The 30 worst Christmas songs of all time, ranked

Early in his career Martin Mull released “Santa Doesn’t Cop Out On Dope,” a hipster satire of the cautionary drug records. Nearly a quarter century later, Sonic Youth revived the number for Just Say Noel, an ironically joyful holiday compilation from Geffen. Ratcheting up the weirdness without unleashing guitar feedback, Sonic Youth feels off-kilter, as if they were in danger of collapse—a sideways endorsement of the druggie culture Mull parodied.

About a year before Mark Volman and Howard Kaylan formed The Turtles, the L.A. pop pranksters released “Santa And The Sidewalk Surfer” as The Crossfires. Already a little bit too smart for the room, Volman and Kaylan send up both surf rock and a burgeoning consumerist culture in a number that’s rooted in the reverby snap of surf-rock but plays like it was destined for AM airwaves.

Released at the peak of Max Headroom mania in 1986, “Merry Christmas (You’re a Lovely Guy)“ made its debut on the British television special Max Headroom’s Giant Christmas Turkey and then was spun off as a single of its own. Removed from the context of the inexplicable ’80s phenomenon, “Merry Christmas Santa Claus (You’re a Lovely Guy)“ is still plenty weird.

Never released as a single, thereby missing its opportunity to be a seasonal novelty, “Mistress For Christmas” was buried on AC/DC’s 1990 album The Razor’s Edge. Sourpuss AC/DC fans griped that the tune was terrible, but humor always played a crucial part in AC/DC’s hard rock, and Angus Young himself called the track “the funniest song on the album” in a 1991 interview with Guitar World. In that same interview he revealed the song’s inspiration: none other than Donald Trump, whose affair with Marla Maples was all the rage at the time in the tabloids.

By the time William Shatner released Shatner Claus: The Christmas Album in 2018, it was clear that the former Captain Kirk was very much in on the joke: he no longer treated his records seriously, the way he did when he released The Transformed Man at the height of Star Trek’s popularity in the late 1960s. Now, his dramatic proclamations are delivered with an exaggerated wink, which still makes the end product seem plenty weird.

Not even five years removed from “Because I Got High,” Afroman decided he had no other course of action but to release Jobe Balls, a collection of vulgar Christmas carols. Kicking off the shenanigans was “Deck My Balls,” a profane spin on the seasonal standard that winds up much grosser than expected.

An underground hit in L.A. in the late 1970s, “Xmas at K-Mart” helped roots-rock prankster Root Boy Slim earn a record contract with Warner Records, where he cut a record produced by none other than Gary Katz, famed for his work with Steely Dan. “Xmas at K-Mart” is considerably less refined than the oeuvre of Donald Fagen and Walter Becker. Root Boy Slim growls his jokes over a vaguely loungey beat—not quite disco, but it’s familiar with the sound—delivering the immortal punchline “I must have died and gone to heaven/Cos hell is Christmas at the 7-11.”

The garage auteurs of “Surfin’ Bird” decided to smooth out their sound for the season, bypassing their pounding grungy backbeat in favor of crooning about a dancing Santa. But all the jingle bells and harmonies leave “Dancin’ with Santa” feel like it’s been caught somewhere between surf rock and The Twist. The track makes for an ungainly novelty, although its awkward turns can seem endearing decades later.

Right at the peak of their fame, New Kids on the Block delivered Merry, Merry Christmas, a surefire smash for the holiday season. Most of the album consisted of standards and sentimental claptrap such as “This One’s For The Children,” a ballad written by their impresario Maurice Starr. But somehow Donnie Wahlberg convinced Starr to co-write “Funky, Funky Xmas,” a stiff new jack embarrassment. While the song helped break the monotony, heard on its own the track seems like a relic from the glory days of mall culture: play-acted funk intended as a disposable delight.

The Killers intended “Don’t Shoot Me Santa” as a weirdo novelty, a send-up of holiday tropes not entirely dissimilar to “Weird Al” Yankovic’s “The Night Santa Went Crazy.” Here, Santa also goes crazy, threatening to kill Brandon Flowers. The song is presented as a dialogue between Flowers and Santa, here played by Ryan Pardey, and their exchange isn’t the problem with the single. What weighs down “Don’t Shoot Me Santa” is that its construction is too clever by half, vacillating between Spector-esque choruses and melodramatic verses that slow momentum.

Riding their lone hit “Snoopy Vs. The Red Baron” for all it was worth, the Royal Guardsman knocked out “Snoopy’s Christmas” just in time for the holiday season of 1967. It wasn’t the first time the group effectively rewrote their big hit—”The Return of the Red Baron” arrived earlier that year—but the tackiness of transforming this nagging piece of bubblegum into a holiday plea for peace is rather breathtaking.

