What Christmas means to you ladies and gentlemen, I really don’t know. For me, it’s a time of deep reflection, a time to remember friends and family who have ignored me or passed long before their time, a chance to try to find some kind of inner peace, a re-grounding of some kind, re-balancing after another whirlwind year has flown by and another is flickering over the horizon like a broken neon sign.
Now I, like many, many others, get a little edgy coming up to the festive season. My psychiatrist might say it’s because I’m suffering from the fear of missing out, seeing as it’s the day we are meant to celebrate the birth of baby Jesus Christ, and not being a believer is making me feel uncomfortable and such like. Or maybe it’s remembering all those childhood Christmases filled with family arguments and disappointments and the subsequent many disappointments of life itself.
It’s a tough season to get into, but what does brighten my holiday time is not the same regurgitation of seasonal ‘hits’ playing in plastic-filled oversized shopping malls, but the chance to sit down with a little ‘me’ time, slip into some lounge pants, pour a large Shasta and play the Elvis Christmas album, a truly inspired blend of Christmas and gospel songs performed by the man who died so we all could live. E really knew how to take care of Christmas business, Santa Bring My Baby Back To Me and Take My Hand, Precious Lord are musically worlds apart but both true ‘holiday classics’.
On that sad day when the King bit the rug, his soul exploded into a million pieces and shards of his very essence embedded themselves into a whole host of individuals, musical and not, changing the purpose and the paths of their lives forever. The power of E is a mysterious thing.
I’ve been a fan of El Vez and I’ve been a fan of Elvana, especially at Christmas time, but I really must confess that one individual who has brought joy, not only to my heart but also to hearts all around the world is Clownvis. This is a man who has sampled the primordial goo that made the King the King. Striking good looks, exceptional musical talent and an intelligent offbeat sense of humour that will make you smile the whole day through.
The one thing missing with Clownvis is that you can’t get enough Clownvis. A problem that will lead you to frantic Internet searches in order to get another fix. Clownvis is likely to infect your system like Dilaudid.
What has filled me with Christmas cheer this year ladies and gentlemen? Don’t Be A Bitch Or You Won’t Get Stuff For Christmas is what. Coupled with the sensitive and emotive Jesus Christ Eatin’ On A Chicken Wing, these two seasonal offerings have become my alternative Santa Bring My Baby Back To Me and Take My Hand, Precious Lord and deep down I just know Elvis would approve. If you haven’t already heard these tracks I can only urge you to do so. ‘Don’t Be A Bitch’ will stick in your brain like a barbed fishing hook and is forecast to become a very collectible 45, so all you vinyl lovers should purchase a copy via this important link, perhaps buy several as they make the perfect Christmas gift for a loved one and a perfect choice for a future investment.
Whilst his banana trick will leave you stunned and amazed, so will his killer tunes. Clownvis is an entertainer in his prime, a man who clearly loves life and loves Christmas. His searing melodies make these not just novelty records but rather beautiful ‘new’ Christmas classics. Clownvis will fill you with joy with his wry smile and infectious voice. Our Christmas wish is that everyone has the opportunity see and enjoy Clownvis live before he becomes a puffy caricature of a once beautiful individual singing Bridge Over Troubled Water, high on Percodan with death whispering sweet nothings in his ear.
God bless you Clownvis and a very Merry Christmas one and all.
Photographer, published poet, former party animal, body builder, grave robber
to the stars and renowned chainsaw juggler, Carl can often be spotted on his
Harley Davidson pretending to be in Terminator 2. He is also frequently seen in
the press pits of old London town, camera in hand, avoiding being hit by bottles
of wee and crippling his opposition with secret Kung Fu moves.