The New Year singles chart is one hot Christmas tree fire

New Year is a time for new beginnings. New promises, new routines, new gym memberships. A lovely fresh start.

So why is the New Year UK pop chart so stuck in Christmas? Here are 19 of the 20 top ten singles in this week's chart, the week *after* Christmas. Listed in alphabetical order. Deep breath...

All I Want For Christmas Is You, Come On Home For Christmas, Do They Know It's Christmas, Driving Home For Christmas, Fairytale Of New York, I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday, It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas, It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year, Jingle Bell Rock, Last Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas Everyone, One More Sleep, Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree, Santa Tell Me, Step Into Christmas, The Christmas Song, Underneath The Tree, Wonderful Christmastime.

What the flaming workshop elf is going on? The answer is that while last week's Christmas chart picked up all the pre-Christmas buying and streaming, this chart is picking up all the Christmas Day streams. Which is depressing because it shows the entire of the UK has had the bad taste to soundtrack their turkey guzzling with Shakin' Stevens, Brenda Lee and Elton cacking John. Wot no techno?! It's enough to make me vomit my sprouts THROUGH MY EARS.

There should be a rule. Any Christmas song that is still in the charts after Christmas should (a) be deleted forever, (b) have its artist dropped from the label, and (c) have its lyrics tattooed onto a screaming reindeer that haunts our dreams forever. This is all totally reasonable, as I think you'll agree.

Props to young Nashville singer Gayle (pictured above)who was the only artist in the top 20 who didn't have a Christmas song. Here are some of the lyrics to her smash hit ABCDEFU. It's quite sweary, so to keep on the right side of internet filters, I have replaced all swear words with antique furniture.

Louis XIII walnut tabouret you and your mom and your sister and your job

And your broke-Point de Venise floral curtains car and that regency mahogany double wardrobe you call art

Jonathan Charles side table you and your friends that I'll never see again

Everybody but your dog, you can all Edwardian corner cabinet bookcase off

The worst thing is, we won't get a new singles chart until January 7th, which means these festive songs will be in the pop charts after twelfth night. That's unlucky, like keeping your Christmas tree up for too long, or riding Santa's sleigh after midnight, or informing the authorities of the workshop elves you've got chained in your basement.

Last Christmas was at number one on last year's New Year chart, then dropped out of the top 100 the following week. This will happen again, with nearly three dozen seasonal songs about to tumble down the listings. Next week's chart is effectively a big reset button, with Gayle inevitably becoming number one and all the Santa-suppressed non-seasonal Ed Sheeran songs rising again to the surface like a bad egg.

Ho, ho, and inevitably, ho.

Further Fats: Merry pissmas (2006)

Further Fats: Whatever happened to the cheeky New Year number one? (2013)

Dance music fans, I have bad news about Christmas

Every now and then, mega cool dance music dominates the charts.

Yeah, I said "mega cool". Deal with it, kids.

Like the time the Chemical Brothers' Setting Sun topped the charts in 1996, the same year the Prodigy took the top spot twice. Or the moment Kraftwerk knocked Shakin' Stevens off number one. Or 21st century bangers breaking past a mush of identikit dance records such as Mint Royale's Singin' In The Rain or Kiesza's Hideaway.

The bad news is that Santa is having none of this. He hates dance music. He's your crusty old grandpa banging on the ceiling with a walking stick, or in his case, an elf. There has never been a mega cool dance hit as Christmas number one.

There must be some Christmas chart toppers with dance elements, right? A pearl among the oysters, a bit of gristle amid the constant stream of watery gravy, something credible besides Jimmy Osmond, Cliff Richard, all the Band Aids and Shayne flipping Ward.

Wait. Yazoo's Only You was Christmas number one in 1983. Vince Clarke! Alison Moyet! Synths! Except this was the a cappella version by The Flying Pickets: not dancey at all. Dammit.

What else? Not much. Mr Blobby's self-titled 1993 Chrimbo chart-topper was a dance music track, with its horrendously outdated Stock Aitken Waterman rhythms. But it can't count: it was a children's singalong with a bunch of kids who deserved to be sent up t'chimneys.

