, a punch of true essence. Palinka is best had as an aperitif or a digestive, but it can be had during meals as well - and anytime, with measure, with friends.

This is why I consider Jelinek's 5-year old plum slivovitz to be the closest to the gold standard of the drink. In both smell and taste it gets quite close to the best of them. Its aroma is clear and light plum, very pleasant, with a touch of sweetness, and perhaps just some harshness toward the end. The taste nuances are similar - mostly with sweet notes, a round taste, easily drinkable; but, again, with some harshness or heaviness after ingestion. It is this small after-touch of harshness, or roughness, that makes me rank this Jelinek slivovitz only second to the best of them. Overall, however, it is very pleasant, friendly and easy to drink, and, although with "only" 50% alcohol, it has all the strength and punch needed by the best palinka. Ah! and let us not forget, this Jelinek slivovitz is triple distilled!

Overall, highly recommended.