On October 13th, Bob Dylan released an album of Christmas standards entitled Christmas in the Heart. The reaction from critics, and much of the public, has been: Is this some kind of joke?

“Hearing Bob hack out the words ‘With angelic host proclaim/Christ is born in Bethlehem’ reminds one of grandpa clearing his throat after finishing a glass of eggnog,” wrote Joseph Brannigan Lynch at Entertainment Weekly. It’s no joke, writes Andrew Ferguson in The Weekly Standard; it’s worse than that – Christmas in the Heart is a deliberate “affront, a taunt,” to fans and downright “embarrassing.”


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So, is it really that bad? Not really. Dylan’s work tends to inspire either over-praise or over-criticism, and this album is no exception (though receiving far more of the latter).

My reaction upon hearing the record lurch to life with “Here Comes Santa Claus ” in my ear buds was first to laugh; whether a joke or not, this shit is funny. Mostly because Dylan sounds so uncharacteristically jovial and (yes, I’ll say it) jolly, even. My second reaction was relief – it’s nice to hear that from Dylan for a change.

The songs as a collection are hit and miss. “Here Comes Santa Claus” is all kinds of strange fun; “Do You Hear What I Hear” sounds eerily perfect for Dylan, as if he could have written it; “White Wonderland” is, well, unfortunate; and “Hark The Herald Angels Sing” is, to my ears, unlistenable.

But that’s not the worst moment on Christmas in the Heart. That dubious distinction goes to “Must Be Santa,” a hideous polka-shaped monster that terrorizes the eardrums with psychotic glee. I shiver at the memory.

The high point of the album comes midway through, with a splendid “O’ Come All Ye Faithful” and a spot-on “The Christmas Blues” that practically begs for a spiked, spicy drink, an ablaze fireplace, and a sweatered loved one with whom to sway in the shadow of a tinseled spruce.

The standout track is “Little Drummer Boy.” Dylan’s barely-sung hush is perfect here in a way that is hard to fathom; the band does not so much as play as suggest the music; and the backup vocals hang dutifully above it all. The effect of the whole is a sliver of angelic light pouring into a darkened manger – beautiful.

The rest of the album is comprised of middling tunes, neither awful nor great, but perfectly in keeping with Dylan’s late career re-exploration of traditional American music. All in all, you could do a lot worse for a disk to spin on Christmas Eve, which is exactly what I (minus one or two tracks) intend to do.

Christmas in the Heart is not Dylan’s best album, but nor is it his worst (Self Portrait, anyone?). But it is his most explicitly Christian record since his late-70’s, early ’80’s born-again phase, which produced the Christian themed triptych Slow Train Coming, Saved, and Shot of Love. Critics hated those, far beyond what the music merited, just as they hate Christmas in the Heart.

Draw what conclusions you will.