Then there’s the peculiar case of Joni Mitchell’s “River.”
The song first appeared on her album Blue some 36 Christmases ago. It
starts with Mitchell’s piano playing “Jingle Bells” in doleful minor chords,
which leads to a delicate and exquisitely disconsolate melody, and even more
forlorn lyrics. References to Christmas, reindeer, and “songs of joy and peace”
crop up in the first verse, then disappear. Damning herself as “selfish and ...
sad,” Mitchell confesses to disillusionment with “this crazy scene” (probably
the drug-fueled Cali-rock crowd at the time) and driving away the guy who not
only loved her but gave crazy-good sex (rumored to be James Taylor or Graham
Nash, her boyfriends during this period). The refrain has her craving a river
“I could skate away on”; she just wants to leave all of it, even the seasonal
festivities, behind. The song returns to its initial chorus, but by then, it’s
too late for tidings of comfort or joy. Even the Christmas references--images
of trees being cut down, fake reindeer being hauled out one more time--are more
cynical than buoyant.
“River” is only peripherally about Christmas, and in lyrics and tone it’s
hardly the type of song one warbles around the piano with the family (assuming
people still do such things). Yet over the last few years, it’s become
ubiquitous, included on a large number of yuletide albums in various genres.
One can now hear “River” done up not only as adult contemporary (separate
versions by Sarah McLachlan and James Taylor on their seasonal-themed albums)
but as holiday adult lounge jazz (Dianne Reeves), new age guitar (Peter
Mulvey), Celtic ballad (the Albion Christmas Band), alt rock (Sister Hazel),
Brit pop (Travis), and jazz elevator music (Fourplay, Boney James). That’s not
to count non-holiday-record covers by everyone from Heart to the Indigo Girls
to Herbie Hancock (the latter, sung by Corinne Bailey Rae, is the title track
of Hancock’s album of Mitchell covers, just nominated for an Album of the Year
Grammy).
Through it all, “River” remains essentially the same in tone and
arrangement. (It’s the vocal equivalent to Vince Guaraldi’s enduring,
contemplative piano score for A Charlie Brown Christmas.) Not
even Barry Manilow, who dressed up “River” with all sorts of gauzy sonic tinsel
on a version released five years ago, could make the song jolly. It resists
cheering up as much as that one friend who insists Christmas isn’t a big deal
and would rather stay home alone that day, thank you.
Why do balladeers, jazz acts, and even alt bands flock to this comely but
resolutely downbeat song, turning it into one of the few post-1950s pop tunes
that’s become a Santa-time standard? Do they scan the lyrics, spot the yuletide
references, and add to the list without thinking? Do they pull out their copies
of Blue, rehear those introductory “Jingle Bells” chords, and go no
further? Is the song’s ubiquitousness a sign of the way Christmas music has
been hijacked? The recent crop of holiday music brought to us by the Lite
FM-meets-Starbucks crowd isn’t meant to be caroled. Instead, albums like
Taylor’s and McLachlan’s are so muted they don’t come close to drowning out the
sound of gifts being torn open. They’re contemplative grown-up affairs meant to
accompany the weeks (or dinnertime parties) leading up to the big day.
The growing pervasiveness of “River” covers (next year Carrie Underwood?
James Blunt?) may also tie in with the long-held notion that this time of year
isn't always so jolly. Recent studies have refuted the long-held notion that
the Christmas season triggers an abundance of suicides, but in light of
everything that’s happened in the country (much less the world) over the last
six years, maybe depression is a factor--but a national more than private one.
In the way “River” has been embraced without any apparent head-scratching over
its lyrical content, it may be our collective way of acknowledging that giddy
holiday cheer now arrives with an asterisk. How can you give yourself
over completely to “Winter Wonderland” or “Joy to the World” in light of the
deteriorating environment and economy, those lurking terrorists, or whatever
else is looming on the horizon? Acknowledging the season yet secretly yearning
for a way to leave it all behind, on one type of river or another, “River”
feels as much 2001 as 1971. Given all the recently composed songs that could
have been adopted for this holiday, the good news is that we’ll be hearing
“River” for many more Christmases to come. Given that all our problems don’t
have anything close to immediate solutions, that’s unfortunately the
disquieting news, too.
David Browne contributes to The New York Times, NPR.org, Spin,
and other outlets. Goodbye 20th Century, his biography of
Sonic Youth, will be published in May 2008.
By David Browne