Week 293: “Snowfall” by Doris Day

dorisday

A couple weeks ago I posted a song that was perfect for the holidays despite having nothing to do with the holidays. As reluctant as I usually am to feature actual Christmas music, I figured that with Santa making his way around the world later this week, it was time to trade in the humbug for some egg nog and share this fascinating track from Doris Day’s 1964 Christmas album.

In some ways, Doris Day was the prototypical post-war Hollywood star. The hair, the four marriages, the perky smile, the perky name (changed from Kappelhoff to make it less German)…it’s all pretty standard for a mid-century performing legend.

But there’s an interesting and less conventional side to Doris Day. Like the fact that she’s been an animal activist for decades, and often adopts strays. Like the fact that she turned down the role of Mrs. Robinson in “The Graduate” because she thought the movie was vulgar. Like the fact that she’s an ordained minister in the Universal Life Church, an organization that was founded (in case you couldn’t guess based on the name) in California in the 1960s.

So this song, written by Claude Thornhill, was a perfect fit for her. In some ways, it’s a typical Christmas tune that fits right in with any turkey dinner. But in other ways, it’s not typical at all.

What makes this a beautiful song:

1. It’s not nearly as jingly and happy as most Christmas songs from this era. Moody chord changes make it darker and dreamier.

2. It’s not as lyrically literal as most Christmas songs. In fact, the lyrics are pretty sparse. At one point, she takes almost 30 seconds to sing the four-word phrase, “snowflakes falling, winter calling.”

3. The interval she sings on the word “snowfall” is the same interval that Tony uses to sing the words, “could be, who knows” in West Side Story. Something about that interval makes it feel introspective and individual, as if she’s not inviting us out into the snow with her, but rather is happy to be there on her own.

Recommended listening activity:

Looking at a distorted reflection of yourself in a Christmas tree ornament.

Buy it here.