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The Story of the Christmas No. 1: Mistletoe & Vinyl
The Story of the Christmas No. 1 is more than just a nostalgic music book. It subtly explores pop culture and social history, examining our relationship with Christmas, how our national identity is reflected in the music we listen to together, and how the music industry has changed. It also reveals how the Christmas No. 1 reflects the current social reality of today and how technology and culture have reshaped the way music is consumed.
Marc Burrows explores the peculiarly British cultural phenomenon of the Christmas single's chart. Why is it seen as so ubiquitous and so relatable to the audience that it's literally a plot point in Love Actually? The festive top spot was something that, prior to 1973, wasn't particularly important but has since become a cornerstone of the December news cycle and, for years, an annual cultural moment ... that may have reached the end of its life.
He traces the origins of the concept, through the Beatles and the-years-when-it-wasn't-really-a-thing, the Glam rock boom, Band Aid, novelty records, the X-Factor years and the awful Sausage Roll charity records of the 2020s, supported by interviews with figures involved in some of the most iconic hits and notable chart battles of the past half century and obsessive, in-depth research. He explores the sometimes fascinating and sometimes weird and unlikely stories behind some of the most beloved (and some of the most utterly loathed) songs in British musical history.
Marc Burrows explores the peculiarly British cultural phenomenon of the Christmas single's chart. Why is it seen as so ubiquitous and so relatable to the audience that it's literally a plot point in Love Actually? The festive top spot was something that, prior to 1973, wasn't particularly important but has since become a cornerstone of the December news cycle and, for years, an annual cultural moment ... that may have reached the end of its life.
He traces the origins of the concept, through the Beatles and the-years-when-it-wasn't-really-a-thing, the Glam rock boom, Band Aid, novelty records, the X-Factor years and the awful Sausage Roll charity records of the 2020s, supported by interviews with figures involved in some of the most iconic hits and notable chart battles of the past half century and obsessive, in-depth research. He explores the sometimes fascinating and sometimes weird and unlikely stories behind some of the most beloved (and some of the most utterly loathed) songs in British musical history.
280 pages, Paperback
Published November 30, 2025
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December 6, 2025A history of the great British festive tradition of getting uniquely exercised about what's on top of the Christmas chart. Inevitably the trajectory is melancholy, given how the story ends, but then that's true of so much non-fiction, and also of so much Christmas music. Still, much like those sad songs, the book is mostly looking back at happier times – of 260-odd pages, 160 cover the seventies and eighties, culminating in the Nicaean compilation album which has since become known as Now That's What I Call Christmas, and which, with a few subsequent tweaks (Glitter out, Pogues in) establishes the British Christmas canon. Granted, I remain sceptical that Step Into Christmas can really have been on there – I swear I'd never heard that until about 10-15 years ago, when it was unwelcomely retconned in among the classics like Dawn from Buffy. But I accept that as one of those occasional alterations to the timeline. What's worse, as is so often the way, is the inarguable stuff about our own timeline where, as I'd never really considered because I try my hardest not to think about that godawful song, the floodgates for the modern Christmas song are opened by Happy Xmas (War Is Over). Fine for Marc, who calls it a masterpiece; a bit of a shocker for me, to whom it's rivalled only by the same perpetrator's equally sanctimonious and hollow Imagine as the biggest turd in pop's punchbowl. Hell, I've even slightly come around to St. Winifred's School Choir now I know they knocked the fucker off the top spot the week after Mark Chapman put us out of his misery (see also: Mr Blobby, convincingly painted by Burrows as a revival of the old midwinter Lord of Misrule and, even more importantly, denying Gary Barlow the Yuletide crown).
Still, that unpleasantness out of the way, 1973 sees us off to the races with Slade and Wizzard – though what's interesting is that even then, with two absolute all-timers in contention, there was little sense of a chart battle outside the ranks of the bands themselves. With his usual devotion to research, Marc has combed the archives not just of the music papers and the national press, but right down to the likes of the Leicester Mercury and Grimsby Evening Telegraph, revealing the very gradual dawning of the specific notion of the Christmas number one – which, typically, is first attested in an article expressing boredom with the supposed annual avalanche of Christmas music. And when bookies first start offering odds on the winner, he points out that the initial articles about it didn't even go far enough down the press release to mention the long odds on that year's eventual winner.
