For those stricken annually by some measure of Christmas cheer, we all have our favorite songs for the occasion. I’ve always been partial to “The First Noel”, which is followed by a long list of other classics and obscurities, both hymnal and secular. For my wife, I’m 95% certain “O Holy Night” wins the prize. (If I’m wrong, I’m sure I’ll learn the error of my ways shortly. Updates as they occur.)

When (at least) one of our local radio stations switches to a 24/7 Christmas format in late November, their limited playlist includes a handful of tracks I don’t mind hearing more than once throughout the month-long seasonal commercialization. However, since I’m not their primary listener, they’re also prone to spinning several holiday staples that I wouldn’t miss if they disappeared from heavy rotation forever:

* Eartha Kitt, “Santa Baby” — The first few hundred times I heard this ostensible satire of trophy-wife Christmas greed, I thought it was recorded during an earlier era when pining for material wealth was acceptable in pop music, decades before today’s top-40 artists dedicated entire careers to the subject. Perhaps the line about the platinum mine should have tipped me off sooner to the true nature of Kitt’s unreliable narrator, but how was I supposed to know that our ancestors didn’t really consider platinum mines a must-have? I’ve resented the song ever since for making me think too hard about something so shallow. I’m marginally more tolerant of Madonna’s cover because her Betty Boop impression better suits the satirical bent. I’m not sure what to think of the Everclear cover that transforms the narrator into a spoiled-rotten upper-class gay man.

* Band-Aid, “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” — In the midst of our Yuletide reverie, here came Bob Geldof and a bevy of well-to-do ’80s British musicians to shame and guilt-trip us into feeding the poor of Ethiopia, which Jesus would have us do anyway without the snide harrumphing. The heartfelt first verse is deceptively lilting bait to lure listeners into the condescending knuckle-smacking of “the bitter sting of tears” and “clanging chimes of doom”. Any remnants of Christmas cheer are dissolved in the acidic follow-through from Bono in his self-righteous phase snorting, “Tonight thank God it’s them instead of you!” In later years he put his money where his mouth is, but at the time his chastisement wasn’t exactly soul-stirring.

* Brenda Lee, “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” — The song is harmless, but our local temporary Christmas station plays it every fifteen minutes all December long. Nothing kills my enjoyment of a song or artist more thoroughly than weeks of dense repetition. I also deducted points for the mention of pumpkin pie, which I consider more of a Halloween or Thanksgiving staple, and which doesn’t even fit the rhyme scheme.

* Too many artists, “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” — A non-holiday winter duet in which a pushy visitor overstays his welcome, schemes to force himself on his wavering hostess, and in some versions may or may not be hedging his bets by employing a crude precursor to Rohypnol. I don’t care if it’s thirty-below murderstorm conditions — when it’s time for your gentleman caller to go, it’s time. No excuses, no negotiation, no mercy. If it makes you feel more humane, lend him a nice scarf as you’re tasing him out the door.

* Gayla Peevey, “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” — Her voice sounds like Angelica Pickles and drills through my brain. Someone make it STOP. FOREVER. PLEASE.

* NewSong, “The Christmas Shoes” — I wish this earnest number didn’t come off as Lifetime-level manipulative schmaltz, but…um. Well. Even my wife, who’s memorized more verses to more hymns than anyone I know, and who would sing Christmas songs nine months out of the year if we let her, will turn the station to get away from “Shoes”. If my loving sweetheart can’t stand your Christmas song, you’ve really, truly failed at Christmas.

* Gloria Estefan, “Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow” — Nothing against her performance, but her accompaniment sounds like a composition fit to be played on a $100 keyboard. My grandmother had one. I remember its tinny, mechanical sounds. Tunes receiving nationwide radio airplay shouldn’t remind me of it.

* John Lennon, “Happy X-Mas (War is Over)” — I’m not sure which is more dispiriting: the veiled sneer of “So this is Christmas” in every other line, or the incongruous peacenik PSA of a coda. This is as much a Christmas song as Die Hard is a Christmas movie. Christmas is about much more than just name-checking the date and and showing off some decorated evergreens. When it comes to anti-war polemics in disguise, I much prefer Weird Al Yankovic’s “Christmas at Ground Zero”.