Apart from one track I'm yet to mention, that's it. Everything else is ballads, charity singles or people singing about sausage rolls. If Christmas was a nightclub, it would have been long bulldozed to make way for an Asda. I believe in the power of redemption, such as celebrity chefs doing interesting things with the long maligned sprout, but there is no hope here: the Christmas chart topper will never be a mega cool dance hit.

Except...

There is a pure, club-thumping dance track that made it to number one. It had samples, a roof-raising build-up and key change, and a pretty nifty breakbeat. That's right. Bob the Builder's Can We Fix It? is the most danceable festive number one in history.

Has Bob fixed it? Yes, he has. Have a listen: that's a proper skippy breakbeat right there. Even better, he knocked Westlife off the top of the charts when he became the Christmas chart-topper in 2000. Santa Claus is squeezing down your chimney, and he's armed with a cartoon wrench and Neil Morrissey dressed a reindeer.

Thank you, Bob. Or should I call you Robert? You truly are the most mega cool king of Chrimbo.

*publishes blog post*

*fast-forward to later that night*

*Fat Roland's bedroom, a rattle of chains in the darkness*

FATS: Whaaa? What's that? Who's there?
GHOST: Wooooah. It's me. The ghost of blogs past.
FATS: What do you want? Is it money? Lard? Take the lard! I only keep it on my bedside table for comfort.
GHOST: Whooaah. I'm here to tell you off about that blog post you did. The one about Christmas. Wooooaaaah!
FATS: Since when did ghosts get internet?
GHOST: You didn't mention the Pet Shop Boys Always On My Mind and the Human League's Don't You Want Me. Woooah.
FATS: Can I go back to bed? I've not finished making my Christmas candle and I need to break into my neighbour's first thing to get more earwax.
GHOST: Woooah. You deliberately missed out two of the biggest electronic music hits of all time to make some vapid point about dance music and Christmas. Seriously, dude. It renders your whole point moot. Woah.
FATS: Listen here, matey, get back inside that wardrobe. I'm going to push you back inside that spooky flipping wardrobe.
GHOST: Yikes! Do you always dress like that for bed? That's going to chafe, surely.
FATS: Hey, if it's good enough for Noel Edmonds, it's good enough fo—

*cuts to black*

Pictured above: Glasgow Sound Control's window display at Christmas taken by Agent Banana

Further Fats: Fat Roland's number one album chart death rant (2010)

Further Fats: If it goes bleep, it may or may not be EDM (2013)

Fat Roland's Christmas message: just like the Queen's but with more poopy baubles

Christmas is a lovely time of year when a reindeer does a plop on your baubles and Santa cheerily throws an elf onto an open fire.

I would like to wish all of my subjects a merry Christmas. And by "subjects", I mean you, my reader, because you subject yourself to all this grammatical hot guff every time you visit my website. Thank you for downloading my words into your brain.

This year has felt quite bumpy, according to the Queen. She should know because she has been feeling up the year when nobody's been looking. April felt squishy, and there was a distinct undulation to August. It's the kind of thing royals get up to. Disgusting, if you ask me.

I'm pretty immune to the annoyances of Christmas. I don't have parents, so there's no-one to argue with about Brexit while passively-aggressively chewing undercooked sprouts. And I don't have a television, so while you're bombarded with a gaudy torrent of Chrimbo ads, I'm just staring at the patch of carpet where my telly used to be. Bliss.

That said, it can be a lonesome time because everything's so family-oriented. Most Christmases, I delve into creative projects and spend as much time with friends as possible. January and February should have their own Christmases so we can continue to distract ourselves from the dank cold with booze and pals and shiny things.

The other day it occurred to me that "ho ho ho" is "oh oh oh" backwards, which is a lyric from Beyoncé's Single Ladies. I'm not quite sure what to do with this information, other than posit that Father Christmas is the opposite to Queen Beyoncé. The Anti-Bey, if you will. Next time you're sitting on a Santa's knee, ask him if he hates Beyoncé.

