Sorry, there won't be a Holiday Singalong this year | MARK HUGHES COBB

No, there will not be a Holiday Singalong this year. Between the move from the 20-year home of The Tuscaloosa News and other not-so-jolly matters, I didn't feel holiday-energized enough.

Yes, that is a legit reason, as literally ones of magazine articles quoting counselors have boldly stated: No one promises a merry anything, and you don't owe the world more than you can sanely release.

It's not complicated, or expensive, but does take some hours for organizing. The Tuscaloosa County Park and Recreation Authority has generously donated use of lovely Capitol Park each year, except the few we tried at the ice-skating rink when it was snugged next to the Mildred Westervelt Warner Transportation Museum. I'd been contacted by a previous Amphitheater boss about putting on something similar when skating moved to the Amp, and so assembled an all-star team of musician-singers — that stage seemed a bit much to hold just a piano — but wet and cold weather blew it away.

Symbolic? Metaphoric? Badluck-ish?

Had it not slushed late December 2015, you'd have been able to hear Soapy Jones, Shawn Templeton, Sister Jenny Jam Hartselle, Robert "Rowbear" Huffman, Charles Prosser, Jerrell Bowden, Kate Gates, Ken Adams, Dusty Fields, Alison Tucker, Steve Wallace and likely more as hours rolled on.

In addition to caroling, I'd planned for the gaggle — St. Nick's Kids? — to be rocking out with our stockings out. Among the gathered -- We were going to go by Sanity Clause, The Stocking Stuffers, Carol And The Belles, or Myftletoe (with multiple umlauts to spice it exceedingly Nordic) — were four guitarists, two keyboardists, and two little drummer boys. With that excess in mind, listen to what you could have heard (Yes, I keep set lists for gigs that fell through; doesn't everyone?).

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I'd start with the band on mostly familiar ditties, such as "Blue Christmas," "Here Comes Santa Claus," and "I Believe in Father Christmas," a pop hit for Greg Lake of ELP, but more like the U2 cover. Charles and I have sung "Drummer Boy/Peace on Earth" for years, the Bing and Bowie duet from that bizarre clashing of pop cultures. For 2015, we were planning to memorize the "comedy" bits leading up. Alas.

Then U2's version of "Christmas/Baby Please Come Home." I think this is the last time U2 will show, even though Bono and I share nose-shapes, and thus vocal timbre.

Soapy would step up to light the torch songs, starting with "Santa Baby" — In C# like Eartha Kitt, so you know I'd be deploying a weapons-grade capo; "Jingle Bells," because Soapy knows all 27 verses; and "Silent Night." Of all the things to miss, this was the missiest. Soapy and I have sung together numerous times, with bands as large as 10 pieces, and in trios and duos, but we have yet to loft this one out into the solstice air.

Then my buddy Bobby, aka Rowbear, would step up with guitar and harmonica for twangle. In the spirit of being thankful all season long, I'm remembering that Bobby saved my sanity clause back in the late '90s, when my divorce papers came through the day Dad unexpectedly died. One night shortly before, we'd been at a party, and a guitar was passing around. We sang together for the first of what was to be hundreds, perhaps thousands, of times. Our voices, similar but not the same, blended like chocolate and peanut butter. You choose which.

Bobby's a legend, central to bands such as Club Wig, Opus Dopus, The Irascibles, The High Beams, and since that night, our The Corvairs and The Crying Jags. We've also performed as an acoustic duet for a couple zillion happy hours and other low-key events. Bobby turned me into a songwriter, something I'd abandoned with teen-aged strained metaphors, lost in chord change blizzards.

"You play guitar, right? You sing, right? You write, right?

"Write songs."

Golden. Within 30 days, I'd scribbled onto a yellow legal pad 33 songs in various states of undress, distress and house arrest. Three were playable before humans. One became the Jags' show-opener, a Keith Richards-ish ditty about experiencing visions, titled "Milky Way." Another served as root stock for a song that became "Vicious Circus."

