<p>If you ever found yourself wishing you could find an Xmas record that was a little less Céline Deon, a little more Animal Collective, here your dreams come true. In 2010, Banjo or Freakout —a London-based Italian named Alessio Natalizia— turned out <a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/top-alternative-christmas-records-94473" data-component="link" data-source="inlineLink" data-type="internalLink" data-ordinal="1">a free Christmas record</a> that instantly became the most interesting and experimental seasonal set ever assembled. His radical reworkings of the most tired standards were mind-altering: swimming electronics, pulsing noise, <a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/genre-profile-shoegaze-94025" data-component="link" data-source="inlineLink" data-type="internalLink" data-ordinal="2">shoegaze</a> guitars, and chillwave warp turning noxious jingles like &#34;Frosty the Snowman&#34; and &#34;Santa Claus is Coming to Town&#34; into wild sonic storms of shape-shifting nature.</p><p>The Boy Least Likely To are an English duo lingering at the twee-est end of <a href="">twee</a>, so it&#39;s no surprise their <em>Christmas Special</em> is all tinkly glockenspiels. Almost entirely originals —including a semi-inspired novelty number, &#34;George and Andrew,&#34; which imagines a sweet seasonal reunion between estranged Wham! founders Michael and Ridgeley— it&#39;s a suite of songs about being a broken-hearted, pure-at-heart boy (&#34;I still believe in Santa Claus, even if no one else does,&#34; Jof Owen whimpers) during that most sentimental of seasons. Which leads to plentiful seasonal puns (&#34;Jingle my bells, it&#39;s Christmas time/I&#39;ll jingle yours if you jingle mine,&#34; &#34;I can ding-dong merrily/around the stupid Christmas tree&#34;) and frowny faces.</p><p>As if in thrall to delusions of Xmas togetherness, Bright Eyes&#39; <em>A Christmas Album</em> is, unlike the band&#39;s regular LPs, not some work-of-ego for frontman <a data-inlink="0QCl3bD-xtU7AkckgQoG-A&#61;&#61;" href="https://www.thoughtco.com/top-albums-of-the-2000s-94529" data-component="link" data-source="inlineLink" data-type="internalLink" data-ordinal="1">Conor Oberst</a>, but a gathering of the <a data-inlink="QTqZFmAy6vjSGj_k1-zQ4Q&#61;&#61;" href="https://www.thoughtco.com/top-albums-of-the-2000s-94529" data-component="link" data-source="inlineLink" data-type="internalLink" data-ordinal="2">Bright Eyes</a> &#39;family.&#39; While every track isn&#39;t a winner there are moments of genuine frosty frisson. Like &#34;Away in a Manger,&#34; where Maria Taylor sweetly whispers its lullaby over an eerie audio-collage treatment inspired by Simon and Garfunkel&#39;s &#34;7 O&#39;Clock News/Silent Night,&#34; or &#34;Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,&#34; which is rendered as ironic slowcore dirge, loaded with the tragedy of time passing.</p><i>Lady December</i> is more a Christmas single than a Christmas album, but it&#39;s undeniably awesome. The Concretes issued the EP in 2004, AKA: right at the peak of their powers, coming in the wake of their awe-inspiring debut, self-titled LP (one of the very best <a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/top-albums-of-the-2000s-94529" data-component="link" data-source="inlineLink" data-type="internalLink" data-ordinal="1">albums of the decade</a>, no less). The title track finds the Swedish big-band at their most swelling, most thrilling, most utterly romantic; with huge sweeps of strings, weeps of violin, hugs of organ, yelps of flute, and a vocal from Victoria &#39;Taken by Trees&#39; Bergsman (hear her make the phrase &#34;forgive and forget&#34; just ache with feeling) that highlights how much The Concretes have missed her since she was booted from the band. It&#39;s not super-Christmasy, either, which is always a bonus.<p>Sad songsmith Emmy the Great and her boyfriend Tim Wheeler —former frontman of Ash— combined for a snarky seasonal satire that still functions as <a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/top-alternative-christmas-records-94473" data-inlink="lusRqbLZ0GRQ5aS4lfKj2w&#61;&#61;" data-component="link" data-source="inlineLink" data-type="internalLink" data-ordinal="1">Christmas record</a>. Chiefly because there&#39;s an earnest love in the arrangements: all epic string swells, chiming sleigh-bells, and crooning vox. That supermarket-friendly veneer masks the smart-ass words, where &#34;Sleigh Me&#34; is an explicit euphemism for sex and &#34;(Don&#39;t Call Me) Mrs. Christmas&#34; is a scorned-woman ballad sung by Mrs. Claus. Yet &#34;Jesus the Reindeer,&#34; in all its zany blasphemy and loaded cultural commentary, doesn&#39;t, weirdly, seem anymore idiotic than &#34;Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer&#34; itself. And when the set closes with the sweet &#34;See You Next Year,&#34; <i>This Is Christmas</i> feels like a Christmas special: you&#39;ve had a few laughs along the way, yet been touched, too.