By Candlelight

Carols by Candlelight is an idiosyncratically Australian thing.

But then again, so is applauding after the 3rd movement of Tchaikovsky's 6th symphony, but that doesn't necessarily make it right.

Don't get me wrong good readers, I enjoy Christmas and and it's associated merry makings as much as the next corpulent goon, but why does good taste have to be a conspicuous casualty?  Why indeed.

There is an huge amount of these concerts around suburban parks every year - a great deal with which the Velvet Trousered Man has been involuntarily associated. The talent lineup is a flaccid roll-call of washed up  F-list celebrities, desperately grasping the tenuous cards of fame they're phenomenally lucky to have been dealt in the first place. 

This standard of minstrel is aptly matched by the repertoire. It seems that any song with the words "Santa," "Rudolph," or "Baby" can be passed as fertile yule material for the ears of the unrefined. And it's apparently written in the contract of said entertainment hacks to mention how "grouse youze look" when the audience raise their candle bearing hands en masse.

The only hint of religious significance occurs when the Infant King's name is uttered under the breath of the dignified minority on being exposed to such trite dross.

This all may sound a little harsh, and of course, it is. But there is good Christmas music out there, believe me.  I see no reason to accept 3rd or 4th rate offerings when 1st and 2nd rate offerings exist, and live among us. 

Having said all that, the Velvet Trousered Man would like to wish you all an Happy Christmas; or hopes your Christmas was an happy one. Depending on when you read this.

Ho ho ho.