Fabulously Festive Fridays – The Christmas Single

Welcome back my friends to the flamboyance that never ends, and please be welcome to yet another of our regular Babycham fuelled snuffles around the sweaty intergluteal cleft of popular culture.

Tonight, after our previous examination of the much maligned – and often deservedly so – genre of the Christmas single – specifically singles from the 1950s and ’60s – we shall tonight move on and take a seasonal sniff at quite possibly the poptastic heyday of Christmas records: the 1970s and ’80s – Not Arf!

I’m particularly fond of releases from the 1970s, possibly because so many of the successful chart acts of the day refused to take their Christmas records (and often themselves) in any way seriously. The downside of this attitude of course is that we were regularly subjected to a number of deeply cynical Christmas novelty songs. Nevertheless, Christmas fun (cynical or not) was certainly the order of the day, and I’m pleased to say that particular music industry maxim endured well into the 1980s.

Of course it couldn’t last, and indeed it didn’t last, with poptastic poptastitude shuddering to a bone-crunching halt in 1984 with the deeply tedious Bob Geldof and his hideously sanctimonious Band Aid charity single, Do They Know It’s Christmas? Sadly (IMO) this event signalled the slow and painful death of popular music in much of the western world (and I’ll attempt to substantiate that somewhat pompous claim later in this missive). However, from the dawn of the 1970s to the close of the 1980s, there were some absolute seasonal corkers in the Christmas charts, and we’ll take a fond look back at some of them tonight.

One of the early hints that things were going to get very silly in the Christmas song stakes came as the 1960s closed and the sensational 70s dawned. The big Christmas song over that holiday period was Two Little Boys by Rolf Harris. His song was nothing to do with Christmas, but it was a sugar-coated warning of the sentimental horrors to come.

Those fears were fully realised in 1970, when Christmas saw the release of Grandad by Clive Dunn (aka Corporal Jones in the rather splendid TV sitcom, Dad’s Army). The single was a massive success, but failed to achieve the coveted Christmas No.1 spot, stalling at a very creditable No.2. It did however hit the post-Christmas top spot in early January and managed to stay there for a few weeks. However, the actual Christmas No.1 for 1970 was snaffled up by Cardiff’s premier plank-spanker of the day, Dave Edmunds with I Hear You Knockin’.

1971, after the sticky and sentimental horrors of ’69 and ’70, thankfully delivered a genuinely erudite palate cleanser of both quality and sophistication: Ernie – The Fastest Milkman In The West, by the legendary and still much missed comedian, Benny Hill. His innuendo-laden, lyrical masterpiece (he said you want it pasteurised,’cause pasteurised is best. She said, Ernie I’ll be happy if it comes up to me chest) about a randy milkman and his arch rival, Two-Ton Ted from Teddington (played by the wonderful Henry McGee), deservedly stayed at No.1 for four weeks over the Christmas period – and I believe I may still have an original copy buried somewhere deep within my record collection.

Sadly, in 1972, it was straight back to the sentimental sticky goo (with generous helpings of self-righteous pomposity) with John Lennon and the Plastic Ono Band’s Happy Xmas (War is Over). Lennon had already wound me up a treat with his sanctimonious slop of a single, Imagine (a song I detest with every fibre of my being), so his po-faced Christmas (sorry, Xmas) release did little to improve my opinion of him (although, to be fair, I never got the feeling he was overly bothered by my own generous helpings of smugly pompous, deeply self-righteous, studenty disdain).

Inevitably, Happy Xmas (War is Over) was a massive world-wide hit for the ex-Rutle, but – joy of joys – it failed to reach the coveted Christmas No.1 spot and only peaked at No.4 on the UK Chart (it also charted again in 1981, this time at No.2, when Lennon was sadly murdered). The actual Christmas No.1 in ’72 was the vastly superior Long Haired Lover From Liverpool by the global musical phenomenon known to us mere mortals as Little Jimmy Osmond.

1973 was of course a bumper year (and was quite possibly the peak year) for the Glam Rock phenomenon that dominated the UK single charts for a big ol’ chunk of the first half of the decade. The Christmas charts that year gave us a magnificent threesome and produced a truly titanic struggle for seasonal domination. The contestants that year were the mighty Slade (with Merry Christmas Everybody), Roy Wood’s Wizzard (with I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day) and Elton John (with Step Into Christmas). Worthy combatants, one and all – but there can be only one…

Slade were at the absolute peak of their powers in ’73, easily one of the most popular bands in Britain, and Merry Xmas Everybody would go on to become one of the most enduring Christmas songs in UK chart history. It would eventually reach the Top 40 on no less that 14 separate occasions over 14 separate years. I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday by Wizzard was no slouch either. It was the second smash Christmas hit of that year, has gone on to become a Christmas standard and, just like Slade’s hit, has charted on multiple occasions, entering the UK’s Top 40s in no less that 10 separate years. Clearly, Elton John could not have picked a more competitive season to cross swords with the opposition. Nevertheless, he bravely manned-up and gamely entered the fray with Step Into Christmas.

