Picture the scene. You are sat by the telly with a glass of sherry, the festive lights are twinkling on the tree, and suddenly that unmistakable wall of sound fills the front room. It is brassy, it is wonderfully chaotic, and it features a man with more face paint and beard than a Victorian wizard. Roy Wood and his band Wizzard gave us I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day in nineteen seventy-three, creating an absolute British Christmas staple that we simply cannot imagine the festive season without. Yet, in a bitter twist of chart history, this glittering masterpiece never actually reached the number one spot.
Back in the winter of nineteen seventy-three, the British charts were locked in one of the most ferocious Yuletide battles in pop history. Roy Wood, the sonic mastermind who had previously helped co-found both The Move and Electric Light Orchestra, poured every ounce of his eccentric genius into the track. He even recruited a children choir from Elmfield School in Solihull to add that gorgeous, soaring vocal hook. Wizzard wanted pure, unadulterated holiday magic, layering multi-tracked saxophones, synthesisers, and enough percussion to wake the dead into a glorious three-minute-and-twenty-second explosion of technicolour joy.
There was just one massive, undeniable roadblock standing in their way. Noddy Holder and Slade. That other legendary Midlands juggernaut dropped Merry Xmas Everybody at roughly the same time, and the British public fell head over heels for it, sending Slade straight to the top of the charts and leaving Roy Wood stranded at number four. It must have felt like a cruel joke for a song that sounded so massive, so inescapable, and so effortlessly tailored to capture the nation heart. To be beaten to the top spot by your mates from down the road is the sort of proper British drama that only adds to the folklore.
Despite missing out on the festive top spot, time has proven to be a far better judge than the official charts of seventy-three. While plenty of chart-toppers from that era have quietly faded into obscurity, Roy Wood creation has only grown in stature, weaving itself into the very fabric of British culture. You hear it soundtracking last-minute dashes to the local shops, echoing around packed pubs on Christmas Eve, and blasting through tinny speakers while families unwrap their presents. It is a brilliant piece of nostalgia that instantly transports anyone old enough to remember the seventies right back to their childhood.
What makes the enduring appeal of Wizzard so special is the sheer unapologetic warmth and colour of it all. Roy Wood never compromised his wildly theatrical vision, standing there on Top of the Pops looking like a psychedelic Victorian painting brought to life. He crafted a song that feels less like a manufactured Christmas single and more like a massive, joyful community singalong that refuses to die. Even if it never claimed that elusive number one crown, it captured something far more valuable: a permanent place in our collective holiday memories.
So, the next time you hear those opening sleigh bells and the unmistakable roar of Roy Wood guitar work, spare a thought for the chart battle of nineteen seventy-three. It might have lost the race to the top, but it won the war for our hearts, proving that true musical magic doesn’t need a chart peak to become immortal. Pour yourself a brew, turn the telly up, and let the wizard work his timeless Christmas spell all over again.