Reuniting almost a decade after This Is Spinal Tap, Michael McKean, Christopher Guest, and Harry Shearer opted to turn Spinal Tap into a bigger, brawnier affair with their album Break Like The Wind. One of the flagship cuts on the record was “Christmas With The Devil,” a song that sounds louder—more metal—than anything on This Is Spinal Tap. That it trades hooks for heaviness is unfortunate, yet it does mean “Christmas With The Devil” feels more contemporary than any other Tap single.

Another entry from Geffen’s 1996 compilation Just Say Noel, Beck’s “The Little Drum Machine Boy” kicks off the record—an odd position for such a twisty, windy prank. By cutting and pasting drum loops, samples and noise, Beck finds life within the repetitive carol, turning it from a monotonous mantra into a tricksy drone.

A pivotal figure of the No Wave scene of the late 1970s and early 1980s, James Chance specialized in provocative, occasionally atonal free jazz. That cacophony underpins “Christmas With Satan,” a story of a guy who finds himself celebrating the holiday in hell after he kills himself on Christmas Eve. It’s a barbed satire, but by the time Chance starts riffing upon familiar holiday themes halfway through the record, it also feels curiously celebratory.

“Cherry Cherry” is one of Neil Diamond’s liveliest numbers, so it would stand to follow that “Cherry Cherry Christmas” would conjure some of its effervescent spirit. That’s not the case. A number so stately it just escapes sounding like a dirge, “Cherry Cherry Christmas” finds Neil Diamond solemnly nodding to a bunch of his old hits—a move that should be fun but instead is delivered with such great reverence that it feels antithetical to both the holiday and the song’s namesake.

When it came time for Bon Jovi to contribute a cut to the 1987 benefit album A Very Special Christmas, the New Jersey rockers decided to follow in the footsteps of their forefathers Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band and deliver a live cover of a seasonal chestnut. Bon Jovi chose Clarence Carter’s ribald “Back Door Santa,” then proceeded to rob the song of its funk and swagger, cranking up the guitars and synths so it just becomes an ungainly racket.

Released in 2011, when it still seemed possible that Justin Bieber was a flash in the pan, “Mistletoe” showed glimmers of maturity in how it carried a breezy tropical vibe that was more Jason Mraz than Bob Marley. The laid-back groove doesn’t quite conjure warmth, nor do Bieber’s pleas to “shawty.” Combined, they make “Mistletoe” an odd blend of AAA pop and teen R&B, which makes “Mistletoe” feel less like a Christmas song than a savvy marketing move.

Joe Pesci started his career as a singer, releasing Little Joe Sure Can Sing! in 1968, so his decision to cut another record 30 years later—after he gained fame and an Oscar—could be seen as a return to his roots of sorts. However his album, Vincent LaGuardia Gambini Sings Just For You, wasn’t quite that. Instead, it found Pesci playing his character from My Cousin Vinny over the course of a profane lounge record. Tucked alongside songs called “Take Your Love And Shove It” and “Robbie Hood” was “If It Doesn’t Snow On Christmas,” a vulgar hope for Santa to fly a plane instead of a sled. Pesci’s glee in spitting out “fuck” is apparent, yet his attitude isn’t quite infectious: the onslaught of profanity becomes as exhausting as the ceaseless jingle bells in the background.

Homer & Jethro, the kings of country comedy in the 1960s, were quick to send up hippies. “Santa Claus Tthe Original Hippie” arrived in 1968, just a year after the Summer of Love, and it’s a pungent satire about a man who’s “been taking trips since 1583/And he can take a trip without LSD.” Riding an unusually groovy, laid-back rhythm, Homer & Jethro dabble in the trappings of rock without quite embracing the style, giving the track the sense of being a wry commentary on rock culture at large.

Not the Go-Go’s of new wave fame, these Go-Go’s were a studio creation of producer Les Vandyke, who was intent on cashing in on the first wave of Doctor Who’s popularity in the early 1960s. Sounding like a cross between Joe Meek’s futuristic fantasies and a cheapo Hollywood B-movie, it’s a bizarre curiosity: an exploitation record that widely missed the mark.

This instrumental rendition of “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” essentially is a studio lark that only saw the light of day because Paul McCartney needed a flip side for “Wonderful Christmastime” in 1979. McCartney played all the instruments in a lazy, loping manner that feels as if he lost interest halfway through but nevertheless remained determined to see the through to its bitter end.

