Many people around the world are bereft of the beautiful tradition of the bank holiday, originally introduced by the visionary British banker and dog-literacy advocate John Lubbock in 1871, to protect the poor sweet banks from potentially losing precious shillings by closing when others stayed open in the willy-nilly regional holiday system of ye olden tymes. Featuring the vocal talents of members of Quiet Marauder, My Name Is Ian, Francesca's Word Salad, Prizefighter, Mock Deer, Alex and the Christopher Hale Band, Randolph's Leap, and Susie Asado - in order of appearance: Kadesha Drija Ian Williams Francesca Dimech Simon Read Jack, Annie, and Ben Walker Laura Capaldi Rick Damiani Alex Hale Adam Ross Josepha Conrad ----- It’s a holiday A general holiday It’s time to leave the office Think of all the Fortnite we will play Some holidays are for Christians Some for Muslims or for Jews But today’s a special day For all of them and for you too But press pause and think of the sad ones Who don’t get to celebrate No barbecues with the in-laws No seaside trips to take They don’t know what they’re missing Because their ways are foreign They celebrate the days when Dead explorers went exploring Or for saints grotesquely murdered They make a holy hullaballoo Speaking of God, thank him or her that it’s Them instead of you There’ll be no day-drunks on the Continent this Monday afternoon Their only task will be to work the day away No pubs or fun for them, their weekend’s the normal length Are they even aware it’s a bank holiday? Mom, dad, where do bank holidays come from? Wait, I thought you said you gave him The Talk years ago! Well, you see, son, back in the Industrial Revolution, each region had their own local holidays, but the banks were so afraid that if they closed at all on a weekday they’d go bust… But a baron and a banker named John Lubbock Proposed Bank Holidays in the golden year of 1871 He also tried to teach his standard poodle how to read At least his first idea worked, now there’s more fun for everyone I think it’s great to celebrate our history And I hate to spoil the magic and the mirth But in terms of public holidays, we’re really not so great we’ve the second-least of any country on the planet Earth Yes but the Germans don’t have a day off at the end of August Aber wir haben Christi und Maria Himmelfahrt Do Cambodians have days to celebrate? Really, twenty-eight? But I bet their holidays just can’t be as good as ours! And while the Popey places may get more than we do They have to spend them listening to some creepy priest Eight a year suits me just fine, (in Scotland we get nine!) And less time off means a strong economy! These Latvians seem confused that we’re in Riga Celebrating Gary’s stag in our special way We’ll drink and puke and sleep, these flights were so damn cheap Are they even aware it’s a bank holiday? Are they even aware it’s a bank holiday? No more work!*** Today’s a day we call Bank Holiday! No more work! Tell your friends about bank holidays! No more work! Sing a song about bank holidays! No more work! Everyone should have bank holidays! No more work! Bank bank bank bank bank bank holidays! No more work! Tell your mom about bank holiday! ----- ***You may think you recognize the melody and phrasing of the outro, but I assure you, it's entirely original and quite immune to legal action.* *Love u, Sir Geldof!

