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Sing a song of Christmas, suckers — it's time to wander through the spray-paint snow at your local superstore, not to mention down Memory Lane, a place even scarier than the supermarket poultry aisle this time of year. What deeply ambivalent feelings does a round of "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" conjure in you? If you grew up somewhere between a dank basement and heaven, with human parents, a sibling or two and neighbors checking out the contents under your tree, Christmas undoubtedly recalls a muddle of family trauma and bliss. Centered on life's most personal and emotionally charged matters — religion, shopping, baking — and intensified by the scrutiny of relatives and peers, Christmas (the intrusive framework of the season, even if your own faith eschews Little Baby Jesus) is a heavy time. Its music is equally unavoidable, dreaded and adored.

Rockers who try to do Christmas wrestle with the same big issues the holiday brings most free-thinking folks. There's the matter of tradition — do you fall into its crushing embrace, or try to fight it? There's the need to avoid sentimentality without losing fellow feeling altogether. There's the respect classics demand, tempered by the desire for novelty. And there's the creeping sense that in this field, perfection has already been reached — by Bing Crosby, no less. Ba ba ba boo, indeed.

So what can a good iconoclast do when the moment demands some musical eggnog? Just like that rich cocktail, Christmas music benefits from a good hard shake. I'm a good lapsed Catholic girl who loves the ultra-traditional stuff (Child of Light: A British Christmas lets me get my wassail on, while Christmas Chant features actual nuns — awesome!), but if what you're selling me doesn't conjure the centuries before electricity, then you'd better show some modern spunk. In the spirit of the family gatherings it recalls, Christmas rock has to break the punchbowl.

One reliable way to do this is to mutate carols with an un-Christmasy approach. Caribbean artists, for example, love to give old favorites a tropical twist. In a mind-boggling cross-cultural pollination, reggae legend Freddie McGregor gives "Feliz Navidad" a whirl on A Reggae Christmas, while calypso's King Obstinate spices up "O Holy Night" on his album A Christmas Blessing. The Irish love the season, too, though their folkish ways tend toward the traditional: Maddy Prior and the Carnival Band offer a lovely walk down ye olde roads on A Tapestry of Carols. On our own shores, show me a roots revivalist and I'll show you a tinsel addict, from the Asylum Street Spankers to the Dixieland Ramblers. More recently, both nuevo rockabilly types like Los Straitjackets and indie-punks like those on the Happy Birthday Baby Jesus compilations have found a muse in Santa. (My favorite indie Yule effort right now is "The Caroler's Song," by Green Pajamas, on the album of the same name.)

All of these legacy bearers get a kick out of mixing the customs of the season with the rules of their various subcultures, and coming up with something new on both counts.

But if musical style doesn't offer an obvious route to novelty, an artist has to think harder. Psychedelic pioneer Jorma Kaukonen is one who bothered to do so: his simply-titled Christmas album offers more than the usual stuffed bird. Mellow but complex instrumentals centered around Kaukonen's guitar picking alternate with funny and sometimes touching sing-alongs like "Christmas Blues" and "Baby Boy." The album culminates in the inevitable jam, wittily entitled "Christmas Marmalade." I can imagine new holiday rituals forming around an album like this one.

Kaukonen's approach is distinctive but not wholly original; for that, and more than a little strangeness, turn to the mysterious Big Green. A self-described "discorporate pop group" (that means they don't play live), this quirky combo is a family affair run by brothers Joe and Matt Perry (of upstate New York, not Aerosmith). 2000 Years to Christmas, Big Green's first full-length release, features lyrics reminiscent of the morbid genius Edward Gorey (featuring pagan sacrifice, dancing skeletons, and wacky prophecies) and rococco rock arrangements Frank Zappa would have admired. Joe Perry sings as if he were a character from Dickens while demented choirs back him up. The whole affair is as frightening yet oddly attractive as mincemeat pie.

Sometimes it's better, though, to set the holiday table with simpler fare. For a palate cleanser, I turn to Christmas at the Patti, a raucous 1972 live set hosted by Man, the Welsh band that helped turn prog rock into pub rock, which begat much of English punk. With barely a reference to mistletoe, this album recalls the best Christmas parties, getting wild enough that everyone disregards the occasion and just lets go. Joined by some illustrious friends, including Dave Edmunds, pub rock mainstays Ducks Deluxe and B.J. Cole, the Man boys celebrate their sheer love of rock & roll by totally melting down on vamp after Bo Diddley-inspired vamp. It's a sleigh full of fun, and just what I need to get the red-nosed reindeers out of my head.