My Life as a Series of Demos - Part 14: Christmas with the Beatles and Bob

I’ve been making Christmas mixes for almost thirty years. (I should probably create a separate blog just for those.) Each mix is generally built around a theme of some kind and one year, you will undoubtedly be surprised to discover, had a Beatles theme: excerpts from the Beatles’ annual Christmas messages, Beatles sound-alike bands doing Christmas songs, Christmas-themed Beatles novelty records and so forth.

For the accompanying Christmas card that year I wrote a Beatles-themed parody of “The Night Before Christmas” called “Magical Mystery Yule (A Fab Christmas)” and a year or two later I made an audio version, using music from the Help! movie soundtrack.

Here it is:

Magical Mystery Yule

‘Twas the night before Christmas, but the spirit of Yule

Was not what it should be in olde Liverpool.

The stockings, all hung by the warm chimney grate,

Were still sadly empty. For Santa…was late.

Yes, midnight had come and midnight had fled.

The children were lying awake in their beds,

Unable to sleep and beginning to fear

That Christmas was really not coming that year,

When off in the distance there came a strange noise

--Was Santa arriving at last with their toys?

Those surely weren’t sleigh bells they heard from afar,

It sounded like drums---and electric guitars.

Now up in the sky, as the music drew near,

A strange silhouette began to appear.

Could those be reindeer? It seemed that they must,,

But instead of a sleigh were they pulling…a bus?

The reindeer drew closer, and yes, it was true:

Behind them a bus, all yellow and blue.

And out from the windows strange voices there came,

Which called out to each tiny reindeer by name:

“Now, Maxwell! Now, Martha! Now, Prudence and Pepper!

On, Sun King! On, Sadie! On, Jude and Loretta!”

The bus was soon landed. The slightest of pauses…

Then out through the doors came four Santa Clauses!

But these weren’t like Santas the children had seen,

For under the white beards their beads could be seen,

And clothing that wasn’t just Santa Claus red,

But rainbows of dazzling color instead.

They all had long hair, some had curling moustaches,

And one of the four wore round little glasses.

They carried guitars, except for the one

Who staggered along with a full set of drums.

They spoke not a word, but as quick as a mouse

They carried their instruments into the house,

And, moving the Christmas tree out of their way,

They plugged in their amps and they started to play.

The room seemed to sparkle with magic and then

That sparkle grew brighter, then brighter again,

And exploded like fireworks, filling the air!

Then the stockings were filled—there were gifts everywhere!

But the four couldn’t stay to admire the scene;

They sprang to their bus and were gone like a dream.

But their voices called out, as they vanished from sight,

“Merry Crimble to all!” and, “What a hard day’s night!”

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In 2009 Bob Dylan put out a Christmas album. That was weird enough on its own, but I got to thinking about how people would react if he had done something like that in, say, 1965. So I downloaded a karaoke version of “Maggie’s Farm” (originally on Bringing It All Back Home), re-wrote the lyrics and sang them in my best Dylan honk.

I’m proud to say that Dr. Demento found “Santa’s Shop” worthy of inclusion for one of his holiday-themed shows that year.

Santa’s Shop

I ain’t gonna work in Santa’s shop no more.
No, I ain’t gonna work in Santa’s shop no more.
Well, he says that makin’ toys is just a barrel of fun.
I work three hundred sixty-four days - he just works one.
He says he’s gonna help but he mostly snores.
I ain’t gonna work in Santa’s shop no more.

I ain’t gonna work for Mrs. Claus no more.
No, I ain’t gonna work for Mrs. Claus no more.
She says livin’ at the North Pole is drivin’ her insane.
She sends me out for groceries, says she’s sick of candy canes -
and it’s two thousand miles to the nearest store.
I ain’t gonna work for Mrs. Claus no more.

I ain’t gonna work in Santa’s mailroom no more.
No, I ain’t gonna work in Santa’s mailroom no more.
Well, he makes me wrap the presents from every Christmas list.
My fingers all have paper-cuts, I’ve strained both of my wrists.
And the postman just brought in a million more.
I ain’t gonna work in Santa’s mailroom no more.

I ain’t gonna work with Santa’s reindeer no more.
No, I ain’t gonna work with Santa’s reindeer no more.
Well, every time I go in to make sure they are fed,
the floor is always slippery and I have to hide my head.
They shouldn’t be allowed to fly indoors.
I ain’t gonna work with Santa’s reindeer no more.

I ain’t gonna work in Santa’s sleigh no more.
No, I ain’t gonna work in Santa’s sleigh no more.
Well, I have to fill his bag up until it nearly splits,
and haul it down the chimneys ‘cause he no longer fits.
And you know that he just sneaks in through the door.
I ain’t gonna work in Santa’s sleigh no more.