New York session trumpeter Slax MacFarlane threw together this five-piece combo to cash-in on the Yuletide hullabaloo of 1972. And, boy, does it sound like it. Sure, they can all keep time and navigate the changes but this is Christmas fare at its cheesiest – think fondue à la fondue followed by a snow shovel-sized cheeseboard. ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ is set loose by some disconcertingly jaunty tambourine work from drummer Delmore Anderson, initiating a cavalcade of braying and snorting from the horn players; Donner and Blitzen and their antlered buddies would be stampeding for the exit. The Dean Martin seasonal showstopper, ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’, elicits some awkward exchanges between MacFarlane and Niedermeyer – attempting to emulate Martin’s suave delivery and the coy retorts of his reluctant partner – but ends up sounding like an unpleasant exchange at the wee small hours-end of an over-oiled office outing. Things continue at an alarming rate until the band slam on the brakes for a ‘Silent Night’ that oozes potboiler piety. Mel Tormé’s ‘The Christmas Song’ becomes an exercise in maudlin excess that moves with all the élan of a slug skating on molasses. However, things soon return to their former frolicsome glory with a bopped-up ‘Frosty the Snowman’; however, fuelled by the fervid urgings of Haswell and Anderson, pianist Lennie Crivelli goes into an histrionic meltdown. His career never recovered. ‘Little Drummer Boy’ allows Anderson to pound his kit into submission before some ill-advised scatting ushers in ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’ – “rooty-toot-toots” and “rumty-tum-tums” should, frankly, have no place in the jazz lexicon. Ross Niedermeyer fancied himself as an arranger and was, apparently, responsible for the Tchaikovsky posturing of ‘Sleigh Ride’, which isn’t so much a car wreck as a totalled troika. Things round off with ‘Winter Wonderland’ – a terrifying portrait of unremitting jollity.