`Is it really Christmas and Chanukah?

 Is it really Christmas and Chanukah?

Now here's a thought. Yes folks it's almost Christmas and Chanukah yet again. Once you reach December you know exactly what to expect. In fact the whole spectacle and inevitability of Christmas is unavoidable. You're surrounded by it, obviously aware of its magnificence, its religious themes, the wonderfully historic resonance of it, the way it impacts on our lives, deeply and significantly, influencing our every day approach to the way in which we conduct ourselves and the traditional behavioural patterns. 

So here we are a couple of weeks to go before the children of the world refuse to go to sleep on Christmas Eve and discover, that once morning has broken on Christmas Day, dear old Santa Claus will have carried out his normal obligations and, dutifully, tumbled down chimneys, landed on a soft carpet or laminate flooring and just laughed heartily under a thick white beard and the largest red coat in the world. So that was what Christmas is all about and, if you hadn't known before, this is how it's going to be whether you like it or not. 

But on inspection of the wider world out there, the reminders are constantly in our faces, the muzak Christmas music floating around our celebrated supermarkets, Jona Lewie's memorable Stop the Cavalry, Wham's Last Christmas and the immensely accomplished Chris Rea with Driving Home For Christmas. There was  Paul McCartney's lovely and appropriately festive Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time where McCartney marches happily out of what looks like a country pub with his late wife Linda and then plucks his guitar to the sights and sounds of Christmas, the jollity and merriment of the festive season engulfing them and reassuring them.

Then McCartney retires into the pub before launching into a piano rendition of the song, the late Denny Laine in thick pullover grinning broadly. And then McCartney wraps a scarf around his shoulders and the pub revellers crowd around the roaring log fire, smiling constantly, laughing uproariously quite clearly and celebrating for as long as they think is their divine right. Finally, Paul McCartney dances out of the watering hole, Pied Piper style with children and adults following him all along the pathway and out into the brisk and bracing winter air. Christmas has arrived and we love it. Or some do anyway. 

Meanwhile Jona Lewie is just overcome with a nostalgic sentimentality with Stop the Cavalry. One of the most remarkably anti War songs ever to be recorded for the Christmas pop music market, Stop the Cavalry begins with Jona Lewie sitting by the trenches during the First World War, proudly wearing military army style uniform while all around him, bullets, gunfire and bombs are going off  with a deafening cacophony, dramatic and heart breaking, horrifically real and, in hindsight, unbearably unnecessary. 

Then Lewie becomes all misty eyed, as he sits by another fireside, reflecting once again upon the girl he'd left behind him when called up to serve his country. So he wanders around his cosy, intimate living room, deeply morbid, morose and regretful. On the top of a piano, he stares at a photo of his girlfriend, pining for her desperately and convinced that an emotional reunion continues to be a possibility one day. 

But then he finds himself back on those explosive and fatal battlefields of conflict and hatred, still singing and still hoping against hope that one day humankind will come to its senses. So half way through Stop the Cavalry, Lewie tells himself that if he became President of the United States, he'd stop all this outrageous and bloodthirsty madness before clutching his heart poignantly and pretending that he's just been hit with a murderous bullet.

And what about Chris Rea's warm and fuzzy, beautifully crafted and composed Driving Home For Christmas, a song so deliciously timeless that years and years after its initial release in 1986, can still be recalled with affectionate reminiscences about the Christmases we once enjoyed or maybe not?  So here we are on a snow fringed motorway in the middle of nowhere, travelling back home to your families and bursting with excitement. Rea gets it absolutely right and the imagery is so relatable that you found yourself drawn into the breathless anticipation of the festive season. 

Now a car keeps wiping its windscreen relentlessly and drifts of snow fall gently onto a wet road and we are now treated to the intriguing spectacle of a car going somewhere and we found ourselves just gazing into the headlights of oncoming cars with wide eyed amazement. Slowly but surely the said car winds its way through acres of pine forests and pine trees caked with yet more slush and snow. It is the most delightful symbol of Christmas and we could hardly wait to get into the warmth of our homes. Rea finally pulls into what can only be described as a warehouse populated with lorries, a depot housing all the festive presents. 

During the 1980s, Wham, fronted by the legendary and much missed George Michael, produced Last Christmas, another of those joyful festive ditties that even had its own tinkling bells as its familiar soundtrack. So, on some snow packed skiing resort somewhere in the Alps presumably, George Michael and friends gather together on a pure white mountaintop. They pull on their thick and warm boiler suits before venturing onto the slopes with a carefree disregard of the weather, climbing onto a cable car and then arriving back in their chalet, glasses of mulled wine in their hands, tinsel and glitter on their clothes.

Settling into their snug living room, George Michael, who had to be considered the most instantly identifiable, handsome  heart throb to any girl, takes off his coat and scarf and winks flirtatiously at one of the girls at the Christmas table. It is the look of a man who, to all intents and purposes, is comfortable with his sexuality. Years later. Michael's brave gay admission would leave his female audience dumbstruck. But Last Christmas is a comforting blanket across our chests and a ringing endorsement of everything connected to Christmas.

And finally there is Slade's eternally cheesy if stunning So Here it is Merry Christmas or just Merry Christmas, another splendid acknowledgement of the celebrations to come. Made at the height of a hot and exceptionally warm summer in an American recording studio, Last Christmas was released at a time of chronic industrial unrest in Britain, miserable powercuts, disruptive miners strikes and a general air of soul destroying malaise. But Noddy Holder was just deliriously happy and Merry Christmas took up residence at the top of the charts and stayed there for what seemed an eternity. So as we frantically race around our shops and bulk buy huge piles of mince pies and turkeys, it could be the time to remember the musicians who made it all come to life. It's probably a bit early but Merry Christmas to everybody.