</p><p>Christmas and depression go together hand-in-hand for so many. Even bastions of unimpeachable Christmas cheer acknowledge the fact; after all, that most touching of seasonal movies, <em>It&#39;s A Wonderful Life</em>, begins with Jimmy Stewart contemplating suicide. Though it boasts gallows humor in its delivery, Gruff Rhys&#39; EP <em>Atheist Christmas</em> sounds plenty depressed itself. &#34;It was 1987/and you&#39;d just been diagnosed with manic depression,&#34; Rhys laments, over mournful piano, on &#34;Slashed Wrists This Christmas,&#34; which counters its comedy with tender, tearful delivery. It&#39;s a stark musical tonic for those who hate the &#34;light entertainment&#34; of the season. </p><p>Josh T. Pearson&#39;s acerbic, solemn songwriting and vivid, son-of-a-preacher back-story have made him a figure of mythical Americana in Europe. The sparseness of his discography has fed the myth: Pearson only released one (double) album with his Lift to Experience, 2001&#39;s <em>The Texas-Jerusalem Crossroads</em>, then disappeared for a decade, returning with a stark, soul-baring solo debut, <em>The Last of the Country Gentlemen</em>, in 2011. <em>Rough Trade Christmas Bonus</em> was, as its title suggests, a five-track bonus disc affixed to his solo LP in <a data-inlink="wAm9BGgjhELFjFXv5G_rPQ&#61;&#61;" href="https://www.thoughtco.com/classic-rough-trade-albums-94411" data-component="link" data-source="inlineLink" data-type="internalLink" data-ordinal="1">Rough Trade</a> shops, but it stands as one of the most moving Christmas albums committed (live) to tape. Here, &#34;Angels We Have Heard On High&#34; is a six-minute, fingerpicking epic in which Pearson&#39;s honeyed, cracked country croon makes every syllable into a sob.</p><p>When it was released in 1999, this <i>Christmas</i> disc for <a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/top-slowcore-albums-94528" data-component="link" data-source="inlineLink" data-type="internalLink" data-ordinal="1">slowcore</a> pioneers Low seemed revolutionary. At the time, no one of any credibility was attempting to author Xmas records of genuine substance, which made hearing the trio&#39;s artful interpretation of seasonal sounds a jaw-dropping experience. After kicking off with Phil Spector sleigh-bells and optigan on &#34;Just Like Christmas,&#34; Low play &#34;Little Drummer Boy,&#34; &#34;Silent Night,&#34; and &#34;Blue Christmas&#34; as hypnotic, minimal, glacial studies in seasonal sadness. In some ways, the tone is more of an Easter record, especially in the originals; &#34;Long Way Around the Sea&#34; loaded with Son-of-God gravitas, &#34;If You Were Born Today&#34; lamenting that a 21st-century Christ would be slain whilst still a child.</p><p>If you were to go by the artwork —which shows the band in bad haircuts and second-hand suits, posed cheesily— and self-mocking title, you&#39;d guess that this Christmas record from My Morning Jacket was but a big joke. But put on the six-song, 34-minute set, and all such irony and/or pessimism is washed away under the waves of Jim James&#39;s glorious voice. Released in 2000, and recorded whilst the Kentuckian combo were at work on their classic <em>At Dawn</em> LP, this <em>Fiasco</em> finds one of the band&#39;s best-ever jams, &#34;Xmas Time is Here Again&#34;; six minutes of glinting guitar harmonies, sleigh bells, and yearning vocal harmonies. </p><p>Zac Pennington, leader of Smiths-obsessed Portland out-pop outfit Parenthetical Girls, has called his Christmas-record obsession the product of a perverse fascination with the &#34;weird sense of warmth mixed with the crass commercial cash-in.&#34; Even if his band&#39;s obscure, self-released records —all oddball originals, not tired traditionals— were anything but cash-ins, Parenthetical Girls unlikely annual EPs found them getting genuinely swept up in the season. Gathered together as a single <em>Christmas</em> volume, these bizarre labors-of-love —defined by the couplet &#34;thank god it&#39;s not Christmas/when there&#39;s just you to do&#34;— stand as nothing less than a towering achiqw2evement: Pennington making rich artistic cake from so much seasonal treacle.</p>Rosie Thomas&#39;s Xmas LP succeeds, admirably, due to the unfailing earnestness of the endeavor. Thomas, a devoted Christian whose faith influences her regular singer-songwriter gig, tackles the standards of the season with no shortage of inspiration, and the results are unbelievable. Happy to shift keys and change-up tempos, she sets &#34;Winter Wonderland&#34; to a lazy shuffle of overlapping piano-chords and brushed drums, &#34;O Come O Emmanuel&#34; becomes an &#39;80s synth-pop power-ballad, and, then, there&#39;s &#34;Christmas Don&#39;t Be Late.