Well, I guess we have to take the composer at his word, since he starts out like this:
The sun is shining, the grass is green,
The orange and palm trees sway;
There’s never been such a day
In Beverly Hills, L.A.
And I am longing to be up north . .
Man, if I went through this song line by line, starting to write as I am on Nov. 1, giving all the variants both of the song itself and also its precursors, Christmas would be long gone by the time I finished. I’m sure there have been whole doctoral dissertations written on just this subject. But not everyone shares my obsession with history and etymology, so I’m going to concentrate on this version, usually sung or performed as a Christmas song even though none of the verses except for the first one refers in any direct way to the Christmas story.
I started out this post with what I assumed would be an easy-to-answer question: Why did Stephen Schwartz end up collaborating with someone named Steve Young for this song, writing the music but having Young write the lyrics? Schwartz is somewhat of a Broadway legend, having had at one point three hit Broadway shows running at once (Pippin, Godspell, and The Magic Show). In 2003 Schwartz wrote the music and lyrics for the musical Wicked, which just celebrated its 20th year on Broadway. Yes, 20. So there was no shortage of material about Schwartz, but I couldn’t find anything about his writing this specific song. And I became somewhat obsessed with finding out who this Steve Young was. While I don’t typically share my research process, such as it is, about these posts, this one seemed interesting enough to include here. First I googled “Steve Young” and came up with a Wikipedia entry about someone of that name who was very famous for something called the “outlaw movement” in country music. Hmmm. That didn’t sound too promising. After a delightful e-mail exchange with Young’s son, Jubal Lee* (Young died in 2016), we concluded that I had the wrong Steve Young. Jubal said that he was sure his dad wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet about working with the creator of Wicked and therefore miss out on a chance to impress his granddaughter.
I never want with these posts to make musical texts less meaningful to those who sing or hear them, and that is especially true with Christmas music. If I disagree with conventional ideas, rest assured that there will always be a deeper and richer meaning to be had in their place. As usual, I’ve had a ball diving down into various and sundry websites, finally coming up for air to share with you what I’ve discovered.
Probably everyone reading this post knows that the context for the birth of the Christ child in the town of Bethlehem is a Roman census: everyone has to go “to his own city.” (There’s a ton of controversy out there about what and when this “census” was; I’m not going to get into that whole issue here.) Joseph, we are told, was descended from King David, who came from Bethlehem and had been plucked out of obscurity as a youngest son and shepherd boy, ruling Israel way back around 1,000 BC. Bethlehem was therefore probably where Joseph was born. Why wasn’t he living there at the time of the census? We don’t know; in fact, we know very little about Joseph. Perhaps he had moved to Nazareth because there wasn’t much work for a carpenter in Bethlehem. But now he and Mary have had to travel back, a distance of about 100 miles. They would almost certainly have traveled in a group with other people; a lone journey was very dangerous, and they can’t have been the only ones needing to show up for the census. And those scenes with Mary barely making it into town and almost giving birth in the street are most assuredly not confirmed in the text, since we’re told that “while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.” They got there with time to spare. I’ve wondered, though, if perhaps they’d delayed their journey in the hopes that the baby would come before the trip? Impossible to know.
There are many Christmas carols and songs that include the image of the Christ child as a rose. “Lo, How a Rose E’re Blooming” is a famous one, made even more so from the modern pairing of that 17th century hymn with the contemporary pop song “The Rose” by Amanda McBroom. “When Blossoms Flowered ‘Mid the Snows,” is another one such with its lines:
When blossoms flowered ‘mid the snows
Upon a winter night,
Was born the Child, the Christmas Rose,
The King of Love and Light.
(This song was originally titled “Gesu Bambino,” written by—you guessed it—an Italian.)