Maybe John Denver’s intentions were sincere with “Please, Daddy (Don’t Get Drunk on Christmas),” a song written from the perspective of a child pleading with his father not to get blitzed during the holiday season. Good intentions only go so far in songwriting, though, particularly when the execution is as hamfisted as it is here. Denver doesn’t bother with nuance, either lyrically or musically: this is a keening lament filled with stumbling drunks and crying mothers, a mixture that’s unintentionally unsettling.

Arriving toward the end of the inexplicable Crazy Frog craze of the mid-2000s, “Last Christmas” finds the CGI cartoon character singing the Wham! Christmas classic. Lacking the courage of its convictions, this “Last Christmas” doesn’t feature Crazy Frog whirring and jabbering throughout the single. Instead, the Crazy Frog punctuates an anonymous vocalist, making this the worst of all worlds: it’s a novelty single without a clear hook.

Sir Cliff Richard has released more than his share of seasonal songs over the years, but the pop crooner saved the worst for last. A blatant attempt to land a U.K. Christmas number one, “21st Century Christmas” smooths out the ornate blare of Phil Spector—just enough to offer a hint of nostalgia, which is one of the reasons it sounds like the holiday. The production’s digital shine is as unmistakably modern as the ridiculous lyrics about tracking Santa with GPS and texting Christmas lists. What once was cutting-edge now seems antiquated—Cliff sings about putting on a DVD—and those outdated references only make “21st Century Christmas” seem sillier as the years pass.

Delivered just as Lady Gaga’s star began to explode in 2008, “Christmas Tree” seems like it should’ve been a sure-fire success. This early in her career, Gaga still was making major swings, mischievously playing with pop traditions and relying on innuendo—elements that also drive “Christmas Tree,” whose lyric is a thinly disguised sexual metaphor. But instead of offering giddy, knowing good times, the beat stumbles as awkwardly as the words, resulting in a rare complete miss from Gaga.

Released in the thick of the Pentatonix mania of the early 2010s—for a brief period, the a cappella group was inescapable on the charts—”That’s Christmas To Me” is the title song from the group’s first full-length holiday album, serving as the keynote for the record’s placid good times and offering an effective distillation of their anodyne charms. All harmonies and no hooks, “That’s Christmas To Me” offers the veneer of seasonal cheer, but it’s as substantial and fleeting as a snow flurry on a sunny afternoon.

The second Christmas song from “Weird Al” Yankovic—”Christmas at Ground Zero” arrived a decade earlier—”The Night Santa Went Crazy” marries the earnest folk-rock of Soul Asylum’s “Black Gold” to a tale of a drunken Santa Claus going postal at the North Pole. The combination is evocative of the mid-1990s, yet “Weird Al”’s knack for musical storytelling makes “The Night Santa Went Crazy” something a bit more than a novelty, with its gory jokes and sinewy alt-rock.

The Weather Girls celebrated their neo-disco classic “It’s Raining Men” by rushing “Dear Santa (Bring Me A Man This Christmas),” a seasonal rewrite of their hit, into the stores for Christmas 1983. Despite the sincerity of Martha Wash and Izora Armstead—a pair of vocalists who certainly don’t sing with their tongues in cheek—”Dear Santa (Bring Me A Man This Christmas)“ plays like a novelty that doesn’t have the courage of its convictions: it’s too slapdash to convey much holiday cheer, even of the ironic variety.

A self-styled novelty song, “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer” climbed its way into public consciousness in the early 1980s, eventually becoming a genuine hit in 1984. The song is purposefully silly, the tale of a matriarch being trampled to death by a reindeer on Christmas Eve. It’s a song littered with bad jokes, each one delivered by Elmo Shropshire—the leader of the duo Elmo & Patsy, although he later claimed his wife and partner never sang on the record—in a goofy country twang. Calling the song annoying doesn’t do it justice. With its nagging sleigh bells and shambling harmonies, it’s designed to provoke a strong reaction—hopefully laughter, but Elmo would settle for annoyance, as that would make him laugh just as hard.

An unrepentant tear-jerker, “Christmas Shoes” tells the story of a weary Christmas shopper who is reminded of the true meaning of the holiday when he encounters a poor boy hoping to buy a new pair of shoes for his sick mother because “I want her to look beautiful if mama meets Jesus tonight.” The religious messages should be expected from NewSong, a band that was one of the mainstays of Contemporary Christian Music in the 1990s, yet the song doesn’t feel especially charitable because the narrator shifts attention away from this child and back to himself. When he sings “I knew that God had sent that little boy to remind me just what Christmas is all about” he delivers a denouement that’s self-serving, not selfless.