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Frickin’ A
"MERRY MERRY MERRY FRICKIN’ CHRISTMAS (WORLD CHAMPION RED SOX ANTHEM)"
(Toucan Cove EP)
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These four unendearingly buffoonish party boys have been sucking the tailpipe of the KISS 108 gravy train since landing a Blinkish micro-hit called "Trend" last summer. Their big get-rich-quick scheme was a punk-pop cover of Rick Springfield’s "Jessie’s Girl" (included here as a B-side). And their guitar player ties with Johnny Damon for the worst George-Michael-stubble-and-coiffed-mullet-combo since that dude in Color Me Badd. In other words, Frickin’ A are frickin’ idiots — which makes them a perfect match for our frickin’ Idiots. And there’s really no better way to canonize this year’s Yawkey Way crew except with something this big, dumb, and loud. "Merry Merry Merry Frickin’ Christmas" is already a massive local smash — reported to be moving 1200 copies a week — even though, in the tradition of Boston-themed novelties dating back to "Dirty Water," Frickin’ A are from a MetroWest suburb we’ve never heard of. (Does the Purple Line stop at Cincinnati?) Originally a hall-decking, jingle-belled Yuletide rocker with sub–"Granny Got Run Over"–grade lyrics (that version’s here too), the track was hastily rewritten as the first actual Xmas pop hit to salute Ye Olde Towne Team. Rushed out on CD just after Thanksgiving (future historians will likely scratch their chins over why the band titled the instrumental version "Ashlee’s Lipsynch Track"), "MMMFXmas" beats you over the head with its pseudo-cleverness, just what great novelty songs are supposed to do — as transparent as their jock bassist’s fauxhawk, it’s the kind of beyond-shameless bid for attention that you’ll be singing along to even as you’re attempting to dislodge it from your noggin with an ice pick. Frickin’ A know that "A-Rod swallows" sells better than "Sox rule": by rhyming the title with "Yankees fans can kiss this" and "Steinbrenner’s really pissed," they’ve ensured that this song will be in blast-furnace rotation on sports-talk and modern-rock stations every six minutes between last week and the night you stuff it in your dad’s stocking. Which might just be the best part about this "Frickin’ Christmas": it’s a guilty pleasure with a non-negotiable expiration date.
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