From Ear Worms to Majesty: The Ups and Downs of Holiday Music

It's supposed to put us in the Christmas spirit. Are we there yet?

Image by Sandra Hak via Pixabay

It was Schopenhauer who said all the arts aspire to the condition of music. If that is so, then what is to be said of Christmas music?

Surely, the carols that fill our ears during this time of year intend to put us in the “Christmas spirit.”

A spirit so necessary to the well-being of ourselves and the world we live in that only a heavy dose—administered nonstop from Thanksgiving till December 25th—will ensure that we hang on to that spirit for the rest of the year.

Some of these tunes make us nostalgic like The Christmas Song, even though most of us these days never roasted a single chestnut in our lives.

Other songs of the season ambush us

with ear worms like that one by Wham and that other one Mariah Carey sings. There was even a viral contest this year to see how long you could avoid hearing one of these.

And in the days leading up to Christmas, one television morning show created a holiday hit bracket, inviting viewers to pick their favorite music of the season. Just about everything from the “Chipmunk Song” to Andy Williams to “Feliz Navidad” were on the table.

Every year, of course, we also get new versions of classic carols performed by artists who haven’t released a holiday album before. People like Cher, Alanis Morissette, Chloe, DaBaby, and Norah Jones who teamed up with Laufey for her holiday release this year.

I enjoy all kinds of music.

But to be honest, none of the holiday music I’ve heard this year actually succeeded in putting me in the Christmas spirit. That particular elan so essential to making life bearable.

The spirit that reminds us who we really are and how connected we are to everyone else. It’s easy to forget those things when you read the headlines or just try to hang with the news long enough to find out who won the football game and whether it’s going to rain.

I find it especially troubling to see the disregard for babies and little children in the many conflicts and crises that preoccupy our world right now. Climate. War. Migration. Famine. Just to name a few.

Maybe that is why I was surprised to be catapulted into the spirit of Christmas by a single song that begins with these two words: “Comfort ye.” Followed by four more: “Comfort ye, my people.”

Those are the opening words in George Frideric Handel’s oratorio Messiah, which was first performed in Dublin, Ireland, on April 13, 1742 at Easter time—not Christmas—as it is today.

Most people are familiar

with the famous “Hallelujah chorus,” but when you listen to the Messiah from the beginning, it does a number on you. It did for me at least.

And I was struck by the simple and obvious fact that Christmas is all about the birth of a little baby. Although it happened during the Pax Romana, that baby’s earthly parents had to travel about 90 miles in order to comply with the census that required returning to the land of their ancestors.

The journey was not easy.

It took them uphill, downhill, and through a desert while Mary was nine months pregnant. But that baby came, and the world hasn’t been quite the same since.

Anyway, while I was listening to Handel’s transcendent music, I remembered that in the 18th century little babies born to unwed mothers in London were known as foundlings.

They were left on door stoops and sometimes thrown in the river, or they simply died on the streets until philanthropist Thomas Coram established London’s Foundling Hospital.

His favorite

That organization became Handel’s favorite charity.

Beginning in 1750 Handel conducted annual charity performances of the Messiah at the Foundling Hospital itself —with all proceeds going to support its great work. Those charity performances continued well after Handel’s death. The composer even made the Foundling Hospital a beneficiary in his will.

These days we play recordings of the Messiah, watch it performed on TV, or participate in the many Messiah sing-alongs that take place all over the world. It’s fitting that we moderns think of it as Christmas music. It begins with the birth of a little baby. And it left a lasting legacy of supporting other little babies.

Hearing it put me in the spirit that had eluded me ever since the day after Halloween when my neighbor began decorating his house with Christmas lights.You can’t blame retailers for pumping out the jingles when we’re in the mall.

But if it is true that all the arts aspire to the condition of music. Then maybe deep down—beyond the chestnuts and the chipmunks—all Christmas music must surely aspire to the condition of the Messiah. To be the music that reminds us who we really are at a time when little babies everywhere need us to remember that.

Below is the BBC program that tells how and why the orphaned babies of London became so entwined with Handel’s masterpiece. Think of it as my way of saying, Merry Christmas!

©2023 Andrew Jazprose Hill. All rights reserved.

Thanks for reading/listening.