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Photos by Joanna Chattman.
©2025 Rani Arbo & daisy mayhem.
Thanks for this traditional Appalachian song are due to Elizabeth Mitchell, who recorded it beautifully on her album, The Sounding Joy. I must add: I’m grateful for the 17 years of singing together, and with our audiences, that add up to moments like these. — Rani
Singin’ (walking, dancing, praying) in the land, singing in the land
Singing in the land, I’m a long way from home
Singing in the land, singing in the land
Baby of Bethlehem
Oh Mother (Father, Sister, Brother) don’t you want to go to heaven?
Oh, Mother don’t you want to go to heaven
Oh, Mother don’t you want to go to heaven
Baby of Bethlehem
Words: G.K. Chesterton
Music: Rani Arbo (Jinn Mill Music)
I love how lean these verses are, and how alive. — Rani
The Christ-child lay on Mary’s lap
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all alright.)
The Christ-child lay on Mary’s breast
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)
The Christ-child lay on Mary’s heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world’s desire.)
The Christ-child stood on Mary’s knee,
His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
And all the stars looked down.
Words: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Music: Anand Nayak (Dizzydog Music)
When Rani sent it to me, I wasn’t acquainted with either Longfellow’s anti-war lament (written after the loss of his son and wife) or its famous musical settings, many of which favor the peaceful, Christmas-y verses and downplay the anti-war part. Perhaps having a blank slate helped the music of it to leap off the page as I read it. It tolls the eternal holiday message of “peace on earth, goodwill to men” even as peace is mocked by hate and obliterated by war. Hopefully, the bell keeps ringing. — Anand
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.”
Canray Fontenot and Michael Doucet (Flat Town Music Co., ADO Swallow Publications, Inc.)
I first heard Michael Doucet’s Cajun fiddling on stage with the “American Folk Violin” tour in 1988, a show that pretty much decided my musical future. Of this collaboration with the legendary Creole fiddler Canray Fontenot, Michael writes: “One of Canray Fontenot’s greatest creative qualities was the fact that he remembered many unaccompanied ballads or story songs and sang them in his own deeply resonating voice. I loved singing Bonne Année with him and I would accompany him with my fiddle. He liked my arrangement and encouraged me to record my version. Every time I sing it my heart is filled with his memory and our precious time spent together.” The words translate to: “Hello, Happy New Year, Madame (and Monseiur)! What is your wish?” Many thanks to Yvette Landry for help with the Cajun French pronunciation, which we nevertheless certainly botched. — Rani
Bonjour, bonne année
Quelle est souhaite à tous
Hereuse, hereuse année
Quelle est souhaite à tous
Bonjour, bonne année
Bonne année, Madame
Hereuse, hereuse
Quelle est souhaite à tous?
Bonjour bonne
Bonne année, Monseiur
Hereuse, hereuse année
Quelle est souhaite à tous?
Bonjour bonne année, Madame
Bonjour, bonne année, bonne année, Monseiur
Et bonjour bonne année, Madame
Bonjour, bonne année, bonne année, Monseiur
Hereuse, hereuse année
Quelle est souhaite à tous?
Hereuse, hereuse année
Quelle est souhaite à tous
(repeat verse)
Bonjour bonne année
Quelle est souhaite à tous?
Hereuse, hereuse année
Quelle est souhaite à tous?
Hereuse, hereuse année
Quelle est souhaite à tous
Hereuse, hereuse année
Quelle est souhaite à tous?
Words: Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Music: Rani Arbo (Jinn Mill Music)
When we decided to make this album, I went looking for poems, and this one struck me hard. Tennyson published it in 1850 after the death of his sister’s fiancée at the age of 22; it is part of a longer elegy, In Memoriam. It seems to balance an unshakeable grief with a need to articulate hope. In my reading — and in this musical setting — the grief is winning, even while it’s understood that hope is the only way forward. I didn’t record Tennyson’s last verse; it was more powerful to me to end with a thousand years of peace. — Rani
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more,
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out thy mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.
Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
(Tennyson’s final verse, not sung):
Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.