What's my advice for Christmas? Don't stand in your chimney place because if Santa comes down at the wrong angle, you're going to find yourself right up Father Christmas's butt. No-one wants to spend the festive season wedged up Santa Claus, no matter how Christmassy you're feeling. Not that anyone has chimneys anymore. Or butts. I blame Brexit Britain.

In summary, festive fiddlesticks to you and your loved ones. Maybe have a read of this 2006 Xmas Q&A in which I (a) still annoyingly call Christmas "chrimbo" and (b) seem to promise never to mention Christmas again. Oops.

Further Fats: Christmas chart battles and the chamber of echoes (2014)

Further Fats: Six drummers drumming (2014)

Che Guevara and Debussy to a

Sorry.

Christmas was good, wasn't it. We all played Ludo and wore novelty trousers and did a jigsaw of a horse. Santa Claus got stuck in the chimney, but it's alright because we fed him mince pies on the end of a broom. I hope your Chrimbo was somewhere between tolerable and alright.

It's now that strange post-Christmas-tree week, a scorched copse of ruined routines and threatening promises. Too much food, too little exercise. Go easy on yourself, chums. It's a dawdle, not a sprint.

Me? I lose myself in little projects at this time of year. Nothing overwhelming - just silly distractions to brighten the bleak midwinter. My current project is my albums of the year list, a predictable yet essential part of this blog which will unfurl here over the next few days.

Watch this space.

A Christmas message from Fat Roland. pic.twitter.com/qPeBrkzOMe

— Fat Roland ⁉️ (@FatRoland) December 25, 2018

Further Fats: Tend the tables, broom the rats out for me (2009)

Further Fats: Fat Roland at Christmas (2015)

Six drummers drumming

I'm working on my end-of-year best album list. It may need to be cut down this year as it was in 2013, but I'll still try and do it. My top ten albums of the year is currently a list of 70 (with a realistic shortlist of 28).

Meanwhile, it's Christmas. A time for old folks to sit around and knit Christmas jumpers or to crochet pictures of Santa Claus.

So who's this guy? What is Richard O'Brien doing with the decorations?

And why is there a hipster messing with the tree?

Enjoy this music video. It's Swedish without subtitles but if you don't speak the language, it doesn't matter. Happy Christmas, and thanks for reading the blog - what little there was of it - in 2014.

Christmas chart battles and the chamber of echoes

We all remember where we were when a Facebook campaign shot Killing In The Name to the festive top spot. It was Britain's JFK moment.

A whole nation gasped as Joe McElderry was denied chart's biggest accolade. Ticker-tape news channels covered it for weeks. Joe's single was named The Climb. The irony of that title failing to reach the summit led to hundreds of floral tributes to be elastic-banded onto Simon Cowell's legs.

McElderry went the way of Steve Brookstein. He was last seen doing panto. His career became as successful as JFK's is now.

Enter this year's most interesting seasonal Facebook campaign:  LFO for Christmas Number One. 

LFO are sadly no more, after the death of sole musician and long-time Bjork collaborator Mark Bell (pictured above). He'll be sorely missed. LFO's Northern bleeps gave a voice to dour techno-heads and their eponymous debut on Warp Records should be regarded as one of the most influential electronic tracks of all time.

A similar campaign for Altern-8's Activ 8 (Come With Me) faltered in 2013, charting the single 30 places lower than its original peak in 1991. The LFO campaign has a memorial element, and despite the Facebook page yet reaching the tens of thousands of followers it needs, there are plenty of shares and likes.

Ah yes, the Facebook page. The other day, it posted a photo of Countdown lettersmith Rachel Riley displaying the letters L, F and O. All very amusing, Photoshop or no Photoshop.

Among the quips about consonants and vowels, there were comments about Rachel, both in the group comments and in the shares of the original post by ex-LFO member Gez Varley. About her. About her appearance. Boobs and oscillations and the like. You've seen the internet. You know what comments are like.