&#34; Seemingly so synonymous with The Chipmunks that it&#39;s beyond rescue, Thomas treats it as a mighty, swelling, rousing piano-basher, its six singalong minutes cresting at &#34;Transatlanticism&#34;-esque levels of anthemicism.It&#39;s hard to deny a disc boasting a cut called &#34;No Cure for the Common Christmas,&#34; and the fact the song is a pounding Euro-disc number sets <i>A Glimpse of Stocking</i> apart from the Christmas record ranks. The LP finds Saint Etienne flipping from groovy &#39;60s-pop, to sad ballads, slyly avant-garde pieces, and pounding acid-house anthems. It&#39;s largely tongue-in-cheek: &#34;Come on Christmas&#34; pipes in a cheering crowd and a pipe organ for a sporting-event feel; &#34;Unwrap Me&#34; finds Sarah Cracknell winkingly evoking Marilyn Monroe over bells and gongs; and &#34;Gonna Have a Party&#34; ladles on the Autotune like so much gravy. It teeters on the brink of being a novelty album of novelty songs, but, that just makes it even more of a Christmas record, really.<p>Zac Pennington —leader of Christmas-obsessed Portland orchestral-pop types Parenthetical Girls— so loved Christmas that, here, his pal Sam Mickens makes him a Christmas record. But <i>A Christmas Gift to You, Zac Pennington</i> is a <a href="http://shatteryourleaves.com/album/a-christmas-gift-to-you-zac-pennington" data-component="link" data-source="inlineLink" data-type="externalLink" data-ordinal="1" rel="nofollow">free-to-download</a> gift for all; especially those with a fondness for left-field yuletides. Here, the suicidal Dead Science leader (and one-time Xiu Xiu member) makes a suite of stripped-down, spartan takes on traditionals, in which he stretches out syllables with torturous tremors, his wavering vibrato making lines like &#34;Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!&#34; sound like wails from on the edge of sanity. Mickens&#39; drunken delivery contrasts with the sober setting; his voice matched to solitary scratchy guitars, wonky synths, or (on an abstract, a cappella take on &#34;It&#39;s Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas&#34;) pure silence.</p>On their first two LPs, <i>Volume One</i> and <i>Volume Two</i>, Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward —AKA She and Him— showed themselves students of Phil Spector, and unafraid of wearing their sentimental hearts on their sleeves. So a Christmas record seemed like a natural fit, with all the Wall of Sound, sleigh bell-jangling, string-swelling grandeur the likely outcome. Yet <i>A Very She and Him Christmas</i> is often stripped-down; Deschanel and Ward setting their voices to spare arrangements. The songs are a mixture of oldies and oddballs of the lesser-known variety, and the performance seems genuinely filled with the holiday spirit. It&#39;s the most &#39;straight&#39; Christmas record on this list; beautiful, sentimental, and devoid of transgression.<p>The grandaddy of all hipster Xmas discs, <a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/sufjan-stevens-artist-profile-93952" data-component="link" data-source="inlineLink" data-type="internalLink" data-ordinal="1">Sufjan Stevens</a>&#39; <em>Songs for Christmas</em> is a lavish 5CD box-set collecting annual EPs Sufjan made for friends/family from 2001-2006. The 42 tunes mix originals with traditionals, and are reverent, ridiculous, whimsical, and achingly beautiful in varied measures. Sometimes all at once. I find myself listening to Vol. III, 2003&#39;s <em>Ding! Dong!</em> most; &#34;All the King&#39;s Horns&#34; all cascades of piano and woodwinds, the tragicomic &#34;That Was the Worst Christmas Ever!&#34; sounding like a tender refugee from <em><a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/sufjan-stevens-artist-profile-93952" data-component="link" data-source="inlineLink" data-type="internalLink" data-ordinal="2">Seven Swans</a></em>, and the gentle, playful reading of French fable &#34;The Friendly Beasts&#34; is ridiculously charming. Over two hours long, <em>Songs for Christmas</em> has surely soundtracked countless Christmas dinners, already.