Pat Muir's playlist grows: Christmas Songs That Are Actually Good

Every year I add another batch of sick, tinsel-coated jams to the running list of Christmas Songs That Are Actually Good, and every year I’m (somehow still) surprised how many contenders are out there. It’s been a decade now. I should have caught on. I should have learned years ago that there is, in fact, a vast universe of good Christmas music available.

I keep finding more and more. We’ve reached the point at which there’s a backlog. There are songs on my “maybe” list that have been there for four or five years. Unless all musical artists agree to stop recording holiday songs, they’ll never make the cut. But I can’t drop them; they’re great songs.

This reality, of course, runs counter to the foundational premise of the Christmas Songs That Are Actually Good list. I mean, you see the word “Actually” in there, right? That’s because the premise is that such songs are rare. Turns out they’re not.

But you do have to listen to a lot of bad ones to find them. That’s why I still believe this annual list is a worthwhile service. While I have been surprised at how many great Christmas songs I’ve found, they remain a statistically negligible percentage of the overall Christmas music output.

Here are 10 more. I listened to a million.

“Warm in December” by Samara Joy, 2022

Samara Joy is younger than most of the jazz artists I listen to. (She’s 23. Most of the others are dead.) But the command with which she sings -- rounding off the edges of some words, sharpening others, all in service of the song -- is the sort of thing you’d expect from a seasoned pro. The hype surrounding her (including frequent comparisons to the likes of Ella, Billie and Sarah) is over the top. But … maybe also worth it.

This song, written by Bob Russell and first released by Julie London back in 1956, is a come-on in which the singer promises to keep the object of her desire “warm in December.” The original is fine, but Joy’s interpretation is the sonic equivalent of one of those giant velvet blankets. You can wrap yourself up in it. Her impossibly rich vocal tone is set against understated instrumentation (piano, guitar, double-bass and drums) for a warmth that simmers without boiling.

“Just Like Christmas” by Low, 1999

A cover version of this song is already on the list. But I had to add the original in memory of Low singer-songwriter-drummer Mimi Parker, who died in November. That’s not to say the song is undeserving strictly on merit. Far from it. I consider it among the half-dozen or so best Christmas songs written in the second half of the 20th century. This despite it being just two five-line verses and a one-sentence refrain stretched over three minutes. That so much feeling could be distilled into so few words is remarkable. “We felt so young,” the song goes. “It was just like Christmas.”

This is an unusual song for the band (primarily made up of Parker and her husband, Alan Sparhawk) in that it’s downright jaunty. Low is known more for downbeat slowcore stuff. This is a departure. Still, there’s a world-weary whimsy to it that can come off as melancholy, particularly if you’ve had a couple of eggnogs. That’s just how this band is. It’s Parker’s voice, beautiful but a little too wise for uncut optimism. She’ll be missed.

“Last Christmas” by Lucy Dacus, 2019

Wham!’s 1984 entry into the Christmas canon has been covered by dozens of acts, but Lucy Dacus did it best. Her take scraps the original’s weepy tone and synth-heavy production for a bit of righteous anger (tempered by vulnerability, but still) and fuzzed-out garage-pop, an upgrade in each case. That’s not a knock on George Michael and the other guy. They recorded a stellar, if very 1980s, Christmas song. I like it. It’s fine. But it never once hit me as hard as this reimagining.

Dacus’ version serves as a loving tribute. It honors the source material well enough and evinces plenty of 1980s influence itself. It’s just more of a Cyndi-Lauper-fronting-The-Attractions kind of 1980s. That’s what sets it apart from the original and even the best of the other covers.

“Maybe This Christmas” by Ron Sexsmith, 2002

He’s been releasing albums for more than three decades now, but the next time I hear a bad Ron Sexsmith song will be the first. The perpetually underrated -- to the point it’s almost what he’s known for, paradoxically -- Canadian warbler-songwriter just pumps out an endless stream of unassuming, charming gems. His Christmas song, the title track of a 2002 benefit album featuring the more-famous likes of Coldplay, Bright Eyes and Jack Johnson, is a perfect case in point. It’s got a few deft turns of phrase, but it’s not show-offy. It’s subtler than that.

The possibility of redemption, the idea that Christmastime goodwill could foster forgiveness and reunion, is a primary theme. That’s a fine sentiment on its face, but there’s a sneaky complexity to the song. Its final verse addresses the likelihood that some relationships can’t and won’t be mended or rekindled by the Christmas spirit, despite what Hallmark says: “And maybe this Christmas will find us at last/In heavenly peace, grateful at least/For the love we’ve been shown in the past.”

“Blue Xmas (To Whom it May Concern)” by Miles Davis with Bob Dorough, 1962

As the story goes, when Columbia Records asked Miles to record a track for it’s compilation “Jingle Bell Jazz,” the great trumpeter said, “What the (expletive) do they want me to play? ‘White Christmas’?” He ended up going a very different way with it, employing idiosyncratic vocalist Bob Dorough for a song that decries the hypocrisy and avarice of the season. Miles wasn’t thrilled with the results, writing in his autobiography that “the less said about it the better.” And referring to Dorough as “this silly singer.”

Thing is, it’s Miles by god Davis at the height of his powers (just three years removed from “Kind of Blue”), so it’s still a damn good song. And I disagree with him about Dorough, whose pointed vocal suits the lyrics perfectly. It’s also the first time Miles recorded with Wayner Shorter on sax, and Shorter’s solo in this proved to be a harbinger of great things to come.