Alas, this diligence is not always matched by the editing, which besides some erratic italics and typos lets the odd puzzling discrepancy through. In the establishing chapter on pre-pop festive music, Deck The Halls and God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen are 17th century one minute, 19th the next: the Flying Pickets go from a quartet to a six-piece within a page, without any mention of personnel changes. And while the section on the rise and fall of the Wombles is brilliant (I had no idea they'd been brought low by another great British Yuletide tradition, the piss-poor cash-in show outraging families), the footnote hypothesising about a record that might have been if Dalekmania, like Womblemania, had coincided with an era of Christmas singles is misplaced: we already have 1964's I'm Gonna Spend My Christmas With A Dalek by the Go-Go's (not those ones), though I wish we didn't.
Still, these are minor quibbles. There's a goldmine of good info here, intelligently tied together and then delivered with a lightness of touch and a stand-up's eye for a gag (though never in such a way that it belittles the subject matter as a whole - Caitlin Moran's line about pop music being simultaneously the most ridiculous and important thing in the world is quoted with approval). From the influence of Phil Spector's maximalism (despite his Christmas Gift initially flopping, which seems inconceivable now) through the accident of production that gave East 17 their moment, to the dying fall of Cliff and Cowell, this is a story that hasn't been told as a whole in anything like this depth before, and richly deserves it. Hell, even in the unedifying finale of sodding Ladbaby, it continues to hold a mirror up to British society, even if the conclusion now is that our chart mechanics, our taste and our politico-economical system are all equally fucked. And the tale ends on a bittersweet note, Last Christmas finally getting to the top spot when George Michael is no longer here to appreciate it, thereby folding another layer of sorrow into one of the great seasonal weepies.
Still, that unpleasantness out of the way, 1973 sees us off to the races with Slade and Wizzard – though what's interesting is that even then, with two absolute all-timers in contention, there was little sense of a chart battle outside the ranks of the bands themselves. With his usual devotion to research, Marc has combed the archives not just of the music papers and the national press, but right down to the likes of the Leicester Mercury and Grimsby Evening Telegraph, revealing the very gradual dawning of the specific notion of the Christmas number one – which, typically, is first attested in an article expressing boredom with the supposed annual avalanche of Christmas music. And when bookies first start offering odds on the winner, he points out that the initial articles about it didn't even go far enough down the press release to mention the long odds on that year's eventual winner.
Alas, this diligence is not always matched by the editing, which besides some erratic italics and typos lets the odd puzzling discrepancy through. In the establishing chapter on pre-pop festive music, Deck The Halls and God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen are 17th century one minute, 19th the next: the Flying Pickets go from a quartet to a six-piece within a page, without any mention of personnel changes. And while the section on the rise and fall of the Wombles is brilliant (I had no idea they'd been brought low by another great British Yuletide tradition, the piss-poor cash-in show outraging families), the footnote hypothesising about a record that might have been if Dalekmania, like Womblemania, had coincided with an era of Christmas singles is misplaced: we already have 1964's I'm Gonna Spend My Christmas With A Dalek by the Go-Go's (not those ones), though I wish we didn't.
Still, these are minor quibbles. There's a goldmine of good info here, intelligently tied together and then delivered with a lightness of touch and a stand-up's eye for a gag (though never in such a way that it belittles the subject matter as a whole - Caitlin Moran's line about pop music being simultaneously the most ridiculous and important thing in the world is quoted with approval). From the influence of Phil Spector's maximalism (despite his Christmas Gift initially flopping, which seems inconceivable now) through the accident of production that gave East 17 their moment, to the dying fall of Cliff and Cowell, this is a story that hasn't been told as a whole in anything like this depth before, and richly deserves it. Hell, even in the unedifying finale of sodding Ladbaby, it continues to hold a mirror up to British society, even if the conclusion now is that our chart mechanics, our taste and our politico-economical system are all equally fucked. And the tale ends on a bittersweet note, Last Christmas finally getting to the top spot when George Michael is no longer here to appreciate it, thereby folding another layer of sorrow into one of the great seasonal weepies.
November 3, 2025
A book I didn't know I needed. Chocked full of fun and information. It really brought back memories and taught me things I didn't know. Marc's writing style and humour really make this such an enjoyable book to read. I've bought some as Christmas presents for my music and/or Christmas loving friends and family
November 12, 2025
A brief history of the UK through the fuzzy, nostalgic lens of the Christmas pop chart. 5/5
Full disclosure; I was always going to love this book. I love Christmas, I adore pop music (the kitschier the better) and I’m a big fan of those books by music journos where they try and convince you that the era of music they hold deep nostalgia for is the most important thing in the world. Except Mistletoe and Vinyl went one better because unlike the nostalgia in Cider With Roadies (et al), this is also MY nostalgia.
