12 Days of Chipmunks: “Here Comes Santa Claus”
DECEMBER THIRD: DEATH
If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. And I have learned that the same applies if you want your “Twelve Days of Chipmunks” series to start on the first of December.
I had a perfect plan. One day for introductions, twelve days for the songs, and most importantly, it would end on December 13th. But I suppose “taking care of children” and “having a job” got in the way of Admin_Rock’s duty to post my article. Fine. At least now, I can post my masterpiece under my own name.
“But why did you want it to end on the 13th?” you ask. “Why is that day so important? Why not the 15th, or the 25th? The 25th is a special day!” Special, yes, but not to me. And nowhere near as important as December 13th. Because December 13th is the 50-year anniversary of Ross Bagdasarian Sr.’s death.
In 1961, “Mad” Sam Yorty became mayor of Los Angeles. Considering the previous mayor, C. Norris Poulson, had run over every animal in an indoor petting zoo and then refused to testify on account of acute laryngitis, most citizens of LA were fine with this change. Everyone except Ross Bagdasarian Senior. Most citizens applauded Yorty’s new garbage collection system; under the old system, citizens had to burn their garbage in backyard incinerators. This created considerable smog problems. Yorty’s new, seemingly utopic system got rid of garbage, but somehow, it didn’t create smog either. Was it some sort of miracle engine that could convert trash into energy? Or was it a new kind of green landfill? Most citizens assumed it was one of the two, and left it at that. Only Ross Bagdasarian Sr., with his keen eye for bullshit, dared to investigate. What he discovered was more horrible than anyone would have imagined. Except Sam Yorty of course, because he’d have to have imagined it in order to implement it in the first place.
Yorty’s new system didn’t get rid of the garbage at all. It simply dumped it all in the poorer districts and ghettoes of Los Angeles. The places where citizens would be too afraid of the police to fight back, to say anything out of line. The low-status neighbourhoods were lowered even further as truckload after truckload of bourgeoisie garbage was unloaded onto their streets, doorsteps, and even windows. And nobody was saying anything—not that Ross could have blamed the people who lived there, some of whom were too sick to leave their garbage-ridden homes—not even the better-off people living in garbage-free neighbourhoods. The ones who could do something about it. The people who didn’t know about it didn’t care, and the people who did know about it didn’t care either. Famously, one Paul Dodge, when asked about it by Bagdasarian, said “I’m okay with it. Sure, garbage is getting dropped in people’s backyards, but at least it’s not in my backyard, right?” The term “Not In My Backyard” has since become synonymous with citizens who would prefer public developments be put as far away as possible from their own neighbourhoods.
Of course, Bagdasarian wasn’t “okay with” this system. He hated it. And like everything he hated, he took action against it. Say what you will about Ross Bagdasarian Sr., but he was not a man of apathy. He began with graffiti, tagging the homes of upper-class LA socialites (including mayor Yorty himself) with obscenities and graphic imagery—a little “garbage delivery” for those less unfortunate. But then he got a better idea. Rather than exacting petty revenge on a mad mayor, rather than attempting to treat the symptoms of the disease that makes up the human condition, Ross Bagdasarian Sr. decided to concoct a cure. It had been tried before, of course, by numerous people; some of them got close, most of them got shot. But none of them were him. None of them realized that to truly bring peace to the world, you must first force it to see itself in the mirror, and to accept all the good things and bad that make up the kaleidoscope that is humanity. Christmas with the Chipmunks is filled with every aspect of thought, of civilization, of addiction, love, hate, death, life, hope, want, ignorance and destruction. And being a novelty record released during a gift-giving season, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who didn’t receive a copy of it—or simply bought one for themselves. Ross Bagdasarian Sr. had sneaked the greatest gift in the history of mankind into its collective stocking. But before he could explain it, before he could unite the world in peace and three-part rodentian harmony, he was shot in the neck on trumped-up vandalism charges by an LA police officer.
“Here Comes Santa Claus” is a perfect overture to the album. It begins innocently enough; the song is about Santa Claus arriving in a town, as roughly 70% of all Christmas carols are. It is only when the second verse begins that the metaphor becomes clear. Alvin, the most important of the Chipmunks—or at least, the only one brave enough to speak his mind, and what’s the difference, really—begins singing the song in a wildly exaggerated fashion. Instantly, Dave becomes agitated and tells Alvin he’s “hamming it up” and “over-acting”, commanding him to stop being original and to sing the song like a good little sheep. After that verse, and for the rest of the song, Alvin is no longer present. The parallels to Bagdasarian’s own life are unmistakeable. Santa Claus is clearly a metaphor for Sam Yorty; while Santa brings gifts to everyone in the town, however, Yorty brought garbage and prejudice. And I’m sure I don’t need to point out the irony in the line “he doesn’t care if you’re rich or poor, for he loves you just the same”. But it is the fact that Alvin seems to disappear midway through the song—i.e, before his work is done—that is the most haunting. Perhaps Ross Bagdasarian Sr. knew the price he was going to have to pay for trying to solve the problems of mankind. Perhaps he knew he was never going to win. But he never backed down. After all, it takes a true artist to step into the ring against the foe he knows he cannot defeat. An artist, or a madman.