The results? Well, history records that Slade were victorious, claiming the coveted Christmas No.1 slot; Roy Wood did very well indeed, peaking at No.4 (and – allegedly – sneaking in the best Christmas cocaine reference – allegedly – in UK Christmas chart history – allegedly…); and Elton trailed in last, with a distant 3rd place finish, peaking at a respectable but lowly No.24 on the UK chart.

1974 was still prime Glam Rock territory and produced another ferocious battle for the Christmas top slot. Mud decided it was their turn to have a crack at the Christmas No.1 with Lonely This Christmas; the mighty Wombles (quite possibly the only rock band of the era with the potential to seriously challenge the all-conquering world domination of Led Zeppelin) chipped in with Wombling Merry Christmas; The Goodies (Bill Oddie, Tim Brooke-Taylor and Graeme Garden) launched their assault on the chart with the intriguingly titled (but seriously rubbish) Father Christmas, Do Not Touch Me; Gilbert O’Sullivan – easily the most famous Irish singer-songwriter from Swindon – chucked his hat into the ring with Christmas Song; and Showaddywaddy joined the fray with Hey Mr. Christmas.

And the results? Kerching! Trebles all round – they all made the Top Twenty and all did very well indeed. But it was the Mighty Mud – with frontman Les Gray delivering an astonishing impersonation of Elvis Presley delivering an astonishing impersonation of Shakin’ Stevens – that finished top of the pile, claiming the coveted 1974 Christmas crown.

It was all change in 1975, both in terms of artists and musical tone. Dana, the Irish entry and winner of the 1970 Eurovision Song Contest (with the deeply irritating All Kinds Of Everything) released her somewhat downbeat single, A Cold, Cold Christmas. Greg Lake (skiving off from Emerson, Lake & Palmer) decided to have a good grumble about the commercialisation and hypocrisy of Christmas with his frankly wonderful I Believe in Father Christmas. The Goodies returned to the Christmas chart for the second year in a row with their dreadfully sub-par Make A Daft Noise For Christmas; and Judge Dread made it all the way to the Christmas Top 20 with Christmas In Dreadland, despite his single being banned from TV and radio broadcast for sundry shenanigans and miscellaneous naughtiness.

Greg Lake did best of all in ’75, reaching a very creditable No.2 position. But nobody really stood a chance that year as the No.1 slot (over Christmas and for what felt like eternity) was utterly dominated by a single I rate almost as highly as John Lennon’s Imagine, any track by U2, or indeed a firm kick in the nadgers delivered by a Millwall supporter wearing military-grade steel toecap boots: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen.

It was back to business as usual 1976 when Johnny Mathis snaffled the Christmas No.1 prize with When A Child Is Born. And things got even more traditional in 1977, when Bing Crosby charted with his classic recording of White Christmas. Sadly for Bing, who really should have been No.1 over Christmas, he was pipped at the post by Paul McCartney & Wings, with their plodding and dreadfully dirge-like Mull Of Kintyre.

Christmas 1978 saw the triumph of German disco superstars, Boney M, with their all-conquering Mary’s Boy Child / Oh My Lord, which went on to become one of the biggest selling singles of all time. Boney M didn’t have a lot of chart competition that year, with The Smurfs (Christmas in Smurfland) providing the main opposition.

1979 saw the return of Paul McCartney with (Simply Having A) Wonderful Christmas Time, and Elvis Presley popped up with It Won’t Seem Like Christmas (Without You). However, the surprise Christmas No.1 (a surprise because they were not really associated with monster hit singles) was delivered by Pink Floyd with Another Brick in the Wall Pt.2.

In terms of No.1 Christmas singles, the 1980s did not start well: There’s No One Quite Like Grandma, by the St Winifred’s School Choir was the 1980 No.1; ’81 saw Don’t You Want Me by the The Human League utterly dominate the Christmas charts; ’82 gave us Save Your Love, by Renée and Renato; and ’83 brought us Only You, by The Flying Pickets.

