Christmas time and the music industry.

 Christmas time and the music industry- Chris Rea.

There was a time when Christmas and the music industry spoke or sung with the same voice, so to speak. Christmas singles and albums by the latest or most popular bands, singers and musicians were certainly worth their weight in gold. Some of these glittering luminaries from the world of pop, rock, heavy rock, prog rock, soul or just very cheesy ditties joined us in a harmonious sing song. It was, after all, Christmas and the festive season was upon us so it was now time to loosen those inhibitions and throw off  those exhausting demands placed on you such as work, paying the bills, bringing up children and cooking the turkey. 

They loved to surround themselves in the traditional Christmas tropes such as carpets of snow, mountain scenery with gallons of the white stuff coating the summits, skiing slopes and people celebrating, cavorting and carousing with unashamed delight. It was a time devoted to family life, emotional reunions with family we hadn't seen for at least a year and then sleeping off Christmas lunch with a huge bout of snoring, snoozing or just slouching around the home looking for another glass of brandy and whisky. 

But for some of us it is a time for recalling the Christmas music that will now announce its presence on Thursday morning when toil and drudgery in shops, offices and warehouses grind to a standstill. Christmas though will not seem the same without Chris Rea though and yesterday the world of music lost one of its great maestros. This morning we'll be grieving the loss of one of its many giants, a titan of the blues, one of the chief exponents of easy listening and pleasant song lyrics, a reassuring, soothing voice tinged with nostalgia. 

Chris Rea, who yesterday died at the age of 74, was one of music's most refined of all practitioners, a modest, often underrated, quiet, reflective, humble and unassuming man. Rea, who never sought publicity or demanded any kind of validation or approval from his peers, passed away amid a flurry of warm tributes and flattering comments. Rea's career though never came with sleazy tales of outrageous behaviour or embarrassing notoriety.

But no one did Christmas better than Chris Rea because one of the most familiar sounds of Christmas came from his back catalogue and everybody could hum it, chant it and remember where they were when it was released. It was around Christmas time in 1986 when Rea and family were on the way back from a gig and found themselves trapped in heavy, almost stationary traffic in Nottingham. Desperately trying to keep warm on a wintry evening, Rea noticed a spare cigarette butt at the back of the vehicle and lit up the cigarette when, suddenly, there was the light bulb moment. Let's write a song about Driving Home for Christmas. The rest, as they say, is history. 

Yesterday reminded us of why the world always came together at this time of the year. We recalled this same period of time with wholesome affection because we always have and always will. Music had its songsheets in abundance from some of the most recognisable and instantly identifiable sources. They were eternally cheerful, endearing, witty, humorous and always smiling. Everybody smiled and grinned at Chris Rea's Driving Home for Christmas since it was something we always did because we were always travelling back from some distant location. And we were just delighted to be back in the place we called home. 

Of course Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without its yearly confection of Sir Cliff Richard. Sir Cliff Richard always presented us with festive compositions. Mistletoe and Wine typified his approach to this time of this year, Christians sitting by roaring log fires with delicious glasses of mulled wine. As a devout Christian himself, Richard knew the meaning of Christmas much more clearly than would otherwise have been the case because he would be in perennial attendance at the yearly Mass service on Christmas Eve. Cliff Richard embraced Christmas with an almost Messianic fervour, a lifelong church goer and full of seasons greetings and bountiful benevolence to the human race.

But Chris Rea's Driving Home for Christmas was a delightful illustration of just what it's all about. A car windscreen would be seen cruising along wondrous pine forests and snow caked trees. Every so often, the wiper would gently brush away the snow flakes before continuing its journey. Up ahead of the car would be a procession of car headlights, flashing away reassuringly before turning around twisting country lanes. 