Ron Sexsmith (Sony/ATV Songs LLC OBO Samp-UK LTD)
From the pen of Canadian Ron Sexsmith, a gorgeous prayer for meaning and redemption from a holiday that doesn’t always live up to the hype. Recommended listening for the car ride to your relative’s house. — Andrew
Maybe this Christmas will mean something more
Maybe this year love will appear
Deeper than ever before
And maybe forgiveness will ask us to call
Someone we love, someone we’ve lost
For reasons we can’t quite recall, oh
Maybe this Christmas
Maybe there’ll be an open door
Maybe the star that shined before
Will shine once more, oh
And maybe this Christmas will find us at last
In Heavenly peace,
Grateful at least
For the love we’ve been shown in the past, oh
Maybe this Christmas, maybe this Christmas
Chrissie Hynde (EMI April Music, Inc.)
Chrissy Hynde wrote this Pretenders’ single for a bandmate who had passed away. In its simple way, it captures the essence of one of the deeper aspects of the winter holidays. Amid the other-worldly beauty of winter, as the year draws to a close and we hover between past and future, our losses can take on a certain clarity. But the children are singing, and around we go. — Anand
He’s gone two thousand miles
It’s very far
The snow is falling down
It’s colder day by day
I miss you
The children are singing
He’ll be back at Christmastime
In these frozen and silent nights
Sometimes in a dream you appear
Outside under a purple sky
Diamonds in the snow sparkle
Our hearts were singing
It felt like Christmastime
Two thousand miles
Is very far through the snow
I’ll think of you
Wherever you go
He’s gone two thousand miles
It’s very far
The snow is falling down
It’s colder day by day
I miss you
I can hear people singing
It must be Christmastime
I hear people singing
It must be Christmastime
Charles “Tommy” Thompson (BMG Bumblebee, OBO Southern Melody Publishing)
Tommy Thompson was the original banjo player for the famed North Carolina-based Red Clay Ramblers. I love how this song invokes the salt and sweet of Christmas. What do you throw at dime store Santas, tinsel angels, dreary decorations, and bitter cold? Human connection. — Rani
When chimney smoke hangs still and low across the stubbled fields of snow
And angry skies reach down and seize the sorry blackened bones of trees
In the dead of winter when the silent snowbirds come
You’re my sweet maple sugar, honey, hot buttered rum
When dreary Christmas decorations line the streets and filling stations
And dime store Santas can’t disguise their empty hands and empty eyes
In the dead of winter when the tinsel angels come
You’re my sweet maple sugar, honey, hot buttered rum
When gloves and boots and woolen parkas bring cold comfort to the heart
And bitter memories freeze the tongue and songs of love are left unsung
In the dead of winter when the cold feelings come
You’re my sweet maple sugar, honey, hot buttered rum
One of the more classic Christmas songs on the record, Children Go is a lesson song from the African American tradition. As such it’s often covered in a somewhat solemn, teacherly way. I’ve always loved its rhythmic exuberance and thought it would be fun to let the song be more of a wild celebration. — Anand
Children, go where I send thee,
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee one by one
One for the little bitty baby
Born, born, born in Bethlehem.
Children, go where I send thee,
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee two by two
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty baby
Born, born, born in Bethlehem.
Three for the Hebrew children…
Four for the four that stood at the door…
Five for the gospel preachers…
Six for the six that never got fixed…
Seven for the seven that never got to heaven…
Eight for the eight that stood at the gate…
Nine for the nine all dressed so fine…
Ten for the ten commandments…
Eleven for the eleven deriders…
Twelve for the twelve Apostles…
This 400-year-old German carol (Es ist ein Ros entsprungen) is a favorite from my childhood as a cathedral chorister. More recently, it became a bedtime favorite — quietly plucked on clawhammer banjo in the dark — for our young son. — Rani
Lo, how a rose e’er blooming
From tender stem hath sprung,
Of Jesse’s lineage coming,
As men of old have sung.
It came a flow’ret bright
Amid the cold of winter
When half-spent was the night.
Isaiah ’twas foretold it,
This Rose that I have in mind.
And with Mary we behold it,
The Virgin Mother so sweet and so kind.
To show God’s love aright,
She bore to men a Saviour
When half-spent was the night.
O Flower, whose fragrance tender
With sweetness fills the air,
Dispel with glorious splendor
The darkness everywhere;
True man, yet very God,
From Sin and death now save us,
And share our every load.
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Photos by Joanna Chattman.
©2025 Rani Arbo & daisy mayhem.