An ode to one of the most underrated and unfairly maligned days of the Gregorian calendar, a day which I think we should really start celebrating properly. ----- One Friday night in Asgard The gods were feeling hale and hearty Twelve of them were drinking Then Loki crashed the party Odin said we’ve only got twelve chairs You’ll have to sit it out So Loki killed his favourite kid And this superstition came about But some say it was Jesus Noshing on his Final Feast With eleven of his bestest buds And Judas made thirteen It was a Maundy Thursday Half-price wing night in Jerusalem They stayed up till Friday morning And you know what happened then But Stevie Wonder told me Superstition ain’t the way And I’d take Stevie over popes and Norse historians any day So you can keep your Christmas, Your Eid and Halloween Keep Rosh Hashannah if you wanna Leave me Friday the 13th Some people argue the fear started Only in 1307 When Phil the 4th of France Said these Knights Templar, let’s behead ‘em And it was a Friday the 13th When this supposedly went down But be careful learning history From the novels of Dan Brown Then the 1980s came along An age of culture, charm and class Like Jason Voorhees with his machete And his stupid goalie mask And like all the slasher franchises It seemed it would never end But Friday the 13th films? They only finished twelve of them! And Stevie Wonder told me Superstition ain’t the way And I’ll take Stevie over knights and serial killers any day Yes you can keep your Christmas, Your Eid and Halloween Keep Rosh Hashannah if you wanna Leave me Friday the 13th But you know, I didn’t always believe these things I’ve told ya In fact I used to suffer from paraskevidekatriaphobia But then in high school all my friends Decided they were goths They loved Friday the Thirteenth a lot Or should I say a loth Each time it came around They’d light thirteen tall black candles We’d watch Buffy and drink absinthe In our black flannel pajamles We’d limbo under ladders And smash mirrors on the floor I must admit I don’t know why We don’t do that anymore ‘Cause Stevie Wonder told me Superstition ain’t the way And I’ll take Stevie over popes and Norse historians any day So you can keep your Christmas, Your Eid and Halloween Keep Rosh Hashannah if you wanna Leave me Friday the 13th

Note to black metal fans: yes, Euronymous really did play a sunburst Les Paul. Seems weird, I know. ----- One dreary November I was down in my dungeon And by dungeon I mean the basement in my parents’ place I was sitting around with my friends Dave and Kevin Better known as Dementor and Kevin Skull-face We had a band practice scheduled but unfortunately Dave’s guitar had been stolen from his Honda Fit It was a BC Rich Warlock and Dave was heartbroken But Kevin was like, c’mon, Dave, get on with it He said put on your big boy pants, put on your corpse paint Let’s go down to Guitar Centre, see what’s in stock So Dave dried his tears and we got out our trench-coats We were ready for shopping, we were ready to rock We stopped by the graveyard to take a few selfies Then got to the store and saw to our delight An inflatable man dancing next to a sign That said Black Friday Sale! Huge Savings Inside! Why can’t every Black Friday be a Black Metal Friday Great deals and great darkness just go hand in hand Why can’t every Black Friday be a Black Metal Friday Burn a church! Buy an iPad! Start a black metal band Dave surprised us by buying a sunburst Les Paul Deeply discounted ‘cause of a couple warped frets Dave said it was the same model played by Euronymous Before his old bandmate stabbed him to death We had only come in for a guitar for Dementor But then Kevin Skullface spied a brand new bass amp With this thousand-watt head he said our fans will be dead With this much bottom end I will crush them like ants I was about to point out that we’d only played two shows And a battle of the bands which we’d unfairly lost Then I saw a double kick pedal in polished black metal I’d play blast beats twice as fastly at 50% off On top of it everything was zero-percent financing It all made us feel powerful and evil and frugal With these deals and this gear we’d be a real band to fear Like Rotting Christ mixed with Burzum, but even more brutal Why can’t every Black Friday be a Black Metal Friday Great deals and great evil just go hand in hand Why can’t every Black Friday be a Black Metal Friday Burn a church! Buy an iPad! Start a black metal band Why can’t every Black Friday be a Black Metal Friday Trampling fellow shoppers and listening to Mayhem Why can’t every Black Friday be a Black Metal Friday Hail discounts, hail darkness, hail savings, hail Satan