At the end of this special journey, Rea would finally pull into what looks like a warehouse or depot where, presumably, the Christmas presents would end up. And this was the beginning of Christmas, the time and moment to crack open the alcoholic bottles, a cheeky Prosecco or the sweetest bottle of champagne. The car was now in a happy place, situated in a place of perfect contentment. We moved on and stared out of our windows because the family would be just in time for the turkey and tinsel. 

In contrast, Rea also gave us On The Beach, a gorgeous summer song that was so characteristic of our favourite childhood memories that Chris Rea had just written the most accurate summary of the season. Rea, complete with T- shirt, guitar around his neck, strolled around the shore of a beach without a care in the world. Every so often a girl in a swimsuit would tip toe along the top of a wall before Rea settled on the ground strumming away on his guitar with yet another burst of warm, gravelly, heartfelt and splendidly thoughtful lyrics that painted their own picture. 

Of course there was the Road to Hell which was both angry and passionate but nobody seemed to mind because most of us had experienced many of the same emotions. Sadly, though Rea had some of the most debilitating health problems which hampered him quite distressingly. Most of know about all of these tragic ailments now but you can't help but think how much more prodigious and creative he could have been without these problems. 

Essentially though Rea was on easy going terms with his contemporaries. There was the timeless Christmas classic produced by Noddy Holder's Slade, released in 1973 but recorded in the sweltering summer heat of an American recording studio. At roughly the same time, there was Mud's Elvis Presley tinged It'll be Lonely This Christmas, Roy Wood's I Wish it Could be Christmas and Jona Lewie's anti War contribution Stop the Cavalry featuring battle hardened soldiers climbing out of First World War trenches, rifles in their hands and a multitude of the dead. It was just a compulsory soundtrack to our lives.

Sir Elton John, of course is our most beloved, treasured and rightly honoured of pop stars. John's illustrious career now spans five decades if not more. But Step Into Christmas is a jolly, upbeat piano pounding festive favourite that has never lost its lustre or message. Here John sits by his piano with, at the time, rather respectable glasses but clomping platform shoes. In a plain white boiler suit and nimble fingers, he slides across the keyboard of the said piano with lovely and apposite Christmas words. Then, with a mischievous grin, John, at the end of one chorus, produces his Watford football club season ticket wallet. Then his manager John Reid and the rest of the band, all join in with one last hearty arm in arm, high kicking routine.

Lest we forget of course there was Wham's Last Christmas and Paul McCartney's Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time followed closely by the unforgettably resonant Pipes of Peace. Wham, fronted by the handsome heart throb who went by the name of George Michael, appeared angelic and fresh faced. Michael was a female bedroom poster boy, adored and idolised, worshipped and wishing they were their boyfriend forever more. Now this is a classical Christmas song. 

Now, on a winter holiday with friends, boyfriends and girlfriends, everybody gathers together on some picture postcard skiing resort possibly in the Alps. They all board a cable car before loading their skis on board. At once the scene is reminiscent of the perfect collection of boys and girls declaring their love for each other. It is the essence of a holiday of a lifetime. Nothing could go wrong and didn't. 

So both George Michael, Shirley and Pepsi would all hurriedly rush towards a comforting chalet next to idyllic mountains. Huddling around the dinner table, Wham proceed to whip off their gloves and scarves before snapping Christmas crackers, tucking into the yearly helping of turkey and smiling constantly, now besotted with each other and deeply in love. Shirley, of course, would marry Martin Kemp from Spandau Ballet and, sadly, George Michael would pass away on Christmas Day. What an extraordinary talent and voice. 

But now the world of music has lost another of its favourite sons. Chris Rea never fell out of hedonistic nightclubs in a drunken stupor. He was honest, confessional, private, never loud or controversial, boastful or bombastic, self righteous or obsessed with image. He was married to his wife for 57 years, remained faithfully to his Middlesbrough roots and always kept his family out of the limelight. Rea was a wonderful lyricist, a musician of the highest order, car enthusiast and will always be remembered at Christmas time. We'll miss you deeply Chris.