The divisive Paul McCartney Christmas song

Note: This is from last December, which means the song is about to earn the former Beatle another $400,000.

(561 words)

A 1979 song Paul McCartney wrote in one afternoon will again earn him more than $400,000 this year for a cumulative total of more than $15 million.

Yes, for Sir Paul it’s always a “Wonderful Christmastime.”

By contrast, this will be the 1,542 blog post I’ve written since 2007, a steadfast tally that’s earned me exactly $102 in supportive donations.

“Wonderful Christmastime” is controversial around the Rodell family dinner table — and if that statement has you concluding dinner conversation at my table ain’t exactly a Bill Maher roundtable, you’re correct.

It’s usually just the four of us sitting around listening to Christmas music, discussing our days and trying to guess who it was that just farted.

I’m kidding.

I’m the only one who farts.

But conversation gets pointed when McCartney’s “Wonderful Christmastime” comes on.

I find it pleasant enough, but Val hates it. And she says that nearly every time it comes on.

“I hate this song,” she says. “It’s just so annoying.”

I don’t love it, but I always admonish her for her viciousness toward something so innocuous as a little Christmas ditty.

I save my hatred for true evil. Things like ISIL, injustice and Roger Goodell.

It is surprising to me how some songs about our most joyful holiday can be so divisive.

The Wikipedia entry on the song says many consider it one of Paul’s poorest compositions and quotes Beatles author Robert Rodriguez as saying, “Love it or hate it, few songs within the McCartney oeuvre have provoked such strong reactions.”

C’mon! It’s a Christmas song!

If we as a people allow Christmas carols to divide us, how will we ever remain united when we decide as a nation on some distant day that maybe — maybe — it’s time to thoughtfully and with open minds discuss things like how to decrease gun violence?

Even if you don’t like the melody, there is much to admire about the tune.

It’s catchy. It’s simple. Its run time doesn’t exceed 4 minutes. The lyrics include “ding dong ding dong ding dong dong ding.” And “ooo ooo ooo toot toot toot toot toot.”

Here’s something you probably didn’t know: The track personnel is listed as follows … 

Vocals: Paul McCartney

Guitar: Paul McCartney

Bass: Paul McCartney

Keyboards: Paul McCartney

Drums: Paul McCartney

Percussion: Paul McCartney

I guess Paul McCartney worried just calling it “The Paul McCartney Band” would have come across as too pretentious.

I love Paul. He’s my second favorite Beatle behind George and while I wish no ill on anyone, I hope for the sake of our collective cool we never refer to Ringo as “the last surviving Beatle.”

“Hey Jude,” “Yesterday,” “Let It Be,” “Live and Let Die” — Paul’s songs are indelible.

He’s reportedly worth in excess of $660 million, which is just shy of the Gross National Product of the nation of Guam, pop. 165,124.

And, geez, a $15 million drop of that bucket comes from a song many tasteful listeners despise, a throwaway that probably took him less time to write than it takes me to sort the weekly recyclables.

In fact, I probably took more care in crafting this stupid little Monday morning blog than the great Sir Paul did in the entire composition of “Wonderful Christmastime.”

And for that he gets $15 million and I get squat.

No dough. No recognition.

My wife’s right.

That song is just so fucking annoying!

Related . . .

Lennon vs. McCartney

Yuletide taints & Christmas creep

’twas a Merry Christmas in July

Is Ringo tired of being a Starr?

Now they’ve gone and ruined jukeboxes

The divisive Paul McCartney Christmas song

(561 words)

A 1979 song Paul McCartney wrote in one afternoon will again earn him more than $400,000 this year for a cumulative total of more than $15 million.

Yes, for Sir Paul it’s always a “Wonderful Christmastime.”

By contrast, this will be the 1,542 blog post I’ve written since 2007, a steadfast tally that’s earned me exactly $102 in supportive donations.

“Wonderful Christmastime” is controversial around the Rodell family dinner table — and if that statement has you concluding dinner conversation at my table ain’t exactly a Bill Maher roundtable, you’re correct.