Note to pedants: yes, I am aware that the use of "ye" in the title is grammatically incorrect, since it is not an objective but rather a subjective pronoun. But the rest of the title is also incorrect, for reasons that will become obvious in the song. So don't @ me, or I. Original hymn melody likely written by a disheveled monk living on a diet of lichen and beer somewhere in northern England during the Dark Ages. Lyrics by me. Thanks to Gudrun for suggesting this one! ------ God rest ye, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay I trust you did not meet a jam upon the motorway We’d heard there was a nasty crash Somewhere north of Leicester In any case you’re here in plenty of time, plenty of time Sound check is not ’til shortly after five Oh come in, Merry Gentlemen, your green room’s well-appointed Havarti cheese and M&Ms, you won’t be disappointed We could not find the type of wine listed on your rider So we picked up a box of zinfandel, zinfandel Four litres of generic zinfandel On the poster “Merry Gentlemen” hath been spelled incorrectly Our poster guy assumed that it was merry with an “ie.” And “gentleman” he hath inscribed, though clearly ye are plural But we’ve changed it on the Facebook event page, event page On the website and on Facebook it’s been changed Oh pardon, Merry Gentlemen, just checking in to see How much longer you expect that your soundcheck doth needeth be? Doors are at half eight and we’ve got three supports this evening On account of sluggish advance ticket sales, ticket sales Could be the rugby’s on, it’s Scotland vs. Wales Yes, thank you Merry Gentlemen, and here’s your guarantee May I say I’ve never heard a lute plucked with such vicious speed The crowd was sparse but those who came they surely did enjoy it Medieval metal hasn’t really caught on here, but have no fear We’ll do better with a weekend date next year

Covid-19 has separated some of us, but in other cases it's forced us together in much more intimate circumstances, and for a far longer time, than we ever imagined possible. Merry Christmas. ----- Jingle jingle jingle jingle jingle jingle jingle jing That’s the jingle jangle of the ring of keys that dangle on dad’s belt so we know it’s him He’s jingling his keys completely absentmindedly, Raptors reruns on TV Grumbling and mumbling something something something the game isn’t the same as it used to be And mom has gone downstairs to try to find the extra chairs so everyone can eat together Not counting all the kids and hey nobody ever did there’s something like a dozen, plus Heather And Heather being new she wasn’t sure just what to do, went down the basement stairs to help Mom was smoking menthols by the dryer, whimpering and crying, "please someone get me out!" Hey, what a beautiful winter’s day Now everybody’s home for the holidays Oh say, we’re family and we’re here to stay Yes everybody’s home for the holidays Bill is in the kitchen trying to pitch in with the dishes wishing he and Brad had had the sense To stay back in Nova Scotia where the cases are much lower and everything is less intense But no no no no no Brad just had to go to Ontario before the snow began Now they’re stuck out in the suburbs and Bill is scrubbing something off the always-sticky non-stick pan And Jane is still complaining ‘bout the lady on the train who was coughing all the way from Guelph Opening a bag of frozen curly fries she says she wouldn’t be surprised if she had it now herself Just then the doorbell rings “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” and look, Kim brought Jimmy along How’d she pick such a winner? Everybody knows that dinner will be Jimmy’s jibber-jabber about Q Anon Hey, what a beautiful winter’s day Now everybody’s home for the holidays Oh say, we’re family and we’re here to stay Yes everybody’s home for the holidays Katherine and Christian just finished school by distance and they tell everyone how much it sucked Grandpa asks if they are able to use proper English at the table and Katherine says "Grandpa, shut up!" She talks about the cops that killed a guy outside a shop because they didn’t like the colour of his skin "Now Katherine, all lives matter!" yells Kim’s Jimmy at her; mom storms off to passive-aggressively put the turkey in

This was originally written for the Zunior.com compilation "Christmas Candy" in 2013. ----- Remember when being young and dumb was our modus operandi? Your name was Carmelita, but I called you Caramel Candy When I heard you were coming home for the holidays I had one of those cheesy soft-focus TV flashbacks I remembered all those years ago When you kissed me in the December snow And we laid down beside each other on the railroad tracks You were sweeter than Mansichewitz wine back in those days And I haven't lost my sweet tooth since you've been around You used to spin me like a broken dreidel, I was Douglas, you were Streep - the attraction was fatal And ever since there's been a you-shaped hole in this town Eight days and eight nights, eight days and eight nights Candy, pour the brandy and light the lights Eight days and eight nights, eight days and eight nights You're here for eight whole days and eight whole nights Don't pay attention to mom's questions about your ex-husband And please try your hardest to ignore grandpa's twitchy eye After we light the candles, finish dinner and load the dishwasher Let's go for a walk and sneak a cigarette like old times When you smile like you used to smile when you were always smiling And when I look in your eyes it feels like no time has passed I'm sorry I'm only half-paying attention to your story about your dad's dementia Whatever the reason, I'm just happy you came back For eight days and eight nights, eight days and eight nights Candy, pour the brandy and light the lights Eight days and eight nights, eight days and eight nights You're here for eight whole days and eight whole nights