So I had always vaguely thought of the image of a rose, possibly a red one for contrast, blooming against the white snow, a miraculous event like the story of Christmas itself. And that would indeed be a beautiful image, except for one problem:
Hey, isn’t that a pretty dumb question? “Joy to the World” is one of our most traditional of Christmas carols. At least, that’s what most of us would say. But a quick look at the words reveals no mention of mangers, angels, shepherds, stars, or Christ as a baby. So what’s the song really about? I was intrigued to see the name “Isaac Watts” as the author of the lyrics. He’s known as the author of many famous hymns, including “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross” and “Oh God, Our Help in Ages Past.” So it wouldn’t be surprising for him to have written about Christmas.
I’d always kind of assumed that the answer to this question would involve something high-flown and theological about the incarnation of Christ, but that’s not really the case. This text, which has been set to some of the most sublime music ever written, is all about the earthy details of the Christmas story. Does that surprise you? It did me, when I actually took the time to look at the translation.
Before I go any further, here’s the Latin original with the English version:
I had never noticed this before analyzing the carol for this post, but the ivy is mentioned in the first line and then it just disappears. Here are the first two lines:
The holly and the ivy, when they are both full grown,
Of all the trees that are in the wood, the holly bears the crown.
Wouldn’t you expect that there would be a third line explaining the role of the ivy, something that starts out with “Of all the vines that are in the wood, the ivy bears . . . ” But there isn’t. Here’s somewhat of a explanation from an academic website:
The lyrics are somewhat puzzling. The first line is “The Holly and the Ivy,“ yet ivy is mentioned nowhere else in the carol except in the last verse, which is a repeat of the first verse. Holly is given the starring role in the song and ivy is ignored, so it seems strange that ivy is even mentioned.
The explanation that is often given is that the first line in the carol is a remnant of the old custom of linking holly and ivy together. In the rest of the carol ivy isn’t needed. The “holly” in the carol refers to Christ and the theme of the carol is his life. (“English Ivy Symbolism, Traditions, and Mythology“)
My choir, the Cherry Creek Chorale, is singing a great jazzy arrangement of “I[‘ve] Got No Strings” by Paul Langford. The original song was written for the 1940 Disney movie Pinocchio and was also released the same year, with slightly different lyrics, by Decca Records. Most post-1940 performances use the Decca lyrics, I suspect because they fit into a more generalized meaning than the film’s wording, which is closely tied to the scene at the marionette theater where Pinocchio performs along with other, stringed puppets. I’ll include videos and lyrics for the two different versions at the end of this post.
The original story of the wooden puppet who comes to life was written by an Italian, Carlo Collodi, in the late 1800’s. His tale is considerably darker than the Disney version. Pinocchio is downright nasty! He kills Jiminy Cricket! With a hammer! (The cricket reappears as a ghost later on in the story.) There’s a lot of violence in the original that doesn’t appear in the film: Pinocchio goes to sleep with his feet propped up on the stove and wakes up to find that they’ve burned off; Geppetto makes him some new ones. Pinocchio bites off a cat’s front paw when the cat is disguised as a bandit. At one point Pinocchio is being hanged, but apparently he’s taking too long to die and so his would-be murderers, the cat and the fox, wander off. The Turquoise/Azure/Blue Fairy rescues him. And so on.
Imagine, if you will, a film with tremendous star power, including Jeremy Irons and Robert de Niro in the two leading roles, a spectacular setting centered around a South American waterfall that’s 100 feet higher than Niagara Falls, and cinematography if the highest order, and yet . . . it didn’t even earn enough in theaters to repay production costs. And it’s remembered today almost solely for its soundtrack, whose composer Ennio Merricone was best known up till that time for his music in the so-called “spaghetti westerns” that included The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.
The great film critic Roger Ebert said that:
The Mission feels exactly like one of those movies where you’d rather see the documentary about how the movie was made. You’d like to know why so many talented people went to such incredible lengths to make a difficult and beautiful movie – without any of them, on the basis of the available evidence, having the slightest notion of what the movie was about. There isn’t a moment in The Mission that is not watchable, but the moments don’t add up to a coherent narrative. At the end, we can sort of piece things together, but the movie has never really made us care. (“The Mission”)