We live in confusing and troubling times. It seems that one cannot go onto any social media platform, look at any television, or browse a single newspaper without coming across the dysfunctional and baffling. It is relieving indeed that this time of year, at least, offers a break for our cynicism; the holidays emphasize the good in the world. The just. This time of year, things seem to make sense.
And then we are forced to deal with the flabbergasting atrocity that is “The Little Drummer Boy”.
Many of us are familiar with the story in this song. A diminutive percussionist follows some people to see Jesus, carrying only his drum and a heart full of dreams. He has no money to buy a gift for the newborn king, and feels it a fair trade to present our saviour with a drumroll, introducing him to the world.
Right off the bat, we are thrown into this silent, peaceful moment—that cold barn on a midnight clear—at the speed and force of a brakeless tanker down a mountain. I don’t know about other versions of this song, but the ones I know are utterly overwhelming with the sheer amount of instruments used. Sure, this is a big moment, but it’s supposed to be a peaceful one—Silent Night isn’t regularly performed with vuvuzelas. The gusto of which it is performed gives an uncomfortable incongruity to the moment in this song; the only way to end it properly would have been for one of the wisemen to hold Baby Jesus like Simba on the barn roof to the thunderous applause of the ox and sheep.
It wouldn’t be a stretch for these barnyard animals, since they also have passable musical prowess. These ox and lamb are able to keep time for the drummer boy. This fact absolutely infuriates my friend: How, he demands. How do these ox and lamb keep time? With their feet? Their heads? How stupid a moment this looks when imagined: a frustrated, tired Mary holds her baby and has to deal with a bunch of animals clomping and spastically bobbing their heads around her. She’s stressed enough trying to keep her newborn from going prematurely deaf, since this homeless kid is playing a snare drum directly next to his head. Why and how did this become okay? Jesus must have had to spend some of his healing power on himself that very first night to undo the damage to his eardrums; there is no way that would have been comfortable.
And yet, we assume it’s all fine and dandy, all because of the very last part: Jesus smiled at the little drummer boy. He enjoyed it; he appreciated it. He blessed the boy and his drum. He said thank you. Except no, he didn’t. He absolutely didn’t. This, remember, is a newborn baby. A few hours old. It takes around two months for babies to smile socially. That Baby Jesus could have the ability to both recognise that the boy’s drum performance was a gift and also give the appropriate “it’s the thought that counts” smile is just not logical; he simply doesn’t have that ability yet.
This brings this song to its ridiculous conclusion. Although he couldn’t have smiled in the normal, social sense, newborn babies can smile for other reasons. Or, rather, grimace. Newborns can look like they’re smiling when passing flatus.
Nowadays, it’s nearly impossible to experience a parumpapumpumless Christmas; all we can do is listen and attempt to deal with what is hidden between the snare rolls. The Little Drummer Boy is a gong show of a song that builds up to the most bathetic of climaxes: Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour, Wonderful Councillor, Prince of Peace…farting. Farting his very first fart. Hallelujah.