La Tomatina is the holiday I've never experienced in real life that is #1 on my list for post-pandemic times. Who wants to come with me to Buñol, Spain, and throw tomatoes at each other? ----- If you deplane in Barcelona Todas las personas They’ll tell you the very misma cosa: Our town is overrun With turistas seeking sun And gaudy Gaudi trinkets by the tonne! So we highly reccomendya Head south down to Valencia Especialmente Buñol Where you can verdadamente lose control ¡Es La Tomatina Estamos en la calle Tirando tomates No sabemos por qué! Nobody knows for sure How La Tomatina started But in 1945 When a tomato cart uncarted Instead of bringing the tomatoes To the cart or to a bucket The people said let’s chuck em At each other, because fuck it There’s not so many chances To be silly under fascism So let’s have a tomato fight A fruity saucy baptism ¡Es La Tomatina Estamos en la calle Tirando tomates No sabemos por qué! No historian is certain That you can take this to el banco But it’s rumoured that one man Who was no fan was General Franco He said all this tomato chaos Does not make a buena vista It’s something more befitting Those dirty anarquistas And even though Dear Frankie Had had all the leftists shot He still thought La Tomatina Might be a commie plot ¡Pero es La Tomatina Estamos en la calle Tirando tomates No sabemos por qué! But now Franco’s just a lump Of bones and teeth inside a casket And millions of tomatoes Are ripe and ready for the fascists Should they venture to Buñol On the last miércoles of August They’ll soon be covered head to toe In tomatoes, this I promise But everyone’s a target, It’s difícil to explain But when you’re in this part of Spain You’ll hear the old refrain: ¡Es La Tomatina Estamos en la calle Tirando tomates No sabemos por qué!

Like any thalassocracy, the city state of Venice attached a great deal of importance to the sea, and has made a big deal about it for at least the last thousand years or so. But in the 12th century, an annual celebration of the sea took on a somewhat more romantic tone, and since then it’s been known as the “Marriage of the Sea,” in which the mayor of Venice rides a golden boat and throws a ring into the water, wedding the city to the sea for another year. In this song I imagined myself as a particularly amorous Venetian mayor. The details of the Marriage of the Sea are so incredibly wonderful (including the blessing I quote here) that I urge you to rush to your nearest search engine and look it up for yourself. Let’s hope the Bucentaur gets rebuilt soon. And thanks to Sibsi for suggesting I write a song about this fabulous holiday in the first place. ----- My hands are shaking What will I wear? My palms are clammy How should I do my hair Which of these enormous hats Will look the prettiest on me On the day of my marriage to the sea My marriage was arranged But I’m a old-fashioned guy So I don’t really mind A pre-ordained bride When I was elected My responsibility Every year was to get married to the sea Listen to the chanting priests My little holy troubadours Aspergēs mē hȳsōpō, et mundābor It means sprinkle me with hyssop And then I will be clean On the day of my marriage to the sea Many centuries ago An old pope donated a ring To be thrown into the waves A bit of Vatican bling And every year since By tradition and decree We toss another fancy ring into the sea Look, here’s my golden boat A wonder to behold It has a golden throne And lots of sculptures, also gold. And when I sail upon her Everybody looks at me Because they know I’m getting married to the sea My advisors lecture me That the ceremony Weds the sea to the city Not to me personally But they’re tiring and pedantic, That’s a technicality; I say it’s me that’s getting married to the sea The big day is finally here: I will say I do Then all the fishes and the dolphins And the squids say “I do too” ‘Cause that’s just how we roll in a thalassocracy And you’re invited to my marriage to the sea