It’s usually just the four of us sitting around listening to Christmas music, discussing our days and trying to guess who it was that just farted.

I’m kidding.

I’m the only one who farts.

But conversation gets pointed when McCartney’s “Wonderful Christmastime” comes on.

I find it pleasant enough, but Val hates it. And she says that nearly every time it comes on.

“I hate this song,” she says. “It’s just so annoying.”

I don’t love it, but I always admonish her for her viciousness toward something so innocuous as a little Christmas ditty.

I save my hatred for true evil. Things like ISIL, injustice and Roger Goodell.

It is surprising to me how some songs about our most joyful holiday can be so divisive.

The Wikipedia entry on the song says many consider it one of Paul’s poorest compositions and quotes Beatles author Robert Rodriguez as saying, “Love it or hate it, few songs within the McCartney oeuvre have provoked such strong reactions.”

C’mon! It’s a Christmas song!

If we as a people allow Christmas carols to divide us, how will we ever remain united when we decide on some distant day that maybe — maybe — it’s time to thoughtfully and with open minds discuss things like how to decrease gun violence?

Even if you don’t like the melody, there is much to admire about the tune.

It’s catchy. It’s simple. Its run time doesn’t exceed 4 minutes. The lyrics include “ding dong ding dong ding dong dong ding.” And “ooo ooo ooo toot toot toot toot toot.”

Here’s something you probably didn’t know: The track personnel is listed as follows … 

Vocals: Paul McCartney

Guitar: Paul McCartney

Bass: Paul McCartney

Keyboards: Paul McCartney

Drums: Paul McCartney

Percussion: Paul McCartney

I guess Paul McCartney worried just calling it “The Paul McCartney Band” would have come across as too pretentious.

I love Paul. He’s my second favorite Beatle behind George and while I wish no ill on anyone, I hope for the sake of our collective cool we never refer to Ringo as “the last surviving Beatle.”

“Hey Jude,” “Yesterday,” “Let It Be,” “Live and Let Die” — Paul’s songs are indelible.

He’s reportedly worth in excess of $660 million, which is just shy of the Gross National Product of the nation of Guam, pop. 165,124.

And, geez, a $15 million drop of that bucket comes from a song many tasteful listeners despise, a throwaway that probably took him less time to write than it takes me to sort the weekly recyclables.

In fact, I probably took more care in crafting this stupid little Monday morning blog than the great Sir Paul did in the entire composition of “Wonderful Christmastime.” For that he gets $15 million.

And I get squat.

No dough. No recognition.

My wife’s right.

That song is just so fucking annoying!

Related . . .

Lennon vs. McCartney

Yuletide taints & Christmas creep

’twas a Merry Christmas in July

Is Ringo tired of being a Starr?

Now they’ve gone and ruined jukeboxes

Who pulled plug on Springsteen & McCartney? Was it Mitt?

We don’t know the identity of the scoundrel who pulled the plug on Sunday’s historic Bruce Springsteen/Paul McCartney Hyde Park performance, but let’s out of speculative spite say it was Mitt Romney.

He’s very uptight, strict about petty rules and may have been upset that both Bruce and Paul will out of principle refuse his millionaire tax cuts.

That’s how polarized we are.

Something inhuman and barbaric like what happened in London happens and we immediately suppose the guy we oppose was behind it.

I only made the absurd charge about Romney to beat Limbaugh to the punch. He’s a day late from blaming the whole fiasco on Obama. And why would Obama pull the plug on such a great show?

Obama hates America, of course.

And what says America more than a kid from New Jersey and a kid from Liverpool getting together in London to play a few tunes by the Union Jack’s greatest export?

The more I think about it the angrier I get. You have Paul McCartney and Bruce Springsteen, among the top five most beloved musicians in history, playing “I Saw Her Standing There,” “Twist & Shout,” and at 10:43 p.m., right in the middle of “La Bamba” you pull the plug?

