Sing about the fat man again and I?ll shoot Tiny TimIn the olden days, before the Christmas No1 slot was invariably bagged by the winner of Simon Cowell?s annual karaoke competition, there was always a mad scramble among record companies and artistes to bang a big one in the yuletide goal.
This brings me directly to Bob Dylan?s first seasonal album ? Christmas in the Heart. Well, it had to be in the heart, didn?t it, because it wasn?t very likely to happen in his synagogue.
I suppose I ought to mention before we begin that Dylan is not my favourite recording artist. Or my second favourite. In fact, he is my 2,507th favourite recording artist, just after Pinky and Perky.
Some say he is the heart of modern music. But I don?t think he?s even the stomach lining. He?s just an annoying wart on the gall bladder of rock?n?roll. Certainly, I?d never tire of flushing everything he?s written or recorded down the lavatory.
Even when he?s doing a happy song, he always manages to sound so bloody miserable, like a widower trying to be cheerful at his wife?s funeral. And when he?s being down in the dumps, which is usually, I can?t understand why he would want to inflict his bad mood on everyone else. If I want to feel sad, I?ll poison my donkeys. It?d be better than listening to Bob droning on.
more:
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/jeremy_clarkson/article6954535.ece