The Berlin Wall fell on November 9, 1989, as you probably remember. Unfortunately, the ninth day of the eleventh month also happens to be the date of several rather less savoury historical events, notably including both the Beer Hall Putsch and Kristallnacht, which made celebrating German reunification that day less than appealing. So der Tag der Deutschen Einheit (Germany Unity Day) is celebrated instead on October 3, to commemorate the day in 1990 when reunification of East and West Germany into a single German state was made official. Thanks to Wolfgang for suggesting this complicated set of holidays as a topic for a song. ----- You’re giving me that look That look that you give me When I’ve forgotten something important Like the dry-cleaning or our anniversary But baby don’t be crazy Of course I remember The day we got back together But today is the day Not the 3rd of October No I haven’t been drinking, Look at me, I’m sober I thought we agreed It’s the 9th of November The day that we got back together The day that we got back together After so many long years apart The day that we got back together It’s written in the calendar of my heart That magical night When I saw you there For the first time in so long Wind of Change was in the air I mean the Scorpions song I wasn’t referring to the weather On the day we got back together The wall tumbled down And Hasselhof sang And it’s true that was the evening When we began again with a bang But too many bad things Also happened on the 9th of November We can’t call it the day we got back together The day that we got back together Was historically not so nice, and I’m shocked That you’d want to commemorate our reunion On the same date as Kristallnacht But October the 3rd Holds no sparkle, not for nobody It’s just the day that we signed the papers in triplicate photocopies Well November 9th was also the Beer Hall Putsch, and look, I’d rather not be reminded of the Nazis You were the east And you were the west But now we’re together And there’s nothing better than togetherness We can keep fighting But really, whatever I know the day we got back together I know the day we got back together

My attempt to tell a more historically accurate version of poor Wenceslas’ life. Nice guys finish last, even in 10th-century Bohemia. The first two lines are stolen from the original by John Mason Neale (1853), the rest are mine, and the tune is the same one that Neale himself lifted from the 13th century hymn “Tempus adest floridum.” ----- Good king Wenceslas looked out On the feast of Stephen Many people milled about But they could not see him For you see, he was a ghost Spectral, sad and eerie He found haunting his old castle most Dispiriting and dreary He had a violent childhood In tenth century Bohemia At scheming were the nobles good But his kin was e’en schemier When Wenceslas was just a lad His grandmother the Regent Was murdered by his mother’s hand Which was really most indecent His mom was a pagan queen She hated stupid Christians But when Wency turned eighteen He led a resistance Sent his mom into exile Said I’ll be a good sovereign With a chill relaxed lifestyle Making peace and feasting often He was nice to everyone Even women and peasants I bet you’ve guessed I’m leading up To something quite unpleasant His little brother Boleslav Was plotting with his buddies One day they killed poor Wenceslas It was mean and very bloody Now Wenceslas is quite morose Having been most cruelly murdered He has no friends, now he’s a ghost No colleagues or co-workers He must admit his brother is A leader good and clever But as a general human being Wency knows that he was better

This was originally written for the 2010 Zunior.com holiday compilation "A Country Blues Christmas." Half-hearted apologies to any of my fellow Jews who might be offended by me first stealing the traditional melody of the Hanukkah candle-lighting blessing, and then actually including the blessing itself in a song that also talks about being sad and drunk during this joyous celebration. Life is complicated. Recorded by Michael Feuerstack at his apartment in Montreal in 2010. ----- Well it’s that time of year once again: Eight days of candles and family and friends But I’ve got no cards or presents to send No grandma to make me no latkes Just this bottle of discount brand vodka, so I sing: It’s late, it’s dark, and it’s cold And the houses are covered in snow I’ve lost my keys, and I’ve lost my job And I’m lonely, and I’m drunk Happy Hanukkah. It’s a holiday about a miracle and a war But I don’t feel very merry and I don’t think I can drink anymore I’ve tried playing dreidel by myself Somehow I still manage to lose Whenever us Jews get the blues, we just pray: Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah. 

