The Terrible Things Your Christmas Music Is Saying About You
Look, I should probably start with myself. The only Christmas music I listen to every year comes on Bing Crosby's White Christmas, featuring the Andrews Sisters and Carol Richards. From that an FBI profiler would be able to judge that I'm a white male, late 20s-early 30s, with a large collection of screwball comedy DVDs, at least one biography of Frank Capra, and a latent desire to be Chevy Chase in a Vacation movie, ideally not European or Vegas.
Your Christmas music diet is no less revealing. What follows is a kind of Christmas horoscope, with all due apologies to people whose particular tastes have been elided.
Pop stars: I'm not entirely sure you exist anymore.
Back in the '90s you went dutifully to the store every December 3rd or 4th and picked up an album by Mariah Carey or Boyz II Men or some other basically family-friendly pop act.
Now there are no family-friendly pop acts, and if Ke$ha has produced a Christmas album I am literally begging you not to tell me about it. Nobody in the current pop firmament, country crossovers like Taylor Swift excepted, is especially eager to give off a vibe that says "I absolutely did not spend last Christmas at a club with a bunch of half-naked women named after reindeer."
Country stars: You bought pop star Christmas albums back in the '90s. "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" is cute enough but "Santa Baby" is really kind of gross, if you're being honest.
Because traditional pop stars have vacated this market steel guitars and southern accents have gradually joined sleigh bells on the list of inherently Christmasy sounds―pretty soon people will not even hear them as "country" so long as the pickup truck has a layer of snow on it. We're on our way to a radical realignment of our idea of Christmas music, and only Mariah Carey can stop it.