But step back for a minute. Ask yourself what the vulture-like hordes of critics currently hovering over Cliff's undoubtedly well-preserved but barely twitching musical corpse would have made of the same record under the subversive banner of The KLiF. Suddenly, the simultaneous dismemberment of a cornerstone of the Christian faith and a tune that's as entrenched in British culture as school custard and that's going to be slurred all across the world in a little under a month to celebrate the eve of a new millennium (for what that's worth) becomes a situationist prank of the highest order. Getting to number 1 without radio play is a masterstroke of hype manipulation and making the bastard unlistenable is the subversive icing on the conceptual cake that beats several shades of mistletoe and wine out of wooden spoon Turner prizes (surely no coincidence that the award for "modern art" is made this week too) and the apparent ashes of a million quid.
Sadly, of course, none of this is the case. Mr. Cauty and Mr. Drummond have been nowhere near this piece of plastic, there's no subtext, no prank, no guile and no way that Cliff's doing anything other than what he thinks is a GOOD THING. And this is perhaps the most beautiful irony of the whole sorry episode. Although the single is at the top of the charts most of the records sold are probably destined for Granny's stocking on Christmas Eve and are currently residing, unplayed, in cupboards around the country. Ho Ho Ho.
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