CD Review:
The First Christmas Morning
Dan Fogelberg
by R. Hunt Sidway
Louisville Music News

When rumors began surfacing in the Fogelberg chat rooms last winter that there was a Christmas Album in the works, fan response was predictably positive, the faithful hungry for Dan’s first full album of new material since his reunion with Tim Weisberg for 1995’s “No Resemblance Whatsoever.” (The 1997 boxed set, “Portrait,” featured four previously unreleased tracks, and only one new song, “Don’t Lose Heart,” specifically recorded for the project.) More sober voices cautioned against a “sell-out” Christmas collection, the specter of incongruity conjuring images of Dan Fogelberg qua Perry Como, complete with sweater and pipe and smarmy retreads of holiday favorites. This reviewer, skeptical that Fogelberg would ever actually produce a Christmas album, secretly hoped for an effort à la Bruce Cockburn’s “Christmastime,” which is a vibrant and delightful assemblage of old and new, with several obscure offerings like the haunting “Huron Carol” and the infectious Spanish number, “Riu Riu Chiu.” Fogelberg seems to have felt the same way, for with “The First Christmas Morning,” he definitely succeeds in his stated hope of “adding to the body of music that has been composed throughout the ages to glorify the Birth of Christ and the Spirit of Christmas.” (And thankfully, he does it in jeans and a smoking jacket, with his trademark glass of red wine, no offense directed to Mr. Como!)

With a wink and a nod to the Ghosts of Christmas Albums Past, Fogelberg launches his work with the dreamy “Bell Fantasy/Hark The Herald Angels Sing,” the cascading clamor and echoing choir transporting the listener back to the snow-draped London of Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol,” and even beyond. Before the nostalgic smile fades from your face, however, you want to rise from your seat to “join in the fun of the jigs and reels,” as the album proper begins with the delightful “At Christmas Time,” a rollicking 1800’s style number that conjures images of “Old Fezziweg” and company dancing merrily, the men and ladies singing and responding to each other in vintage repetitive couplets. One of seven original songs Fogelberg composed for the album (four of which are instrumentals), “At Christmas Time,” pulls out all the stops, with guest instrumentalists Philip and Pam Boulding contributing lively and cheerful penny whistle and hammer dulcimer, while violinist Hugh Marsh (who also guilds Bruce Cockburn’s “Christmastime”) adds his distinctive flavor in response. Fogelberg’s lyrics are simple and sincere, and invite one to sing along, as do the rich refrains of the Sante Fe Desert Chorale, directed by Jack Manno.

Pausing to “toast the season,” and craft a more contemplative mood, Fogelberg offers up the haunting yet sprightly “Winterskol,” a guitar instrumental which showcases his prodigious fingerpicking talents. Sustaining the quiet feel, Fogelberg moves to the grand piano for the title track, a thoughtful recapitulation of the pilgrimage to the manger which bespeaks a deep faith wrapped in a beautiful melody that is easily worthy of inclusion in the Christmas Carol Canon.

“This Endris Night” follows, the first of three ancient and nearly forgotten carols that Fogelberg has resurrected, his warm, rich vibrato breathing new life into the medieval lyrics. Philip Boulding reappears on harp, lifting the verses to the heavens. It should be noted that with all these gifted musicians on call, Fogelberg exercises admirable self-restraint as producer. Nothing ever intrudes, nothing ever detracts, but instead all the instruments and percussion contribute naturally, leaving plenty of room for the breeze to still blow. Indeed, at times one feels like one is listening to a concert, with Dan, his guitars and grand piano, a small chorale, and a diverse ensemble of musicians and percussionists spread across the stage at Whitney Hall.

Picking up the pace again with the Renaissance-flavored guitar etude, “Feast Of Fools,” Fogelberg next treats us to a rousing version of “I Saw Three Ships,” that begs a comparison with Bruce Cockburn’s rendition. The two couldn’t be more different: whereas Cockburn opts for a more contemporary, flowing-guitar-backed arrangement, flavoring it with his distinctive vocal styling, Fogelberg casts his “Three Ships” as a traditional 18th century English dance, sounding so authentic (replete with penny whistle and hammer dulcimer) as to render himself merrily invisible. The staggered vocal harmonies and the occasional shout from the musicians makes this sound like a Chieftains number, with Dan serving as guest vocalist.

