When my fingers pale in the cold air, supple gourds replace menacing jack-o’-lanterns and my hoodies rest atop my desk chair like a Jenga tower, I know the holidays lurk just around the corner. Yet it is not the savory smell of roasted turkey or the shimmer of red ribbon that pulls me toward this season — it is the music.
For as long as I can remember, my mother and I have promised not to listen to holiday music before Thanksgiving, dubbing the final Thursday of November as the first acceptable date to swap fall leaves for string lights. However, for as long as I can remember, I have broken this promise. In dim corners, I exchange my principles for pleasure: I indulge in Christmas music when November knocks. However, I do not mock my morals for just any themed hit — these songs speak to topics that transcend the holiday season such as desire, loneliness and dwindling memories. As such, I present four tracks that I believe should not be confined to the dark December days.
‘Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call’ (2024) by Bleachers
In Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken” (1915), the speaker stands at an intersection of introspection. As the path splits, Frost laments his inability to travel both trails. When listening to “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call,” I catch myself at a similar junction. I must decide whether to embrace the holiday season in its glistening glory of family traditions and steaming cocoa or to shy away from the months of melancholy that accompany the reminder of another year passed. I choose the latter.
The Bleachers track subverts the classic Christmas tune by juxtaposing common holiday motifs such as the soft tinkling of jingle bells and trumpets with resentful lyrics. “Oh, golden boy, don’t act like you were kind / You were mine but you were awful every time,” Bleachers sings. The delicate tension between the light tone and bleak narrative imbues the track with a peculiar nostalgia — one unique to the holidays. Between crowded family dinners and gift exchanges, the cold draft brings somber realizations: January beckons yet again, memories fade and once-reserved seats rest unoccupied.
“Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call” captures the ache of the holiday season in its evocative chorus addressed to a former friend: “And the toughest part is that we both know / What happened to you / Why you’re out on your own / Merry Christmas, please don’t call.” If you are like me and this melancholy strikes long before December, “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call” offers the perfect salve until the holidays definitively arrive.
‘So Much Wine’ (2022) by Phoebe Bridgers
Like Bleachers, Phoebe Bridgers knows where to find heartache during the holidays. While the rock band dissects the past, Bridgers contemplates the present. “So Much Wine,” originally recorded by the Handsome Family in 2000, details the destructive nature of alcoholism and how this addiction tarnishes the gilded holiday season. “I had nothing to say on Christmas Day / When you threw all your clothes in the snow,” Bridgers begins. The poison of addiction contrasts the purity of snow as methodic guitar picking underscores the solemn story. Just like trudging through the blanketed landscape, Bridgers trudges through a holiday season corrupted by pain.
Atop intricate harmonies, Bridgers addresses her subject in a simple yet poignant chorus. “Listen to me, Butterfly / There’s only so much wine / That you can drink in one life / And it will never be enough / To save you from the bottom of your glass,” Bridgers sings. Bridgers inflects her voice with a touch of resentment as she approaches the second bridge, capturing the pitiable state of loving someone through their struggle. “And as meteors dived and shot across the sky / I thought about your sad, shining eyes,” Bridgers sings, accompanied by pounding drums. In its depiction of addiction — a battle waged in every season — “So Much Wine” slips out from the Christmas canon with ease.
‘River’ (1971) by Joni Mitchell
Down whichever path — the one less traveled by or the one well-trod — you are likely to encounter a river; and in my holiday wandering, I always stop to stare at my reflection in Joni Mitchell’s. Like passing by a mirror, “River” never fails to stop me in my tracks.
In “River,” Mitchell dresses a piercing ballad in the clothes of a classic Christmas tune. “It’s coming on Christmas / They’re cutting down trees,” she begins. Mitchell finds discomfort in the seasonal pleasantries and seeks an escape. “I wish I had a river so long / I would teach my feet to fly / Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on,” Mitchell sings.
“River” speaks to the oppressive optimism of the holidays as the promise of peace, joy and connection transforms into introspection, sorrow and loneliness. Often associated with mistletoes and fond memory-making, Mitchell instead connects Christmas with the raw wound of a failed romance. “I’m selfish and I’m sad / Now I’ve gone and lost the best baby / That I ever had / Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on,” she croons. From Mitchell’s husky vocals to the restrained production, this track offers a simple yet stunning portrait of loss, which does not bend to the calendar year.
‘buy me presents’ (2023) by Sabrina Carpenter
Unlike Frost, I am less resolute in my decision between paths. During the holidays, I often retrace my steps to that familiar junction and make the opposite choice — forsaking sorrow to rejoice in the boisterous fun of the celebratory season. And, let us be honest, no one does boisterous fun quite like Sabrina Carpenter.
Carpenter’s holiday ingenious extended play, “fruitcake” (2023), should not be sequestered to a small seasonal window. From reflections on betrayal in “cindy lou who” to jealous ramblings in “santa doesn’t know you like i do,” this EP conceals sour sentiments under a sugar-sweet coating. Yet, it is not all illusory. “buy me presents” is a true holiday hit in true Carpenter style.
Beginning with energetic percussion and a piano slide that even ABBA would envy, “buy me presents” matches the infectious nature of Brenda Lee’s “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” (1958) or Bobby Helms’ “Jingle Bell Rock” (1957). But this track casts away the common Christmas narrative for anecdotal advice. “If you were a wise man, baby, you would drop / Every other ho, ho, ho and put me on top,” Carpenter sings. The narrator continues to taunt her lover by comparing him to Santa Claus — a man who will fly through the night just to make her happy. “If you’re not gonna race here from the / North Pole to Beverly Hills / Just to keep my stockin’ filled / Well, I know somebody who will (Uh-huh),” Carpenter sings. With an irresistible beat and enough sexual innuendos to banish Carpenter to the naughty list for good, “buy me presents” offers a creative respite from the holiday classics and a very valuable lesson: If he wanted to, he would. But until then, treat yourself and listen to this track.
Catherine Goodman (26C) is the Managing Editor of Arts & Life and Editorial Board. She is a double major in English and Art History. She plans to pursue arts and culture journalism, with a special interest in criticism and feature writing. When she isn't listening to music or writing her column, you can find her baking specialty cakes or playing with her dog, Apollo.