One, which I still play solo — next will be 7 p.m. Dec. 22 at Loosa Brews, opening for the fabulous Grace Yukich, who's got a new recording out, "Wisteria" — was about that time in life when you think hey, this plateau is where I'll come to happy rest. If I could just get my driver's license. If I could just get these braces off. If I could just get rid of these zits. If my hair would just ... do something. If I had THAT girl .... It was a rough assemblage from songs I tried to write as an actual teen, but with structural knowledge, and years of hearing words as I typed them.

It's called "Sidekick," and you'll hear it at 7 at Loosa Dec. 22, should you be around.

Bobby's assessment?

"It's too funny." I love this guy. I performed his wedding, and carried in the kegs. I'd cross alligator-infested rivers to save him from peril. But I've no idea what that meant. I'm gonna guess too funny strange, not too funny ha-ha.

Bobby would give me rest for three: "There's No Place Like Home For The Holidays," "Feliz Navidad" and "Christmas For Cowboys." The latter is by John Denver. I'd still be off-stage, because frankly, in organizing all this jazz, I didn't have time to learn anything new.

But I'd be back for Hugh Martin's "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," to introduce the original, darker lyrics. I'd interviewed the Birmingham-born composer several years back, and he clued me in to how Judy Garland, Frank Sinatra and about half of Hollywood persuaded him to lighten up, Hugh, sheesh.

Then back to Bobby on "Let It Snow," "I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm," "Walking in a Winter Wonderland," "Silver Bells" and "Holly Jolly Christmas."

Even the hardcore might want to bunk off for hot chocolate, so next came Shawn, or as he loves to be known, The Husband of Mrs. America. He was going to take on "Oh Holy Night," and bless him, that's a bear in any key.

Then came the rock: "Christmas All Over Again," by Tom Petty," "Christmas Song" by Dave Matthews, and "Holiday Road" by Lindsey Buckingham. Hey, the next movie up was "Christmas Vacation," so judges say okely-dokely.

Then we'd turn off instruments and go for an eerie Charlie Brown Christmas choral effect. The singalong portion would include Mel Torme's "The Christmas Song," "Deck the Halls," "Auld Lang Syne," a "Silent Night" reprise, "What Child is This?," "I'll Be Home for Christmas" (the second-saddest holiday song of all, after Hugh's), "White Chrsitmas," and "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," because figgy pudding straight up rules.

With the band hydrated by whatever means necessary, we'd light up "Jingle Bell Rock," "Christmastime is Here," "Winter" (by Scottish jangle-pop band Teenage Fanclub), "Baby It's Cold Outside" (which Alison and I had done for years, with roles reversed)," "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree," and "Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer" leading to Chuck Berry's "Run Run Rudolph."

There was a list for coverage, in case someone had to drop out, due to wind or weather, or if we simply wanted to play more. Things like "Falling Slowly" from "Once," which I'd been singing with Kate; Tom Waits "Ice Cream Man," only slightly risque, and only if you pay attention and besides, ice; and Ron Sexsmith's "Snow Angel."

There was stuff with no relevance, such as "Stand By Me," "I'm a Believer," "Tear-Stained Letter," "My Love Will Not Let You Down," and my own "Hot Now," which, come to think of it, could wedge onto the thematic table.

Ah, the dream of Christmas not to come. The Singalong will return in 2023. It began in 2003, same as The Rude Mechanicals, the summer Shakespeare company I co-founded. We're currently in the process of looking at structures to healthily maintain The RMs for the next 20 years, and whatever that might be may envelop the Singalong, to give it solid grounding.

Meantime, remember, anything can be a singalong, if you do.

Reach Tusk Editor Mark Hughes Cobb at mark.cobb@tuscaloosanews.com, or call 205-722-0201.

This article originally appeared on The Tuscaloosa News: Sorry, there won't be a Holiday Singalong this year | MARK HUGHES COBB