Pitchfork

It's not the giving, and it's not the getting. What I love about Christmas is the romance: Our collective fantasy of Santa Claus, mistletoe, and goodwill toward men. No, Virginia, the dude at the mall with the fake beard isn't St. Nick, and anyway Christmas only happens in December to conflict with pagans' midwinter hoedown (the hits just keep on coming, Bill O'Reilly). Still, for a couple of weeks each year, millions of people agree to imagine a better world, or at least get sloshed at holiday parties-- and they can't really be wrong.

A similar romance draws me to Sally Shapiro and her musical winter wonderland. I mean, Shapiro doesn't even exist, at least not by that name; producer Johan Agebjörn's simple digitized textures induce nostalgia for a not-quite-real past I can't even remember. On this faithful cover of a song by fellow Swedish popsters Nixon, Shapiro's ingénue whisper flutters amid candy cane synths and disco beats: "I can't remember my own name, but I do remember yours." It's the snow-day equivalent of danceclub-ready first single "I'll Be By Your Side", and it portends a "perfect kiss." Sure, when you take your headphones off and listen from 18 inches away it all sounds like "60 Minutes", but let's pretend they're sleighbells.