I bought Killing In The Name in 2009. My best mate had the NOW! That’s What I Call Christmas CD (until it was confiscated for egregious overplay at a November sleepover.) I remember where I was the first time I heard ‘Merry Xmas Everybody!’ I fell for the ‘Buy Girls, Bye Boys!’ marketing for ‘Sound of the Underground’ in 2003! I cried my eyes out watching the livestream of Shane McGowan’s funeral in December 2023.
For better or worse, Christmas music is the soundtrack to big chunks of our lives. Even my mum - an erstwhile Christmas hater - gets a bit teary eyed listening to Fairytale of New York (did YOU know Kirsty McColl died in a waterskiing accident?). As collective experiences are diluted by streaming, nostalgia for the time when hundreds of thousands of people were all listening to the same music at the same time, watching the same performances on the telly and hearing the same songs on the radio hit me hard. I was surprisingly sad to realise as I was reading that at some point in the mid 2000s I unwrapped a CD for the last time and didn’t realise.
Mistletoe and Vinyl really captures how deeply woven into British culture Christmas music is, neatly folding in the wider historical context of each era without getting too bogged down in extraneous detail*.
*Which is saved for Pratchettian footnotes adding personal asides, witticisms and details of the heinous crimes committed by certain shepherds of our Christmas jollity.
About a third of the way through I stopped for a breather (1973 was a big year) and found myself getting genuinely excited about what was still to come. We still had Wham! Fairytale! Mariah! The Waitresses! And (God help us) LadBaby! This book hits the perfect balance of enough nerdy detail to keep die hard music fans happy whilst remaining accessible enough for the casual reader and Marc handles each entry – even LadBaby (especially LadBaby?) with warmth and fairness. It would have been very easy to take cheap shots at the more outré chart entrants but everyone gets a fair shake and a sprinkling of Fun Facts.
It really is fascinating to view nearly a century of British history though the brief snapshot of what music everyone was buying in the last few weeks of December. What were we hoping for? What were we remembering? What musical abomination were the nation’s kids (and/or grannies) going feral for? What would the 00’s have looked like if someone had gone back in time and killed Simon Cowell when he was a baby?
The era of physical music media may be dead but physical books live on – and I would highly recommend this one.
Full disclosure; I was always going to love this book. I love Christmas, I adore pop music (the kitschier the better) and I’m a big fan of those books by music journos where they try and convince you that the era of music they hold deep nostalgia for is the most important thing in the world. Except Mistletoe and Vinyl went one better because unlike the nostalgia in Cider With Roadies (et al), this is also MY nostalgia.
I bought Killing In The Name in 2009. My best mate had the NOW! That’s What I Call Christmas CD (until it was confiscated for egregious overplay at a November sleepover.) I remember where I was the first time I heard ‘Merry Xmas Everybody!’ I fell for the ‘Buy Girls, Bye Boys!’ marketing for ‘Sound of the Underground’ in 2003! I cried my eyes out watching the livestream of Shane McGowan’s funeral in December 2023.
For better or worse, Christmas music is the soundtrack to big chunks of our lives. Even my mum - an erstwhile Christmas hater - gets a bit teary eyed listening to Fairytale of New York (did YOU know Kirsty McColl died in a waterskiing accident?). As collective experiences are diluted by streaming, nostalgia for the time when hundreds of thousands of people were all listening to the same music at the same time, watching the same performances on the telly and hearing the same songs on the radio hit me hard. I was surprisingly sad to realise as I was reading that at some point in the mid 2000s I unwrapped a CD for the last time and didn’t realise.
Mistletoe and Vinyl really captures how deeply woven into British culture Christmas music is, neatly folding in the wider historical context of each era without getting too bogged down in extraneous detail*.
*Which is saved for Pratchettian footnotes adding personal asides, witticisms and details of the heinous crimes committed by certain shepherds of our Christmas jollity.
About a third of the way through I stopped for a breather (1973 was a big year) and found myself getting genuinely excited about what was still to come. We still had Wham! Fairytale! Mariah! The Waitresses! And (God help us) LadBaby! This book hits the perfect balance of enough nerdy detail to keep die hard music fans happy whilst remaining accessible enough for the casual reader and Marc handles each entry – even LadBaby (especially LadBaby?) with warmth and fairness. It would have been very easy to take cheap shots at the more outré chart entrants but everyone gets a fair shake and a sprinkling of Fun Facts.
It really is fascinating to view nearly a century of British history though the brief snapshot of what music everyone was buying in the last few weeks of December. What were we hoping for? What were we remembering? What musical abomination were the nation’s kids (and/or grannies) going feral for? What would the 00’s have looked like if someone had gone back in time and killed Simon Cowell when he was a baby?
The era of physical music media may be dead but physical books live on – and I would highly recommend this one.