I'll be the first to admit that I don't really know a lot about Diwali. One of the most interesting things I didn't know before, but do now, is that there's a Diwali tradition in which a military delegation from India meets a Pakistani regiment to exchange sweets and take photos for the local papers. Sort of a formalized equivalent of enemy soldiers singing "Silent Night" across the trenches, but with more candy. Thanks to Simon for suggesting Diwali as a holiday song topic. I apologize if this is not what you had in mind. ----- I stood at the border with brushed epaulets I had shined my parade boots, I never forget Every year at Diwali the local detachment Meets the other side’s forces, it’s tradition, it’s fashion We peace-make and handshake, swap sweets and give greetings Mortal enemies again at the end of the meeting Well this year Diwali it came round again And I stood at attention and greeted the men Their uniforms were khaki of a different shade But otherwise they looked nearly almost the same Cameras clicked and we posed for both sides’ TV stations Look at us, everyone, we’re just two friendly nations But just then a hand slipped a note into my pocket I turned to see who made the clandestine deposit His eyes implored me please don’t take a peek ’Til you’re back in your barracks and the men are asleep I stared and you’ll think me conceited, I’m guessing, When I tell you my first thought was his note was confessing His longing for me over on my side of the border Which would be odd as we’d first met a few moments before, so I quickly dismissed this, my ego was tripping But I admit I was into this illicit note-slipping So I nodded consent and climbed into the Jeep Imagining what else this letter could be As we drove back to the base, I wondered if all the drama Related to some long tragic family saga I imagined his mother, growing older and frail Telling her only son of her long-secret tale She was in love with a young man and before Partition They’d whisper and plot out their hidden decision To run away to the hills and marry one day Despite anything parents or grandparents might say But history never did listen to orders And soon they were driven apart by a border And seventy years now divided them too But her last wish was to tell him, darling I still love you I felt certain this must be the gist of the history Like a sad epic novel by Rushdie or Mistry So when we returned to the barracks I declined in partaking In the feasts and festivities my colleagues were making I retired to my bunk and checked no one was around As the fireworks lit up the streets of the town I unfolded the note as I lay on my bed In a young man’s handwriting this is what it said: A thousand apologies for this secrecy But I must be so careful the others don’t see me Please don’t be angry, this isn’t a joke I need a friend to find me my brand of smokes They’ve stopped selling them here, and I know it sounds terrible But it’s the only thing making the military bearable I’ve enclosed enough of your rupees for a carton, can you get it? I’ll find a way to repay you, I’ll be forever indebted. At first I was disappointed and I had some regrets That all he wanted was contraband cigarettes But then I remembered that over on his side They make those amazing desserts with pistachios inside Now Diwali’s more jolly, the same old ceremony Doesn’t seem quite so empty or pointless or phoney And my enemy-friend and I hide our deceit Meeting monthly in moonlight to swap smokes for sweets

This was originally written for thelineofbestfit.com compilation Ho! Ho! Ho! Canada #7 back in 2015. Thanks to Ro Cemm for all the support over the years! ----- The first snow of the season fell on election day As an omen, this was confusing. Was it a portent of a long, hard winter, Or a harbinger of change? I wondered, as I drove to my morning appointment. As the snow and the Liberals piled up I stayed outside and worked like the dickens. And “the dickens” is the Devil, and the Devil, he works very hard One day I shut myself inside with the first Great Lake Swimmers record And I sang along to “The Man With No Skin” The snow it fell down, and the lights did flicker Then the power went out Still, I kept singing the winter away. Well, I believe in no Jesus Though I live surrounded by Christians So it was that I was invited to dinner on Christmas Eve There were neighbours, there were strangers There was Amanda and her racist boyfriend We got drunk and started fighting about immigration. With the drunken fire of the righteous I stormed away from the Christmas table And I stumbled my way down the dark and wintry road I lay down on the pillows of a snowbank Turned my face up to the sky And I opened my mouth And sang “We Are the Champions” The snow it fell down, and the stars did flicker And the moon it came out Still, I kept singing the winter away: No time for losers, We are the champions of the world.