</p><p>As if one five-disc Christmas box-set wasn&#39;t enough to prove his obsession with seasonal records, here <a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/sufjan-stevens-artist-profile-93952" data-component="link" data-source="inlineLink" data-type="internalLink" data-ordinal="1">Saint Sufjan</a> is shown to be hopeless slave to that &#34;creepy Christmas feeling&#34; once more. And <em>Silver &amp; Gold</em> makes <em>Songs for Christmas</em> feel like a minor prologue; Sufjan&#39;s second yuletide box presenting the world with 58 songs and almost three hours of all-new music. And, somehow, amidst 167 minutes, the clichés of the Xmas disc are almost entirely absent. Highlights include a take on the Sacred Harp death hymnal &#34;Idumea,&#34; a tender ode to children scared/scarred by family conflict (&#34;Carol of St. Benjamin The Bearded One&#34;), a lo-fi, 8-bit-esque cover of Prince&#39;s &#34;Alphabet St.,&#34; and &#34;<a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/sufjan-stevens-artist-profile-93952" data-component="link" data-source="inlineLink" data-type="internalLink" data-ordinal="2">Christmas Unicorn</a>,&#34; a 12&#43; minute psychedelic, <em><a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/sufjan-stevens-artist-profile-93952" data-component="link" data-source="inlineLink" data-type="internalLink" data-ordinal="3">Age of Adz</a></em>-styled freak out that transforms, halfway through, into a riff on Joy Division&#39;s &#34;Love Will Tear Us Apart.&#34;</p>If communal caroling is synonymous with Christmas for you, The Sweptaways shall surely put a giddy seasonal smile on your dial. A 30-strong, all-lady, a cappella vocal co-op from Stockholm, the band normally reinterpret Swedish indie-pop and &#39;80s hits as chaotic torrents of harmonized voice, but, for Christmas purposes, they work in a more &#39;collaborative format&#39;. This pair of EPs finds a pair of collaborations —which, with much overlap, appear on both discs— with crooner Magnus Carlsson, and there&#39;s even big piano chords, drums, and handclaps added to the normally-vocal-only mix. For those who want to imagine that 30 Swedish women are caroling on their doorstep, it&#39;s hard to beat The Sweptaways&#39; glorious take on The Concretes&#39; &#34;Lady December.&#34;<p>&#39;Alternative&#39; takes on the Christmas record don&#39;t have to be avant-garde, oddball, or sarcastic readings thereof. On her <a href="http://timbre.bandcamp.com/album/silent-night" data-component="link" data-source="inlineLink" data-type="externalLink" data-ordinal="1">free via Bandcamp</a> Christmas album, <i>Silent Night</i>, Tennessean harpist-songwriter Timbre Cierpke dares to make a seasonal set of unvarnished sincerity and unadorned beauty, combatting the tradition towards tacky and ersatz with each achingly-artful arrangement. &#34;O Little Town of Bethlehem&#34; and &#34;O Come, O Come, Emmanuel&#34; are made resplendent with stark harp patterns and gentle daubs of piano and tuned percussion, but it&#39;s nothing compared to the titular track. Here, that most standard of Christmas standards is turned into a seven-minute epic, beginning life as a heartbroken, hesitant piano-ballad, before spilling out into a choral conclusion sung by 30-member congregation.</p><p>Former Marine Girl and Everything But the Girl vocalist Tracey Thorn fulfilled a lifelong goal when she made her <a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/top-country-love-songs-from-nineties-933706" data-component="link" data-source="inlineLink" data-type="internalLink" data-ordinal="1">2012 Christmas album <i>Tinsel and Lights</i></a>. And the set reflects the earnestness Thorn feels for the project: beginning with &#34;Joy,&#34; an original whose feelings on the season are loaded with middle-aged melancholy (&#34;you loved it as a kid/now you need it more than you ever did&#34;). Thorn shows herself a fan of alt reads on Christmas, steering well wide of persistent standards as she covers Low, Sufjan Stevens, and the White Stripes, and recruits Magnetic Fields leader Stephin Merritt to pen an original. Like the She and Him LP, it tilts a little more towards MOR, but there&#39;s such a sense of earnest sentimentality and cutting melancholy etched in every pleasant arrangement that <i>Tinsel and Lights</i> feels quietly subversive.</p>OK, OK, OK: this isn&#39;t very alt. In fact, you could make a case this is the ultimate Christmas Album, a veritable classic to soundtrack families by fireplaces and the like. And, true, there&#39;s no irony in Phil Spector&#39;s legendary (and much-copied) 1963 Christmas classic. Yet, there was a sense of subversion, at the time: a sacrilege in running a hallowed holiday through the newfound youth-culture fad of rock&#39;n&#39;roll. But what truly earns <i>A Christmas Gift for You</i> its perennial cred is just how good it is. Here, heinous jingles are turned into Wagnerian operas (&#34;Frosty the Snowman&#34;) or Spaghetti Western soundtracks (&#34;Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer&#34;) via Spector&#39;s ever-glorious Wall of Sound, which piles on sleigh bells and echo to infinity.