The Doctor Who Christmas Special

An Spailpín Fánach is unlikely to be alone in considering the Doctor Who Christmas Special a Christmas TV highlight. But to really understand the appeal of the long-running TV show, it’s more instructive to look back to the summer, when the Doctor Who Prom was held in the Albert Hall.

The wonderful thing about Doctor Who Prom is that music from the TV series can be used as a way of introducing children to orchestral, actual, music, as opposed to the unspeakable X-Factor and its vile spawn. But this summer, there was an extra twist at the Royal Albert Hall: they brought along monsters from the TV show.

Highlights from the Prom were broadcast in September and it was wonderful to see the reaction of the kids as the monsters suddenly clanked, glided and slithered down the stars, as appropriate.

The ideal audience for Doctor Who are not internet saddos. They are children, from about age seven to eleven, and those lucky souls who remember what it was like to be that age.

The great thing about being aged between seven and eleven is that you’re old enough to tell the difference between a grocer and a goblin, but you’re still innocent enough to believe that there are such things as goblins and spooks and weirdies in the first place.

And even though you know there really aren’t any monsters under the bed and the creaking in the house is just the wind – well, maybe it isn’t. Maybe this time it really is the sound the advance craft of Admiral Zozo and his Martian fleet landing in the garden, and it’s now down to you to save the Earth. Maybe. You never can tell, and there’s no point in taking a chance when the future of the entire planet is in danger.

And that duality, between having being told by your parents that there are no such things as Daleks or Cybermen or Venetian vampires, and then actually those crazy chicks in the white dresses gliding down the stairs in the Royal Albert Hall with those gobs full of pointy teeth – well, I don’t know about you adults, but I’m going to keep my two eyes on them and I advise you against making any sudden movements, or else it could be curtains for the lot of us.

And that’s the joy of Doctor Who. People who should know better have tried to load the show up with a lot of sturm und drang but it’s all my hat. If you want Schopenhauer, read Schopenhauer. Leave fighting the Death Lizards of Megalon 7 to the professionals.

This is something that the current Doctor Who showrunner Steven Moffat understands absolutely. He’s said that he decides on what goes on the show according to whether or not he thinks it’ll scare the bejabbers out of his kids. Once it does, it stays in the show. How perfect.

The Doctor Who Christmas episodes have been a mixed bag since they were introduced for David Tennant’s debut, with Tennant’s exit and the Kylie one being particularly weak. This year’s seems rather similar to a story by Chas. Dickens in its inspiration, but no matter. It’ll be wonderful for an hour. Christmas is a good time for Doctor Who. Who is Santa after all, but another traveller in time and space? Just like a Time Lord, in fact. Oh hold on ...

Oh Bryn - How COULD You?

Anyone that’s getting sniffy about Paddy’s Revenge, a dance/trance/happenstance version of Music for a Found Harmonium that’s an underground hit about to go mainstream had better start digging his or her fallout shelter now. The news isn’t going to get any better.

Bryn Terfel, the Welshman considered one of the great operatic baritones of his generation, is releasing a populist album of songs from Ireland, England, Scotland and Wales mid-way through September. He’s going to use an appearance at the Last Night of the Proms on the BBC this coming Saturday to sing four tracks from the album – Loch Lomond for Scotland, The Turtle Dove for England, Cariad cyntaf for Wales and Molly Malone for Ireland.

And that’s lovely. An Spailpín Fánach has no problem with nice songs being nicely sung and Terfel is the boy that can sing them.

The album goes on release the following Monday, and this is where the problem begins. It’s called First Love – Songs from the British Isles, and the Irishman’s back immediately arches at that unfortunately all-inclusive moniker. But, you know, we plough on and look at the track list and think “oh, Carrickfergus, nice, My Lagan Love, very classy, Danny Boy, well, of course, you couldn’t ... what? Who? Oh dear God in Heaven, no! No! No! Aieee!”

The problem is that Terfel has decided to duet Danny Boy, and this then begs the question: with whom shall Terfel sing?

It has to be an Irish singer but don’t forget the big man has his eye on dollars here, so there’s no point in Terfel singing with Jack L, say, as nobody outside of Ireland has heard of him. A duet with Ronnie Drew might have been interesting, but Ronnie is free of all earthly concerns now.

Bono is the obvious choice, not least as a duet tends to reduce his ego a little - from gargantuan to merely enormous, of course, but still. Andrea Corr did a nice version of Summer Wine with Bono not so long ago – maybe Andrea could get the gig? Sadly, she didn't; the sister Sharon is doing some fiddling on the record, but there’s no place for lovely Andrea.

Who then? Moya Brennan? In a Lifetime was a great duet with Bono (him again!) twenty years ago but goodness gracious, after the barbarities Moya and Ronan Keating committed on the helpless Fairytale of New York that time the idea of anyone ever wanting to duet with either of them again is laughable.

Eh?

Ah no. No. You’re kidding. Not him? Surely not him. I mean, could they not have got Dustin the Tucking Furkey?

Jesus tonight. Bryn Terfel, the great baritone of his age, a man that’s sung Wotan at Covent Garden, Figaro at the Met and, even more importantly perhaps, Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau at the National Stadium in Cardiff, has only gone and recorded a duet of Danny Boy with Ronan Fecking Keating.

Avoid, avoid, avoid. For the love and honour of God, avoid.





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