Fogelberg again lulls the listener back into the evening chair by the fireplace with the meditative “Snowfall,” which accomplishes with guitar and tasteful synthesizer what George Winston’s album “December” does with the piano. A panorama of silent snow, falling against the deep blue of a midwinter twilight, drifting outside the windows, spreads out before the listener, reaffirming Fogelberg’s gifts as an instrumentalist. His liner notes on this piece modestly refer to Grieg, Tchaikovsky and Mozart “weaving their spells” on him, but it is Fogelberg who is now working his magic on us.

Softly embarking on the third “lost carol,” Fogelberg delivers one of his most moving performances ever recorded. “In The Bleak Midwinter,” an early 20th century piece, music by Gustav Holst (“The Planets” symphony) and lyrics by English poetess Christina Rosetti, suits Fogelberg’s style, delivery and range perfectly, and he sings it with such gentle conviction and melancholy strength as to move the listener to tears. Interestingly, the only other singer who I could imagine rendering this hymn so tenderly is John Michael Talbot, whose life of faith is amply documented. While Talbot was walking in the steps of St. Francis of Assisi, however, Fogelberg was slogging it out in the faithless arena of the “starmaker machinery behind the popular song.” Perhaps it is a lingering sense of emptiness from those heady years that lends such sincerity to Fogelberg as he laments, “Oh what can I give Him, woeful as I am?”

Thus fortified by the above declaration of faith, and after one last original medieval-style guitar piece, “Yule Dance,” Dan Fogelberg lifts his whispery, angelic falsetto on high for the classic carol, “What Child Is This?” Singing more easily and evocatively than he has in years, this is arguably the best his gifted voice has sounded since 1981's opus, “The Innocent Age.” Building the production organically from a guitar and harp opening, to a layered wall of ethereal synthesizers, and back again to a holy hush of an ending, this is a perfect example of the artist imbuing a familiar song with his own unique spirit, and making music that deeply stirs the soul, and makes one’s scalp tingle!

“We Three Kings,” even with its beautiful piano intro, a chilling “Arabian nights” violin solo by Marsh, and a grand orchestral production, fails to match the heights of “What Child Is This?” though the sin is one of omission. Fogelberg inexplicably leaves out the ominous foreboding of the Cross and the Tomb in the verses about the kings bearing frankincense and myrrh, keying instead only on the power of gold. “O Tannenbaum,” which falls in-between the two carols, serves as a dreamy interlude, its distant production and shimmering autoharp accompaniment giving it an otherworldly effect, and breaking up the pace of the album quite nicely.

The finalé, “Christ, The King,” is Fogelberg’s last original contribution to the album, crafted in an old-style Austrian feel, and is a warming waltz of a song, closing with a beautiful baroque trumpet (performed by Jan McDonald) and a lush choral refrain, the perfect coda to this trip back to the European/English Christmas traditions of yore. Like any great album, you never notice the details, and it is such a joy to listen to, that you never get the feeling that anyone is working very hard at it. A couple of (very minor) typographical errors hardly detract from the richness of the accompanying liner notes, which will satisfy even the most serious music lover, while the generous inclusion of graceful instrumentals should please those whose main concern is “Will it work as background music for my Christmas party?”

My sister and I always loved Fogelberg's symphonic “Nether Lands,” in part because the orchestra sounded so much like the Christmas albums we listened to as children. But Fogelberg’s first Christmas song was actually the huge hit, “Same Old Lang Syne.” (Listen closely, and you’ll hear Tchaikovsky’s “1812 Overture” in the piano signature.) Now, nearly twenty years later, this bard of popular music, who has sold over 14 million albums, has released a festive, intimate and inspired Christmas collection, which moves easily from highlight to highlight, capturing the mood and the message of this holy season, and flavored throughout with his profound wealth of musical influences. “Lift your voice, join in the singing...!”