I have a list of people I would like to strangle at this time of year. In no particular order, they are:
Sir Nodward Holder for Merry Christmas Everybody.
Shakin’ Stevens for Merry Christmas Everyone.
Jona Lewie for Stop The Cavalry.
Boney M for Mary’s Boy Child (who, luckily, was born on Christmas Day. Imagine the hassle if he hadn’t been?).
Greg Lake for I Believe in Father Christmas.
These are records I have heard too many times, records I absolutely dread hearing.
I have excused other artists lately for feat of upsetting and offending friends. Shane McGowan and the late Kirsty McColl are excused for Fairytale of New York, even though I never could stand it; and so is Roy Wood, architect of I Wish I Could Be Christmas Everyday, quite simply the worst thing he ever made. I’ve let them off for good behaviour with their other songs.
I spent last Christmas working for the less than charming supermarket group Tesco. Happily I will not be this year so I will not have to endure tiresome bullying jumped up junior managers whilst simultaneously listening to a Christmas album on a continuous loop. After a while, I preferred listening to the jumped up managers rather than have to out up with another “So here it is…” from Sir Nodward.
It isn’t just Tesco, though. I was in Asda at Cribbs Causeway, you know, the one that feels like a giant job centre but with things to buy in it, and even in early November, John Lennon’s Happy Xmas (War Is Over) came on as I was sorting through the wine section. I made a bolt for it when a dire old Chris De Burgh song followed it (it was something to do with a spaceman. I can’t be bothered to look it up).
I bow to no one in my love for the festive season. I am an atheist so the religious bit is a monumental irrelevance to me, especially as Christians stole Christmas from the pagans in the first place, but I like to think Christmas is a time for everyone. So it is especially awkward for me to complain how commercial interests are changing the true meaning of Christmas. The true meaning for me is family, friends, food, drinks, telly and doing absolutely nothing. I am forced by she who must be obeyed to listen to Christmas music, especially since much of her collection was bought by me. We will have a continuous loop of music from the likes of James Taylor, the Beach Boys, Christopher Cross and, with the best Christmas album ever, Bob Dylan. Actually, I don’t mind those albums too much.
The worst place to go at this time of year for their music is Sports Direct. As with the rest of the year, music is played but it is never the real versions. Older readers will recall the Top of the Pops albums which featured all the latest hits played by session singers and musicians. So when you get Jona Bleeding Lewis striking up about his bleeding cavalry, it’s not even him. When I went in the other day, Elton John’s career low point Step Into Christmas was playing across the store, but it wasn’t him. The singer perfected Elton’s ludicrous fake American accent to a tee and the backing band dutifully did their jobs but you would have to have been deaf to not hear the difference.
There is such a thing called hearing a song too many times. Satisfaction by the Rolling Stones, All Right Now by Free and Bohemian Rhapsody are good examples, except possibly in the case of the latter which I had heard too many times after I had heard it once. Christmas music is even worse and much as I love “the most wonderful time of the year” I am also relieved when it’s over, at least musically.