November 24, 2025
I got this book on a Saturday afternoon. And assumed I’d finish it on the Sunday. I even bought myself some Christmassy biscuits. It was all very civilised. Two weeks later, I’ve finally finished the bloody thing, I have 72 open tabs on my laptop and my Spotify algorithm is in shambles: It was wonderful.
My read time is not the fault of the prose which is breezy and pleasant and occasionally very funny. But Marc Burrows is writer with an enormous depth of casual knowledge on music history. He never veers into Patrick Bateman territory but if you do enjoy rabbit holes then there are many many rabbit holes available. Continent-spanning rabbit warrens, in fact. It’s all very fun. This man does not fear a footnote.
Actually lack of fear is a bit of a theme. Sometimes (especially in crowd pleasing books like this) authors can be a bit bloodless. They don’t wish to offend. That does not happen here. Marc Burrows has very firm opinions, even if he’s sometimes nicer to a song or artist than I would be.
Late on in the book, he calls a particular Christmas classic the last great masterpiece added to the British Christmas canon (note: he is correct) and says this is “comfortably [his] most controversial statement” in the book. Which is hilarious because it’s not even top five. Like, early in the book he casually referred to Punk and Disco two manifestations of Glam Rock: a statement I agree with completely but have used to start 3 separate arguments so far. One with my friends, one with my family and one with an Uber driver who tutted at I Will Survive. But I’m certain that Burrows could defend that statement in a court of law if anyone asked. He’d probably enjoy himself.
The book is an examination of a peculiar British Christmas music tradition written by someone with a trenchant and affectionate understanding of music, Britishness, Christmas and tradition.
If you buy it for someone else though, please do be aware that they’ll spend at least half an hour Did-You-Knowing at you. But you probably won’t have known so don’t let that stop you.
My read time is not the fault of the prose which is breezy and pleasant and occasionally very funny. But Marc Burrows is writer with an enormous depth of casual knowledge on music history. He never veers into Patrick Bateman territory but if you do enjoy rabbit holes then there are many many rabbit holes available. Continent-spanning rabbit warrens, in fact. It’s all very fun. This man does not fear a footnote.
Actually lack of fear is a bit of a theme. Sometimes (especially in crowd pleasing books like this) authors can be a bit bloodless. They don’t wish to offend. That does not happen here. Marc Burrows has very firm opinions, even if he’s sometimes nicer to a song or artist than I would be.
Late on in the book, he calls a particular Christmas classic the last great masterpiece added to the British Christmas canon (note: he is correct) and says this is “comfortably [his] most controversial statement” in the book. Which is hilarious because it’s not even top five. Like, early in the book he casually referred to Punk and Disco two manifestations of Glam Rock: a statement I agree with completely but have used to start 3 separate arguments so far. One with my friends, one with my family and one with an Uber driver who tutted at I Will Survive. But I’m certain that Burrows could defend that statement in a court of law if anyone asked. He’d probably enjoy himself.
The book is an examination of a peculiar British Christmas music tradition written by someone with a trenchant and affectionate understanding of music, Britishness, Christmas and tradition.
If you buy it for someone else though, please do be aware that they’ll spend at least half an hour Did-You-Knowing at you. But you probably won’t have known so don’t let that stop you.
December 3, 2025
Burrows’ writing is warm, witty, and deeply researched without ever feeling heavy or academic. He effortlessly guides the reader from the early years when the Christmas No. 1 barely mattered through the seismic impact of The Beatles, the glitter of the glam rock era, the emotional force of Band Aid, and into the era of novelty records, reality TV dominance, and social-media-fueled chart battles. Each period feels distinct, vivid, and grounded in the cultural mood of its time
December 13, 2025
This book is outstanding - an entertaining and insightful gallop through the tradition of the Christmas No. 1. An incredible act of research put across in a light, funny, and fun way. Strong recommend.
January 6, 2026
I thoroughly enjoyed this informative and for me nostalgic book. I was a child of the 80s who would slavishly listen to the weekly countdown charts. So the Christmas number one was a big thing. Well researched Book that is accessible and entertaining.
January 9, 2026
This book is a total dream to a sad, music and stat-loving nearly 60 year old (me). I would love to have written it. Marc and I seem to share a love of Pratchett, Bowie, Bolan and now Christmas music - or at least the phenomenon that it is. Well done that man!
December 11, 2025
Extremely compelling and readable account of a very British phenomenon. Never too dry and never too smarmy - this is unquestionably the definitive account of Christmas chart music in the UK.
December 30, 2025
Well written, nostalgic, an entertaining trip though music and Christmas history.
January 24, 2026
Excellent read for the festive season, informative and fun.
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