And then, in 1984, along came Band Aid with their well-intentioned but utterly awful Do They Know It’s Christmas? This was, of course, an enormous hit and was quickly followed by Live Aid – the truly mahoosive transatlantic benefit concert that took place on July 13, 1985. The event (held at Wembley Stadium, the John F. Kennedy Stadium in Philadelphia and numerous other venues around the world) was staged to raise funds to address the 1983–85 famine in Ethiopia. To say it was a big deal is something of an understatement: it pulled in an estimated 1.9 billion viewers in 150 nations, with well over a third of the world’s population tuning in at one time or another.

Pre-Live Aid, one of the greatest aspects of popular music was its high rate of churn: genres, fads, fashions and styles would come and go with great regularity. Some would hang around, others would quickly fade; some were media and industry constructs, other movements were organic and spontaneous. But the central point was that we had enjoyed a long tradition of innovation, reinvention, cross-pollination and – above all – constant change.

But Live Aid (along with the seemingly endless run of high-profile corporate charity concerts it inevitably spawned) changed all that. Live Aid ensured the musical dead were raised (or, at least, reanimated) and given a whole new lease of musical life. Indeed, such was the power of this career boost, many of the old farts who performed at Live Aid are still going strong. Touring and headlining to this very day.

This was the malign effect of Live Aid. Just a decade earlier, Punk Rock had done the decent thing: it didn’t overstay its welcome. It blasted in, kicked over the tables, cleared out the dead wood and opened up space for a new generation of artists and musicians to thrive. Then, after just a couple of years, it politely stepped aside and made way for the next big thing. This was the way of the rock and pop world: one movement would inevitably make way for the next. New Wave, Synth Pop and New Romantics, all stepped up to flourish in the space opened up by punk. It was of course the usual mix of pearls and pap, but there was – as there always was – some very interesting stuff to examine amongst all the peripheral fluff and nonsense.

Sadly, Live Aid changed all that. It heralded an era of musical regurgitation, aural nostalgia, and the dominance of bland, corporate-friendly artists, playing bland, corporate-friendly gigs. Artists who could be awarded gongs and knighthoods, who could be safely invited to royal garden parties, who wouldn’t take a dump in the bidet, steal the silver or bite the head off a corgi.

You can’t blame the old rockers. They couldn’t believe their luck! A decade after the spittle-flecked upstarts of punk had made them look like irrelevant dinosaurs, they were suddenly back in the spotlight, performing to the biggest crowds of their careers and selling old albums by the truckload.

Nor can I blame Geldof: If you are going to assemble a “global jukebox” for a gargantuan TV audience, you’re gonna need battle-hardened professionals with names big enough to put eyeballs on screens. So that’s exactly what we got. The old stagers (with of course the notable and painful exception of Led Zeppelin) were entirely unfazed. They strutted their funky stuff, passed their performance tests with flying colours, revived their flagging careers and hugely boosted their financial futures.

Adam Ant described Live Aid as “the end of rock ‘n’ roll”. The author and journalist, Bob Stanley, described it as the final triumph of conservative old rockers, effectively pulling up the drawbridge on anything musically new, daring or different. The river of constant change, it would seem, was made stagnant by the dam (or, perhaps, the musical butt plug) of Live Aid. The inevitable result was the firm and seemingly permanent entrenchment of a rock ‘n’ roll blandocracy and an era of corporatised musical sludge from which, sadly, we have never really managed to escape.

Blimey! I seem to have gone off on one there – so back to the subject at hand. Post Live Aid, the Christmas No.1s were Merry Christmas Everyone (1985) by Shakin’ Stevens; Reet Petite (1986) by Jackie Wilson; Always on My Mind (1987) by the Pet Shop Boys, Mistletoe and Wine (1988) by Cliff Richard; and – just to rub salt into the wound – Do They Know It’s Christmas? (1989) by the jolly boys and girls of Band Aid II.

Additionally, despite the rot implanted by Band Aid and Live Aid, there really were some genuine Christmas crackers in the 1980s: The Pretenders in 1983 with 2000 Miles (one of my absolute favourites), The Pogues & Kirsty MacColl (1987) with Fairytale of New York, Wham! with Last Christmas (1984), Chris Rea with Driving Home For Christmas (1986), Jona Lewie with Stop the Cavalry (1980), and (a firm favourite of my dear old Mum) Aled Jones with Walking in the Air (1985).

Anyway, for now, dear Puffins, I think that’s probably quite enough of my random Christmas ramblings for one evening. So I shall leave you with the greatest musical gift any true Puffin could ever wish for: an AI generated Phil Collins Christmas album!!! Truly we are blessed.