Thrilling in the name of…

So, December 1st. A day when everyone opened that little window marked ‘1’ and gorged themselves on the first of 25 little slabs of choco-treats that will mark, every morning for the next 25 days, the celebration of the birth of arguably the greatest human ever to walk the Earth – the son of God. Mine’s a Doctor Who one with Darleks and everything.

It was also the quarter-century of quite possibly one of the most monumental albums of all time, Michael Jackson’s Thriller. Sure, like the other fellow I’ve mentioned in this post he’s had his ups and downs, his monumental fame and subsequent fall from grace, but you have to admit it was pretty groundbreaking.

Arguably the first black pop-culture icon to be recognised around the world, every track Jackson penned was a winner, and any album which manages to feature both Vincent Price, Paul McCartney and Van Halen must be worth a mention. Oh, and it was produced by Hollywood’s Mr Golden Touch, Quincy Jones. Jackson’s management claim 105m units shifted, but even Billboard’s more conservative estimate of 65m makes it the biggest selling album of all time.

It didn’t get a Christmas Number One in the UK though. Jackson had to wait until the ’95 to reach that accolade with the Javis Cocker flatulence-inducing Earth Song for that one.

The thing is, to get a Christmas Number 1 you don’t actually need to be ground-breaking. Or talented. Or creative. You just have to follow a simple recipe.

Rolf Harris – 2 Little Boys. Scaffold – Lilly the Pink. Benny Hill – Ernie. Novelty records are a definite hit, and fair enough, you have to create a character and market it. I have no problem with that. There’s work involved, but like any good meal there has to be a cheese foundation.

But then it goes down hill. Wings – Mull of Kintyre (which my middle school orchestra played weekly like it’s own adopted national anthem). Tom Jones – The Green Green Grass of Home. Renee and Renato – Save Your Love. Take one glass of mulled wine, add a dash of sentimentality, and sprinkle liberally with some national stereo-typing, whilst saluting the national flag of the music industry cash-cow.

Then there’s those for whom actually penning a hit is too much like work. Much better to pick a tried and proven thoroughbred. Gary Jules – Madworld. Robbie Williams – Something Stupid. Westlife – I have a dream. Shitney Houston (genuine typo, honest) – I will always love you. Take an old hit now maturing and wipe of the dust of dewy-eyed sentimentality, and give it a modern twist, and preferably a central key-change modulation. Behind every chef there’s a skilled butcher, carefully carving away the fat and gristle, leaving you with something succulent and substantial.

However, the ultimate sin has to be Sir Cliff. Not content with 50 years of royalty, and Christmas Number 1’s in the 60’s, 80’s and 90’s, he went for it with the Millenium Prayer. Not a sentimental rehash nor a cover in site. Here we have lyrics borrowed from the aforementioned JC, crowbarred into Scotland’s most famous sentimental ditty Auld Lang Syne (which, incidentally, only scholar’s specialising in such works wearing smoking jackets actually know the words to). Sir Cliff manages to take every other category and put it together into a fine stew of all of the above ingredients. And failed.

If we’re all honest for a minute, not in the sense of owning up to Labour Party donations or anything, but just quietly admitting, amongst friends, there have only really been two great Christmas Number 1’s. And one of those has one of the best lines in pop history, “Does yer granny always tell you, that the old songs are the best. Then she’s up and rock ‘n rolling with the rest”. Not in the case of Christmas Number 1’s though, eh, granny?

So there you have it. Christmas Number 1’s.

Oh, and in case your wondering, the best one was my birth year. No mention of Christmas, mistletoe or wine, santa, stockings, or worbling Italians or pink incarnations of Sir Noel of Edmunds. Pink Floyd’s The Wall – possibly the greatest Christmas song ever.