Wham! releases "Last Christmas" as a single on December 3, 1984


When we survey the sparkling snowscape of Christmas music, it's almost exclusively a nostalgia exercise. Like your great grandma's pink aluminum Christmas tree, most of these tracks haven't been released since the 1970s. There's been no shortage of Christmas records foisted on the public since then, and we can objectively say they all suck. But there are three exceptions - all singles - that are worthy of standing alongside the greats of Christmas Past: "All I Want for Christmas is You" by Mariah Carey, "Do They Know It's Christmas?" by Band Aid, and the one released on December 3, 1984, "Last Christmas" by Wham!

Now, before we consider "Last Christmas," we should establish the objective criteria for what makes a great Christmas song. First and foremost, the songwriting has to be superlative. Unlike many shovelware b-side-quality Christmas songs phoned in by artists, "All I Want for Christmas" would have been a hit even if the lyrics had not been Christmas related, for example. Second, the production - the sounds - have to trigger a Christmas response from the brain. It can't just be a sidewalk busker with his guitar and reedy voice, in other words. And third, it has to sonically capture the zeitgeist of its time. Even the best Christmas chestnuts of old are creatures of the decade that spawned them, from the lachrymose World War II 1940s, to the surreal, escapist 1970s.

Like the other two songs on my very short list, "Last Christmas" overperforms by all three benchmarks. Beyond the strong melodies and chord progressions, George Michael turns in a bravura vocal performance, from a whisper to full power. It's no secret the guy was a stellar vocalist. But he also was a songwriting and arranging genius nearly on the par of Michael Jackson or David Foster.

It shouldn't surprise us that George Michael is part of two of the three songs being discussed here as the only "modern" Christmas classics. But if you have a chance to watch the documentary materials from the Band Aid charity recording event, you will see - and hear - him in action. Fed a prewritten vocal line for his solo part, Michael quickly recognizes it is falling flat. He says to the producer, "Why don't we try this instead," and proceeds to improvisationally reel off the now iconic series of notes we all remember from his contribution four decades later.

Productionwise, "Last Christmas" excels once again. Like any of the great Christmas records, it conjures up its own world that lasts for mere minutes, transporting the listener to the land of Christmas even in the midst of summer. What Christmas visions it casts onto the movie screen of the mind will of course vary from one listener to the next. But it has enough bells, twinkles, and chimes amid a glossy winter chill sonic aesthetic to fire the Christmas synapse in any but the Grinch's brain.

Finally, yes, "Last Christmas" screams 1980s. The real genius was how it weaponized nostalgia before any of us had anything to be nostalgic about. In 1984 we were living it: the neon, the big hair, the sense that money was being printed on Wall Street and everyone was in on the scam. Yet here was a record that already sounded like a memory, a Polaroid of a heartbreak that hadn’t happened yet but absolutely would. It was the first pop song to understand that the 1980s would one day be remembered primarily for its tragicomic excess, and it got there early, like a futures trader shorting Rubik's cubes. 

George Michael did what only the greatest do: he turned private devastation into public property, wrapped it in tinsel, and sold it back to us for $2.50, and what is more 80s than that?

Many have tried to cover "Last Christmas." Don't do that. Don't even try. You're not George Michael, and your arrangement doesn't stack up to the original, which is the Platonic Form wrought material. Your cover is merely the shadow and distorted reflection of it. The alleyways and landfills are strewn with the detritus of "Last Christmas" covers by The Biggest Names in Pop and The Smallest Names in Rock. Begone, the lot of you!

So when the opening synth bells chime out of the shopping mall speakers and the downtown Christmas lights flicker like a thousand cheap promises, raise a mug of hot chocolate, egg nog, or mulled wine to December 3, 1984. The day Wham! gave us the ultimate Christmas gift: a broken heart so perfectly formed, so festively sequined, that we’ve been happily re-gifting it ever since.


Location: 23 Gosfield St, London W1W 6HG, UK

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