Who would do such a thing?

My first guess was Johnnie from the uproarious “Airplane!” movies. He was the flamboyant air traffic controller adept at making things like hats and broaches out of vital weather maps.

He pulled the plug during a crucial approach of an endangered jet liner making it a bad day for Lloyd Bridges’ character to quit sniffing glue.

I wonder if that’s how Springsteen felt.

“I’ve waited 50 years for this!” he exalted as McCartney strolled without fanfare onto the stage.

So something he’d anticipated for years was over in the blink of an eye and failed to live up to his heady expectations. Look for The Boss to write a bittersweet song equating the event with losing his virginity.

I first heard about it when I read some retweets by E Streeter Little Stevie Van Zandt. He was livid.

“English cops may be the only individuals left on earth that wouldn’t want to hear one more from Bruce Springsteen and Paul McCartney!” he wrote.

And, “I’m sorry but I have to be honest. I’m pissed. Like I said, it didn’t ruin the great night. But when I’m jamming with McCartney don’t bug me.”

This is no idle threat coming from a guy who’s buddies with Tony Soprano, another huge Springsteen fan who may or may not still be alive chewing onion rings in an obscure Jersey diner at this very moment.

It’s been my privilege to see Springsteen 20 times, McCartney once (I still tingle at the sublime recollection).

I guarantee there were tears in the eyes of thousands of fans as the two shared a microphone on “I Saw Her Standing There.”

This will go down in rock ‘n’ roll history as one of music’s worst crimes. We’re left to wonder just what might have been.

As I said, we don’t know anything about who gave the order to pull the plug for what they said were public safety concerns.

But we can make some informed guesses.

It’s a person who doesn’t get high or approve of anyone who does. It is someone who reveres order over spontaneity. It’s someone who if you ask, “Stones or Beatles?” will probably respond “Donnie Osmond -- but only the old stuff.”

It is starting to sound a lot like Mitt

Or maybe Roger Goodell.

We may never know.

But I know this: If they can do it to McCartney and Springsteen, they can do it anyone.

So beware. Any venue, forum or blog is now subject to the no-fun police let loose on society to cause pain in happy places where people seek joy and enlightenment.

Wholesome places like this humble little --

THIS BLOG HAS BEEN BY TEMPORARILY SHUT DOWN BY ORDER OF THE LONDON POLICE. STOP HAVING FUN IMMEDIATELY AND GO STRAIGHT TO BED.

AND NO HANKY-PANKY!

Giving away my book a blue chip idea

I had a George Bailey moment last night when I reached into my pocket and discovered my free beer chips outnumbered my cash by 5-to-1.

In my mind I heard old Potter cackling, “You’re worth more in Pond beer chips than you are in money!”

That led the Homer Simpson in my mind to exalt, “Woo! Hoo!”

It’s a situation that justifiably alarms the wife in my house.

Me, too, of course.

Big boxes of my new self-published book arrived a couple of weeks ago. I’m awaiting the unveiling of a snazzy new website to make a promotional push. Any day now.

I decided to self-publish after three interested publishers told me their lawyers wouldn’t let me include a passage on the very first page of any book they released. So there it is, a passage headlined “This Book Is Free,” on the first page of my book, the one that purports to show the world how you don’t need money to be happy.

It became important to me after I became enamored with the example of Dr. Jonas Salk, the miracle researcher who turned his back on millions when he discovered the cure for polio and gave it away for free. He believed no man or woman should profit when he or she had something that could so help humanity.

I’ve fearlessly co-opted his altruism. After all, isn’t soul-crippling unhappiness as devastating as polio?

I say yes.

