It was the year 1822, in Medford, Massachusetts. A newborn child was given the name James Pierpont. His father was an abolitionist minister. His brother, John, would follow in his father's clergy-sized shoes, but ever the rogue, James fled to the south and eventually took up arms and joined the Confederate army. As one story has it, James, living in Georgia at the time, while feeling homesick, reminiscing about the days when he would speed his vehicle (the horse-drawn sled was the preferred fashion of the day) from snowy Medford to snowy Malden Squares, he penned a catchy little ditty about racing sleighs and attracting members of the opposite sex.
One Horse Open Sleigh, as it was called, was thoroughly enjoyed by those few that heard its almost mantra like refrain, even though in the south the soft cushion of snow nary made its winter appearance. Changing the title of the song, as the story has it, because a lady in town called his piece a "nice little jingle," Pierpont published Jingle Bells in 1857. It would not receive nationwide notoriety until 1903, some ten years after his death. Having nothing to do with the Jesus, butchered trees, Santa Claus, or the giving or receiving of gifts, somehow this song has managed to become the very definition of what we would consider a Christmas carol.
While enjoying a heaping helping of figgy pudding, some rum-soaked egg nog, and a pile of freshly roasted chestnuts, I was listening to a vintage 1944 vinyl recording by Django Reinhardt and on came the song Douce Ambiance. It starts innocuously enough, a steady stream of D notes over ascending, then descending, chromatic dominant chords, starting and ending with D7. Changing back to the other song, let's forget all that "dashing through the snow" dwadle for now. We’ll just concentrate on all that "Jingle Bells" mess. Let us transpose that merry refrain to the key of Bb. It would look something like this:


Fairly simple, eh? A I IV V progression at its heart. The major key gives it a happy, jaunty, sprightly feel. That, "Oh, what fun it is to ride" pish-posh that many a rosy-nosed family has sung,, miraculously off-key, for over a century; let's, in the interest of "fun," give it the minor treatment. The key signature is the same, two flats, but we call it the relative minor (of Bb), e.g. G minor. (Relative being the 6th scale degree from the tonic, or root note. In this case, Bb to G. In the case of C it goes to A. In F it would be D, etc. Another way of finding it is to drop 3 half steps e.g. Bb -> A -> Ab -> G. This method, however, not only cheats us of music theory's time-honored eloquence, but is also fraught with many other problems. Learn your scales, or at least, for now, learn your VIs. This is also a good way to modulate a song or at the very least, work your way into a bridge, but I believe I have already discussed this in September, so I won't go into it here.) Or better yet, let's let Django do it for us. The first sixteen bars of Douce Ambience look like this:


I'm not saying they are the same song and I would never suggest that Mr. Reinhardt would plagiarize such a silly little tune. No, instead I suggest that you do. In the same way one would enhance a recipe for kinmedai by adding a dash of garlic and a twist of lime, we as modern composers and holiday revelers should place these crusty old relics of yore in a blender and give them a whirl. Mash them, lads, like so many potatoes. Give them the what for! Wassail to the long gones and play the Jingle Bells chord progression with the Douce Ambience melody and vice versa. If we, as a nation, can turn one young man's homage about being a feisty and, yes, randy rascal into a song of celebration about what some consider the Son of God, then I believe we have the right to do just about anything we want whenever we want to whatever we want. Next time, I think we'll write a Groundhog's Day song. And if you ask me, it's the only holiday that makes any real sense anyway. No mysterious fat man, no chopping down trees or heads off turkeys, no invisible bunny, no flapping symbol waving, and no dressing up so you can have a good time. Just a rodent, a shadow and you. Simple. All hail Punxsutawney Phil. Now, if yule excuse me, I have more nog to drink and a very special present to unwrap. Happy Holidays, you loyal fans. See you next year.