Why Dwight Yoakam Sang “Here Comes Santa Claus” as a Final Tribute to His Grandmother
Before he became a honky-tonk icon, Dwight Yoakam was just a poor kid growing up in the cold hills of Kentucky. And every Christmas Eve, it was his grandmother who sang “Here Comes Santa Claus” to him—her trembling voice somehow warmer than the fireplace itself. Many years later, that memory would shape his own rendition of the song, turning it into something tender, cowboy-flavored, and deeply personal.
A humble Christmas in an old wooden house
Dwight’s childhood didn’t come with big trees or expensive gifts. Christmas meant homemade cookies, knitted stockings, and a single candle flickering on a wooden table.
But what he waited for most was his grandmother’s voice.
She would tap her fingers on the table and sing softly:
“Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus…”
For Dwight, it wasn’t just a song.
It was warmth.
It was home.
When grief shapes the music
Producers had encouraged Dwight to make a Christmas album for years. He always declined—until the day his grandmother passed away.
During a meeting shortly after the funeral, he simply said:
“If I do this, I want her to hear it.”
That was the seed of his unique rendition of “Here Comes Santa Claus.”
He shaped it with:
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Western steel-guitar echoes
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playful cowboy shuffle rhythm
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a slightly breaking voice, holding back emotion
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a sense that he was singing to one person only
It was not crafted for charts.
It was crafted for memory.
Santa Claus on horseback
Here’s the charming part: Dwight intentionally turned Santa into a cowboy.
As a child, he couldn’t imagine a sleigh.
He imagined a horse galloping across the fields behind his grandmother’s house.
So the arrangement is full of twang and movement, as if Santa is “riding into town” under the Kentucky moon.
His childhood shaped the entire sonic landscape.
The quiet promise he kept
There was one live show—rare and unannounced—where Dwight sang it for the first time after his grandmother’s passing.
He simply whispered:
“Grandma, this one’s for you.”
Fans who were there still describe his voice as softer, almost fragile, but deeply sincere—like he was mourning and celebrating at the same time.
That is why this Christmas recording remains so beloved:
It is unpolished.
Unpretentious.
Honest.
Why older listeners still connect with it
Listeners in their 50s to 70s grew up with simple holidays: candles, homemade food, family songs.
They know that Christmas memories aren’t about presents—
They’re about people.
Dwight’s version taps into that universal ache:
The memory of someone we wish could share one more Christmas with us.