Upon return from a wonderfully warm vacation to a bitter cold and no snow holiday season already underway in my absence, a large stack of bills on the counter glared at me as I decided to open a records-shaped package first. Pssht, that was a no-brainer.
It was from my neighbor, Mister @elgringofeo, who lives in the state just to the west of here. He thought I needed some personally curated trash records for my collection to the likes of Midwest Story Telling Legend Gordo, Joe Pesci as creepy Uncle Frankie , Eddy Grant who also looked like he was on vaycay, ole Wingydings RodgePodge, and of course, Sir ‘Fonte of our favorite Friday hashtag, #FonteFridays.
Although the intent was not as a gift for any specific winter celebration nor would these fine gentlemen necessarily elicit strong feelings of holiday wistfulness, but now we’re connected that way. They’ve been a strange transition for me finding a lot of joy this year in hearing traditional holiday music. I just can’t get enough. It’s a weird association to go from pineapples and slack key ukuleles to Deutschland’s version of a stein-guzzling Home Alone burglar in lederhosen and somehow make Christmas sense from it like I did.
My heart is often warmed by old things, ideas, generations, and eras. Pre-loved records from decades ago! And being on Hawaii always presents me with these intensely fulfilling scenes in my mind’s eye of 60s tiki-inspired décor, color, and attitude. It’s kind of a “Blue Hawaii meets discount Waikiki” slapped with the right amount of exaggerated sentimental cheese, brandy old-fashioned sweets in sandy-tinged lowball glasses, conversation pit hospitality, pink bathroom tile, and speckled terrazzo floors. My grandmother was very much a lady from around that time, and dare I say, I might even resemble her in a few photos from this trip.
So, on the red eye back to the mainland, I was channeling all this in my holiday mental prep and somehow landed watching part of Martin Scorsese’s Goodfellas on the TV in the seat rest in front of me at 2AM going over the Pacific. How I’d forgotten that one scene! The iconic long single shot of Ray Liotta and Lorraine Bracco walking into the Copacabana, with The Crystal’s “Then He Kissed Me” in the background. Gah, the supposed simplicity in their entrance, juxtaposed with the drama of the story, setting, gangsta philosophy on family, murder, coke, infidelity…all screams Christmas, hey? Maybe it’s the Joe Pesci connection that brings it full circle, I don’t know.
As much as something within me has an appreciation for the tried and true traditional classic pairings at Christmastime, I love finding these little far-fetched associations to the holidays in strange oddities.
It elicits nostalgia for something I’ve not even experienced, like being escorted to a private front-row table through the back door kitchens by an amazing-looking man or drinking yule biers with new-to-me friend Unkie Frank. I tell you what though, spinning vintage records and drinking cheap old fashioneds is what I already do, especially during the holiday season.
Merry Christmas.
silicone&vinyl records 