The Cold

It's Cold This Time Of Year.

But not like this.

This is more than we're supposed to get. Maybe more than we can stand.

This is the cold that starts at your cheeks and spreads downwards through your body.

This is the kind of cold that seeps into your bones.

And stays there.

The kind of cold that seems like it might never end.

No matter how many layers you wear.

No matter how many fires you're near.

No matter how tired you are. Or how much you eat. Or drink.

This is the kind of cold that gets under your skin.

The kind of cold that defies numbers, even when those numbers have a negative sign in front of them.

This is cold.

Hear the Angels, Join the Choir

File this under Guilty Pleasures.

I'm not a huge heavy metal fan. And when you get past David Bowie and Mott the Hoople, I'm not big on glam.

So how do I explain this:


Angel was a heavy metal glam band from Washington DC led by Punky Meadows and the late Mickey Jones. The band was discovered by Gene Simmons from Kiss and eventually signed to Kiss's label Casablanca Records. They had absurdly long hair and their gimmick was that they always wore white. And they appeared in the 1980 movie Foxes (starring Jodie Foster, Laura Dern, Randy Quaid, Cherie Currie, and Scott Baio) essentially playing themselves.

To my mind, almost all their songs sounded the same -- and although it was interesting to hear a glam version of the Young Rascals' "I Ain't Gonna Eat Out My Heart Anymore" once, it didn't seem like it was something I'd need to hear again and again (it stalled out at #44 on the Billboard Hot 100, so I guess I'm not the only one who felt that way).

And then, in the late 70s, one of their songs snuck onto the radio around Christmas. It didn't really sound like any of their other material. And I couldn't get enough of it. Back then, DJs used to identify the records they played, so at least I knew the name of the band (Angel) and the name of the song ("The Winter Song").

But these were the pre-internet days, so I didn't have any idea what album the song was on (or what the cover looked like). And I didn't have any friends who liked the band, so I couldn't borrow the album from anyone. So I did what I always did -- I spent months searching through the various used-record stores in town until I found it. One scuffed-up copy with a big scratch at the end of Side One. But otherwise, the album was in good shape.

So, ignoring the hideous cover, I plunked down my 85 cents and bought the record.

I listened to the entire record once. But I've listened to "The Winter Song" (last track on Side Two) dozens of times.


God help me -- I love the sleigh bells, the cheesey 70s synths, the "little drummer boy" rhythm, the choir, the call-and-response in the later choruses, the layered sound that slowly fades off to infinity, and the way the song always makes me think of a fresh snowfall.

I'm pretty sure this confession should cost me every last shred of street cred I've ever imagined I had (or might have in the future). But it's the holiday season -- and everyone has a few guilty pleasures.

I told you one of mine; tell me one of yours.