by RUPERT BOTTENBERG

For many folks, the holidays are a time to join family and loved ones in a blizzard of good cheer and heartwarming togetherness. For others, though, it’s a dreaded nightmare of confrontation and recrimination, self-destructive despair and passive-aggressive treachery. But just because your brood is a pack of poisonously defective losers at constant war with one another, it doesn’t mean you can’t, as they say, “put the fun in dysfunctional.” Here are some musical gift suggestions for each special member of your messed-up scary-stocracy:

The father: Better help dad pour his drink, and the next eight or nine to follow. He broke his arm, see, or rather, Rocco the loan shark broke it for him. Does he drink to forget his gambling debts, or does he gamble to make cash for his drinking problem? Either way, the old man’s a two-for-one dysfunctional dad!

Some would say a little tough love and a rehab-centre gift certificate would be the best Xmas gifts dad could get. There was a time though, not so long ago, when “papa’s delicate condition,” and his penchant for the ponies, were not only acceptable but admirable. Imagine the smile on his face, and the pitiful attempt to focus his vision and enunciate complete words, when you set him up with Christmas With the Rat Pack (Capitol/EMI). That’s right, it’s Sammy, Ol’ Blue Eyes and drink-draining, dice-tossing Dino having a running go at 21 Christmas classics. No red-nosed reindeer jokes, please!

Sammy and Dino join Vic Damone, Mel Tormé, Tom Jones, Louis Prima and of course Wayne Newton on the Ultra-Lounge Vegas Baby! compilation (Capitol/EMI). If numbers like “Big Spender,” “I’m Shooting High” and “Lucky Day” don’t have pops casino-bound, the packaging will. Embedded in the CD’s wraparound green felt is a mini roulette wheel. Remember, a straight-up bet pays off 35 to one!

The mother: Everyone’s got their way of dealing with life’s little tribulations. Mom’s way is gluing herself to the tube, 24-7, shutting out the complicated unpleasantness of reality. This cathode catatonia, plus fistfuls of Prozac, at the very least serve to ward off the dish-smashing and crying jags which defined the early years of her marriage to James Bond manqué over there. Rather than hiding the remote or pleading with her to reconnect to her kin, why not give her idiot-box jones the thumbs up? The TV Guide 50 All-Time Favorite TV Themes compilation (TVT/Universal) is the perfect audio accompaniment to her endless perusal of the boob-tube bible. After all, if she’s going to hum the themes to Dragnet, Maverick, Gilligan’s Island, M*A*S*H, Taxi, Dallas and Cheers all the damn time, she should at least get the lyrics and melodies right, no? It’s the least the spineless cow can do.

The son: Little Jimmy, he’s not so little anymore. Actually, he’s pushing six feet and 200 pounds - and he’s only just started drinking! His meaty bulk only buttresses his inclination to beat the shit out of anyone or anything that rubs him the wrong way. Since the term “psycho berserker thug” has lately been replaced by the more charitable “young man with anger-management issues,” let’s let Jimmy know that we love him dearly, even if Mr. Feldman next door is going to be dining through a tube until Easter.

The exciting world of professional wrestling needs hearty, brutal young men like Jimmy, so steer him that way with two fine releases. The World Wrestling Entertainment Presents: Anthology! is a three-disc doozy of wrasslers at the mic that starts with the classic mid-’80s WWF years - remember Hulk Hogan’s anthemic “Real American,” or Honky-Tonk Man’s kingly crooning of “Cool Cocky Bad”? It then moves on to what it dubs the Attitude Era, with contributions from Stone Cold Steve Austin (“I Won’t Do What You Tell Me,” “Oh Hell Yeah”), and a touching duet between DX and boxer/rapist Mike Tyson called “Fist.” The third is called simply Now!, and it spotlights the sensitive emoting of the Undertaker, among others.

Since wrestling is the theme for Jimmy’s gifts, why not put a Yuletide spin on the turnbuckle terrorism and give him ’Tis the Season For… by Los Straitjackets (Yep Roc). This beloved quartet, always clad in menacing lucha libre masks, put a raunchy surf-punk headlock on holiday fare like “Little Drummer Boy” and “Feliz Navidad.”

The aunt: Aunt Florence is better known to her neighbours as the Witch, or alternately, the Cat Lady. True, the foul odour of feline excretions follows her everywhere - could be the 120-odd “friends” who share her miserable hovel and who will probably feast on her corpse when she dies there, alone. It doesn’t help that she now spends her days on street corners, garbed in a tasteful, homemade garbage-bag-and-dishrag ensemble, handing out illegible end-time rapture tracts and chastizing invisible demons that the rest of us can’t for our lives seem to espy.

Still, she shows up every Christmas, invited or not. Might as well get her something. May we recommend the two Songs in the Key of Z compilations (Gammon). An introduction to “the curious universe of outsider music,” the discs feature the inimitable skills of unique freaks like scat-master Shooby “the Human Horn” Taylor and one-man band Luie Luie, inventor of the spicy “El Touchy” dance. Sure, there’s the big-name weirdos on board - schizos Wesley Willis and Daniel Johnston, suicidal astro-pervert Joe Meek, novelties Tiny Tim, the Shaggs and the Legendary Stardust Cowboy. But the best stuff is from delusional nobodies like Bulgarian shut-in Bob Vido, hobo-à-gogo Wayne and the mysterious Jandek. Who are these people, and who the hell rented them studio time?

The grandfather: Dear old Grandpa hasn’t had a solid fix on the calendar, or his bladder at that, since Carter was in office. This business in the Middle East, and all the accompanying footage of tanks and camo on TV, have him convinced that “the Kaiser” is up to his old tricks. On the plus side (in his book) is the possibility that Bob Hope will be sharing laughter and warmth with the boys overseas again. Look, the old fart will no doubt kick the bucket in a matter of days, so either buy him something you want for yourself and pinch it when he croaks, or go easy on him and play along with his senile delusions. Since he won’t shut up about the glory days of New York City in the ’40s - which is right now to him, most days - stuff some strained peas in his mouth and hit him with Kodachrome: Compositions for Orchestra by Raymond Scott (Basta).

Composer, band leader, engineer, pianist and inventor Scott could almost fit the crazy-outsider mould described above. He deliberately inverted the rules of jazz, swing, pop and classical, fucked around with weird sounds and inappropriate use of instruments, invented the “electronium” and titled his tunes with bizarre geographical non-sequiturs.

But Scott was an insider, see - he jammed with Sinatra, scored Bugs Bunny cartoons, pioneered electronic pop and ambient music, landed hits like the furious “Powerhouse” with his six-man Quintette and served as musical director for CBS in the ’40s (leading the first racially-integrated band on U.S. radio). It’s that CBS material that’s collected here, and in its frenzied goofiness and boisterous unpredictability, it positively screams classic Big Apple. :