Here’s the passage:

“Anyone who wants a free copy mailed to his or her home, no charge, is welcome to one. Just ask. Author Chris Rodell, of course, encourages you buy it and hopes you’ll support him and the people who distribute, promote and sell books. But if you’re one of those Americans who are out of work and having a tough time or if you know a U.S. serviceman or woman who might benefit from a book that aims to brighten daily lives, then Rodell wants you to get in touch at storyteller@chrisrodell.com. He doesn’t believe a book that at its heart aims to help people be happy should be withheld from anyone over a few dollars. “It’s said the best things in life -- love, friendship, laughter -- are free,” Rodell says. “I don’t presume that this book is one of the best things in life but, by God, there’s nothing to say it can’t keep good company.”

It’s 448 words audacity connoisseurs are bound to admire.

But that’s the way I feel. So when the boxes of books began arriving, the first thing I did was sign and personalize about 20 of them to my good buddies here at The Pond. 

When a couple of them tried to pay me, I said, no, I want you to have this because I could never have written a book about happiness without friends like you in my life.

And I meant it. I’ve since sent another dozen or so around the country to distant gigglers.

I couldn’t be more pleased by the reaction. My many friends are genuinely touched, I think because so few of us -- me included -- ever take even a moment to tell the people who mean so much to us how much they matter.

It’s been very gratifying and I urge you to follow suit.

But here’s the so-far bottom line my decision to make available for free a book I need out of financial desperation to sell: I can’t buy a beer in my bar -- which is good because I can’t afford one either.

My friends are buying me more beer than I could wisely consume in a sitting.

That’s where the blue beer chip comes in. If someone buys you a drink at The Pond  while you’re already engaged with another beer, they give you a little blue poker chip representing the on-deck beer.

My friends are eager to compensate me for my gesture and are going above and beyond to express their thanks. That’s as I suspected.

Yesterday came a true affirmation that giving something away for free can lead to real profit.

It came in a card from the bar owner’s father, the man who in 1954 built and opened this cornerstone community tavern. The gracious note included a check for $50 for a $15.95 book I gave him for free.

Normally, I’d piously donate such surplus to a worthy cause but since the check is from the bar I patronize near daily, I’ll cash it and likely spend it on meals in there.

Circle of life, baby.

But there was more. Taped to the note were six more beer chips!

I’m convinced people innately respond to gestures of kindness with reciprocal kindness. In fact, I’m counting on it.

I guess this moony hypothesis has Biblical roots echoed on The Beatles’ “Abbey Road” when Paul McCartney sings, “. . . and in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.”

I’m perfectly happy staking my solvency on the notion.

And if that doesn’t work I have a Plan B. 

I’ll try to convince the bank that little blue beer chips ought to be considered legal tender.

I’ll be the richest man in Latrobe.

By some measures, I already am.

"Hey Hey Johnny," songs for dead celebs

An old friend of mine used to keep a list of people who should have been shot instead of John Lennon. It was a very long list and he tended it with a maniacal fervor.

Of course, there were men like Kim Jung Il, Idi Amin, the since decapitated Saddam Hussein and other tyrants bedeviling the planet about 25 years ago.

But there were also numerous garden variety miscreants who, I felt, certainly didn’t deserve ballistic ventilation. I remember his list included one wobbly NFL kicker for the Detroit Lions whose scattergun field goals had cost my friend a small fortune in ill-considered wagers.

It’s wrong, of course, to talk about the need for more gun violence on a day so marred by tragic gun violence, but I always think about him and his list on December 8.

I was too young to be moved by the grief tsunami that swept across the country 30 years ago this evening.

Of the Beatles, he’s probably only my third favorite behind Paul and George, which is like finishing last since who cares about Ringo (in fact, I think Ringo was on my friend’s list).

My favorite solo song of his is “Watching the Wheels,” but the rest move me very little. And I maintain all the best and most tuneful Beatle songs were Paul’s creations (“Hey Jude,” “Penny Lane,” “Yesterday,” “She’s Leaving Home,” “Eleanor Rigby”).

And then there’s the whole Yoko Ono thing. We have, as a nation, watched her for more than 40 years and no one has yet to figure out what he saw in her.

