As you know, ELV is quite the sentimentalist.
But that doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate a more cynical, razor-sharp assault on the maudlin traditions we hold so dear, to wit: the greedy-yet-solipsistic, consumerist, paganist/religious rituals being celebrated throughout our teetering-on-the-brink country right now.
Ann-Margret, Oliver Reed, Roger Daltry, John Entwhistle*, Pete Townsends lyrics and Keith Moon’s drums (pay particular attention to the fills after the 3:30 mark) — what could be less sappy on this Christmas morn than this Christmas song?
…and we love it.
* Who died the ultimate rocker’s death: fat, rich, bloated with blow, at 4:00 am, in Vegas, at the Hard Rock Hotel, with an 8–ball on one side of him and a stripper/hooker on the other. R.I.P. John Entwhistle. And you too, Keith Moon.**
** Who, ELV is convinced, never had a day of piece his entire, short life.