It made me feel sad. It reminded me that techno is male-dominated. It reminded me of the way debates are controlled and manipulated by men. It reminded me of pay gaps, of glass ceilings, of willies ruling all.

That's a lot to read into a small selection of comments that were nothing to do with the campaign.

But I like techno being a community. I liked going to a listening party for the new Aphex Twin album, or raving about favourite Orbital gigs, or gently prodding Venetian Snares fans about Westlife.

But when technoheads are being misogynist, where are their friends? Why aren't they being challenged? Are we as blind to our willy-powered echo chamber as the blunt-fingered keyboard warriors of #GamerGate?

I hope Mark Bell makes it to number one this Chrimbo. Meanwhile, I suspect McElderry's been more successful than this blog post has given him credit for. It doesn't matter. I'm still gaffer taping daffodils to Simon Cowell's hairy man tubes.

Fat Roland's Christmas message

As that annual torrent of reindeer excrement suffocates our financial stability and any remnants of family happiness, let me wish you one and all a devastatingly happy yuletide.

Even if the three wise men weren't smashed on ketamine and listening to breakcore on their journey to Bethlehem, I still think Christmas is a pretty interesting time.

It's ecologically interesting because everyone starts pimping their own personal trees with shiny plastic crap, as if trees weren't pretty enough already.

It's a true family time because thousands of people worship a new born baby by spending entire days gorging and spending money, when normally they'd pay lip service to new parents with a half-cocked "oh isn't your baby pretty" whilst secretly comparing the nipper to a sack of potatoes.

And it's a wonderful time for music, what with Simon Cowell personally escorting the Archangel Gabriel by gunpoint to buy the new CD by The Powerpuff Boys / Tammy Teenporn / Insert Generic X Factor Winner.

Who am I kidding? If life is an elixir to be drunk, Christmas is a slopbucket steaming next to an overflowing drain. The seasonal tackiness I can cope with, but it seems if you are without family or friends or money, yuletide is a time of sadness, of loneliness and of gnawing off your own legs in boredom.

And then, even if you do get to hobble to church without breaking your face on the snow, Christmas doesn't even do religion right: the image of Jesus as a baby does much less for me than the revolutionary aspect of the biblical stories. Babies are rubbish at turning over tables in temples, rubbish, I tell you. I know because I've carried out experiments.

So please, switch the telly off, put the turkey in the dustbin, and let's all sit in silence and not enjoy ourselves. If we blink really fast and pretend we're in a club with strobes, Christmas will be over before we know it.

(While you're doing that, I will be spending the day getting fat and merry with friends. I love Christmas just for that, although don't tell anyone because it would undermine the essential grouchiness of this blog post.)

2010 was a year of collosal highs and lows. I was hospitalised when my internal organs went on strike and I still see the scars everytime I catch my reflection in people's windows on my daily morning streak. But I also won accolade for my blog, which seems to have shifted my creative life several degrees in an unusual and exciting direction.

In the dying embers of the year, it's all about to flare up in Fatro Land. I need to tell you about my top ten best 2010 electronica albums (see last year's waffling here), and also my favourite films (again, here's last year's). And then, one of the annual highlights of Fat Roland On Electronica, my stupendous preview of the upcoming year in electronic music (here's last year's).

None of it is written yet, but I have to get it done. Good job I'll be spending all day writing instead of getting fat and merry with-- oh, wait. Damn you, Christmas, you've foiled me again...

Donner and blitzen, reviews and previews

I'd like to wish all my readers a happy Winterval Jesustide. May the fat beardy man drop all manner of goodies down your chimney.

The next week-ish on this blog will be dedicated to two things.

Firstly, my review of the year will take a broad stagger into the china shop of 2009 in the hope of not breaking everything. I will foist upon you my favourite albums of this year, my final list of favourite films of the last 12 months and a few other silly goodies too.

And following the success of a similar post at the start of this year, I'll also bring you my preview of the best electronica releases likely to stumble into our eardrums in 2010. It might not be comprehensive, but there's a hell of a lot to talk about and it has taken me about a month to compile, so if you don't read it, I'm slashing your tyres.