Lennon’s hailed for his devotional fatherhood to Sean, but no one ever mentions how he abandoned his first family and never paid a minute’s worth attention to his first son, Julian, who released a fine album I recall from about 1985, and seems to have grown up normal despite John’s cold absence. 

Still, I’m fascinated by Lennon and understand my friend’s list wholeheartedly.

Why him?

His contributions were incomplete. It was Lennon I thought of after Paul’s recent diss of George Bush. McCartney praised Obama and hinted it was great we had a president who knew how to read.

Conservatives howled because, well, that’s what conservatives do best.

My first thought was, “You guys ought to be glad some one shot John Lennon. I wish he’d been around as we were ramping up to fight this goddamn ridiculous Iraq war. Man, he’d have been raising holy hell.”

We lost so much when we lost him -- and the music wasn’t the half of it.

That’s what I lament about his death. We lost an agitating jester.

I never let this day pass without playing the two great songs written to commemorate his death and life. They are monumental works and I still struggle to get through them without wiping tears.

The first is “Empty Garden (Hey Hey Johnny),” written by Bernie Taupin and Elton John, who was one of Lennon’s best friends and with whom he made his last concert appearance.. 

It’s a fascinating friendship. Elton bet Lennon that if his version of “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” went No. 1, Lennon would have to perform at Madison Square Garden with him. It did and their lively version of, ironically, Paul’s song, “I Saw Her Standing There” is Lennon’s last live performance.

Elton performed “Empty Garden” once and couldn’t make it through. Propelled by a heartbeat rhythm, the song is so plaintive, so heart wrenching, it combines rage and grief to create something beautiful. He’s never played it again.

The other is “All Those Years Ago” by George Harrison. It’s the flip side of the Elton song.

It’s a bouncy delight about the joy he knew by being friends with John when it was just the four of them bouncing around in the van as it rolls across the English countryside. It’s the side of John Lennon even Yoko never knew.

How he wrote a song this beautiful, this euphoric, about something that had to be so devastating to him leads me to believe angels exist and they love to dance.

Here’s a short list of other worthy songs inspired by dead celebrities:

• “Candle in the Wind,” Elton John, about Marilyn Monroe. It pained me when he and Taupin re-wrote the lyrics to commemorate the death of Princess Diana. Seemed kind of cheesy. Still does.

• “American Pie,” Don McLean, about Buddy Holly and, really, the death of era. Still one of the most compelling pop songs ever and the best to over-analyze in the company of good friends and a warm bong.

• “Song for Sonny Liston,” by Mark Knopfler, about the legendary boxer. Knopfler is one of the best storytelling songwriters. This 5:07 song makes me want to read books about Liston.

• “American Roulette,” by Robbie Robertson, about James Dean, Elvis, and Marilyn Monroe. Concussive beat, stinging guitars and urgent vocals make this feel like an ambulance ride to the ER after an OD.

• “The Three Great Alabama Icons,” by Drive-By Truckers, about Ronnie Van Zant, George Wallace and Bear Bryant.” Man do these guys cook. This starts at a simmer and burns to a boil. Every southern band is compared to Lynyrd Skynyrd.   It’s time to start comparing bands like Lynyrd Skynyrd to the Drive-By Truckers.

• “Alcohol and Pills,” by Todd Snider about Hank Williams Sr., Elvis, Janis Joplin, Gram Parsons and Jimi Hendrix. Another cautionary tale: “Alcohol and pills, it’s a cryin’ shame. You think that they’d have been happy with the glory and the fame. But fame don’t take away the pain. It just pays the bills. And you wind up on alcohol and pills.”

• “Family Tradition,” by Hank Williams Jr. about Hank Williams Sr. I don’t know if Hank III has updated this one, but I’d buy it. You can’t go wrong with any of the great Nashville Hanks. Dallas Wayne has a great song that describes the blueprint for a really great night. It’s meant for Senior, but could apply to any of the Williams boys: “Crack the Jack and Crank the Hank.”

Imagine the fun.