“I Can’t Have a Merry Christmas Mary (Without You)” by Jerry Lee Lewis, 1970

Here’s another “in memoriam” entry to this year’s list. Jerry Lee Lewis died in October, outliving expectations by roughly a half-century. They called him The Killer, but the nickname was highly exaggerated -- yeah, he shot his bass player in the chest, but it only wounded the man; and yeah, he was arrested for storming Graceland with a pistol in an attempt to (maybe) kill Elvis; and yeah, he married his 13-year-old cousin; but he never killed anyone. That we know about.

The crazy thing -- well, one of many crazy things -- about The Killer is that after his rock stardom tanked in 1958, he went on to a long and fruitful career as a country singer. This softer side of Lewis pales in comparison to the wild-haired feral stuff he did in the ’50s, kicking out the piano bench and howling like a banshee’s banshee. But it’s still really good. He was a complicated, often horrible person (Nick Tosches’ Lewis biography “Hellfire” is a must-read), but man could he play and sing. This track, written by little-known rockabilly singer Bill Lancaster and released by Lewis as a B-side, is a fine example.

“May Ev’ry Day Be Christmas” by Irma Thomas with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band, 2012

By the time Irma Thomas, the Soul Queen of New Orleans, recorded this track, she didn’t sound like the same singer who rose to prominence in the 1960s. There was a touch more sand in her voice, a well-earned maturation that came from recording and gigging continually for a half-century. But she still sounded as clear and in-control as ever, having aged more gracefully from a vocal standpoint than more commercially successful contemporaries like Aretha and Etta. (That’s not to disparage either of those two icons, both of whom could still belt it out well into this century.)

This track, featuring the renowned Preservation Hall Jazz Band, is a feel-good number buoyed by New Orleans-style brass, piano and bass. But the soul of it is Thomas’ voice, the voice of a woman who was a twice-married mother of four by the time she turned 20 and then bucked the odds to have a decades-long career on the periphery of soul stardom before becoming its elder stateswoman. When Thomas sings “May god bless you and keep you, come what may,” I believe she really means it.

“Christmas Day” by Detroit Junior, 1961

Perhaps you’re hosting a Christmas party this year. Perhaps it’s more of a small gathering of close friends than an according-to-Hoyle party. OK, fine, perhaps you just like dancing by yourself in your apartment, drinking Rumple Minze from the bottle and wearing a Santa hat. You could do a lot worse than making this the first track on your “party” playlist. Emery “Detroit Junior” Williams Jr. (who, despite his nom de music, was born in Arkansas, raised in Flint, Mich., and is mostly associated with the Chicago blues scene) really knew his way around a hoppin’-and-a-boppin’ R&B tune.

“Christmas Day” begins with a shouted “Merry Christmas, everybody!” and only gets holly-jollier from there as Detroit Junior urges listeners to turn up their hi-fi while a saxophone blasts behind him. It’s a party-starter for sure, the kind of infectious shout of a song that gets people dancing. Even if they’re all alone.

“He’s Stuck in the Chimney Again” by the Jon Rauhouse Orchestra with Rachel Flotard, 2014

This delightful slice of sugar pie was written by the eminent songwriter Cy Coleman back in 1966 but wasn’t recorded until Jon Rauhouse and his crew did it in 2014 in cooperation with Coleman’s publishing company, Notable Music. It’s probably never going to reach pop-standard status like some of Coleman’s other compositions (“Witchcraft,” “Big Spender,” “The Best is Yet to Come”), but I’m sure glad someone thought to resurrect this ditty about Santa getting himself in a pickle.

In the hands of Rauhouse et al., it’s pure sugar, but it’s not saccharine; it’s clever, it’s stylish and it’s catchy without being insistent. Flotard’s vocal fits that mood, too (in a sharp departure from the more dangerous sound I remember her making as frontwoman for Visqueen). My kids love this song. But I think its best fit is probably as sonic wallpaper at a holiday cocktail party.

“Christmas is Going to the Dogs” by Eels

The soundtrack for the 2000 live-action “Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas” (the Jim Carrey one) is a wild collection of disparate groups and performers, even by soundtrack standards. Smash Mouth is on there. So is Faith Hill. And N’Sync. And Ben Folds. There’s a track by neo-doo-wop weirdos Little Isidore and The Inquisitors, a barely known group that seems equally influenced by Sha Na Na and Captain Beefheart. (I actually like that one.) Then there’s a song by Trans-Siberian Orchestra, a “band” carefully constructed to appeal to people who think Pentatonix is too edgy. And somehow, amid all of this, we get a track from Eels, one of indie rock’s cult faves over the past quarter-century.

It’s a Christmas song from the point of view of a dog, and I love it. Mark Oliver Everett, the band’s main guy, generally deals with more serious material. But he’s always had a sense of humor, which he employs here in the service of a midtempo earworm with such instant-classic lines as “When I sleep I like to dream of rabbits in the snow/Jumping right into my jaws from their rabbit hole.” Would that all our Christmas wishes were so simple.

And that’s it, the Class of 2022. As always, you can find the whole list (minus a handful of songs that aren’t on Spotify) at bit.ly/YHR-PatMuirList. I hope you enjoy them. (There’s only one track I regret putting on there. See if you can guess which one.)

Pat Muir is a former Yakima Herald-Republic staff writer whose playlist "Christmas Songs That Are Actually Good" started in 2013.