If you don't want to miss all this, then pop this site into your Google reader / intravenous drip. See you on the other side of the inevitable frozen turkey / candles / Christmas tree disaster.

(Picture of Manchester's town hall Santa from my recently revived photo blog.)

When the snow lay round about, bleep and Christmas Spectrum

A microwavy Christmas to all my readers.



And if that wasn't enough, why not grab the computer you're staring it, smash it with a hammer, and see if it sings you Jingle Bells.

No?

Never mind.  It seemed to work better when a bunch of 8-bit obsessives got the festive bug in this cute collection of Christmas tunes made from old games consoles.  Silent night on the NES wins it for me.

Never mind the baubles, here's James Brown

It seems only inappropriate to wish all my readers a stupendously average Christmas with perhaps the occasional moment of lucidity about where it all went wrong and how you want things to be different next year and oh my god I'm so fat.

Fear not, my tearful Tiny Tims; put your regret in your jacket pocket and don't bring it out again until New Year. In the meanwhile, gorge yourselves on sweet yule logs, stodgy Christmas pudding and glass baubles.

>Adamski

An angel once told me the true meaning of Christmas, but I can't remember what he said and anyway he had a girl's name. Christmas for me is about having a few days off work, eating things made from fat, and getting all my old Adamski records out.

>Funk

I must mention the sad loss of James Brown, probably the first true legend to die on Christmas Day. When I say "first true legend to die on Christmas Day", I don't know that for a fact, and please do correct me. I can think of WC Fields for a start...

Anywii, I tried to post a JB vid from Youtube, but since I upgradified to Blogger Beta I've not been able to stick illegal videos on my blog. So I've learnt a bit of HTMLTML and here is, hopefully, James Brown as I'll always remember him: high and funny.

Happy Christmas.

PS - The blasphemy at the top is by WibblyWobbly and his (NSFW) B3ta profile is here.

Merry pissmas

Felched from Sarah's blog. I hope this is the first and last time I'll mention Christmas on this blog.

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Wrapping paper. Gift bags are ridiculous unless they're home-made, and then they're ridiculous and home-made.

2. Real tree or artificial? Real. Killing trees upsets Dogmatix and I hate dogs, so that's okay.

3. When do you put up the tree? I don't, I get my male au pair to put it up for me.

4. When do you take the tree down? I'm strongly in favour of keeping Christmas decorations up all year round.

5. Do you like eggnog? Nog. Er, I mean, no. I don't know what it is, but Starbucks sell it, and I don't like most things in Starbucks, so I probably won't like it.

6. Do you have a nativity scene? No, but I do sell them for a living. I'd recommend the Brush Art Nativity set made entirely out of toilet brushes, or something. (Google it.)

7. Mail or email Christmas cards? Neither, complete waste of time. Have a party instead and invite everyone you know, where ever they are.

8. Favorite Christmas Movie? It's A Wonderful Life every time.

9. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Turkey and all the trimmings, sometimes Belgium, but mostly Turkey.

10. Clear lights or colored on the tree? I spit upon your American spelling, but "colored" it is.

11. Favorite Christmas song? I'll Be Home For Christmas by Starflyer 59 or if I'm feeling really cheesy, then Stay by East 17.

12. Travel at Christmas or stay home? Home. Travelling is for, um, travellers.

13. Angel on the tree top or a star? A beautiful angel with a pink dress, glittery wings and a curly moustache.

14. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? The problem with opening them the previous evening is I'm usually pissed on Christmas Eve, so I'd open my presents then wake up the following morning not remembering a thing. I would find all my opened presents, blame it on burglars, and I'd phone the police. I'd spend the whole of Chrimbo Day with the rozzers looking for anyone matching a photofit of a drunk Fat Roland, and essentially that means I would end up having Johnny Vegas arrested and the whole world would hate me forever for robbing the world of comedy. So I open my pressies on Christmas Day.

15. Most annoying thing about this time of year? Red. Green. Red and green.

16. Favorite for Christmas dinner? I've had enough of your American spellings. Go away now