Bob Dylan is releasing an album of Christmas music, as I mentioned here recently. I have now heard some of it, and now so will you.

I understand that Bob has made this record to benefit a very worthy charity, Feeding America, and applaud his generosity wholeheartedly and I hope it sells very well.

I also hope it sells well because I am perverse and enjoy thinking about people listening to these very traditional backing tracks that could have been recorded in 1962 with the Mitch Miller Orchestra with Dylan's voice on top. Now it could be that the man was sick during the recording sessions, because he sounds a bit hoarse, no? Or perhaps he had recently had his vocal cords belt-sanded. Or drank a liter of Drano. Or competed at an all-day-long Tom Waits Festival. I am not sure. But again, the idea of the family getting together on Christmas Eve in front of a roaring fire, drinking some eggnog, reading The Night Before Christmas in glowing anticipation of Santa's arrival and/or some Jesus-y thing, and mistaking Mr. Dylan's voice for a snowplow scraping its metal blade on dry pavement, well. Delicious.

My hat is off to you, sir. May I offer you a lozenge?