Greg Lake didn't want to write a "jingle bells" type of hit. He was annoyed. Actually, he was pretty cynical about the whole thing. By 1975, the Emerson, Lake & Palmer bassist felt that the commercial machine had effectively chewed up the spirit of Christmas and spat it back out as a price tag. So, he sat down with Peter Sinfield—the lyrical genius behind King Crimson's early hits—and they wrote I Believe in Father Christmas.
Most people hear it and think it's a sweet, nostalgic ballad. They’re wrong.
It’s actually a protest song. It’s a biting critique of how we’ve traded wonder for retail. But here’s the weird part: despite its "bah humbug" DNA, it became one of the most beloved holiday tracks in the UK and beyond. It’s a song that shouldn't work as a holiday staple, yet it’s played in every shopping mall from London to New York. The irony is thick enough to cut with a knife.
The Cold Reality Behind the Lyrics
People often miss the sting. When Lake sings about a "hazy, mazy sunrise" and being sold a "Christmas card chrome," he isn't being poetic just for the sake of it. He’s talking about being lied to. He’s talking about the realization that the magic we’re promised as kids is often just a marketing campaign.
You’ve likely heard the orchestral swell during the instrumental break. That’s not an original melody. It’s a direct lift from Sergei Prokofiev's Lieutenant Kijé Suite. Specifically, the "Troika" movement. Lake and his producer, the legendary Godfrey Salmon, used it to evoke a sense of Russian winter—cold, harsh, and grand. It adds a layer of intellectual weight that most pop songs of the era lacked.
I remember reading an interview where Lake mentioned he wanted the song to sound like a "civilized" protest. He wasn't interested in screaming at the listener. He wanted to nudge them. He wanted us to look at the "snow" that turned out to be "nothing but the rain." That line is a gut punch if you really listen to it. It’s about the loss of innocence. It’s about growing up and realizing the world is a bit more gray than the storybooks suggested.
📖 Related: Despicable Me 2 Edith: Why the Middle Child is Secretly the Best Part of the Movie
Recording in the Cold
The production was a massive undertaking. They didn't just hop into a booth with a guitar. They went to Teldec Studios in Zurich. They brought in a 100-piece orchestra. They brought in a 30-piece choir. Lake was a perfectionist. He wanted the sound to feel massive but intimate.
The contrast is what makes it. You have Lake’s lone, crisp acoustic guitar—an Eko 12-string, if you’re a gear nerd—cutting through this wall of symphonic sound. It creates this feeling of a single human voice trying to be heard over the noise of the world.
Interestingly, his ELP bandmate Keith Emerson wasn't involved in the initial single version. This was a Greg Lake solo project, though the band later re-recorded it together. The solo version is the one that sticks. It has a vulnerability that the full band version loses.
The Battle for Number One
1975 was a weird year for British music. You had the rise of punk on the horizon, but the charts were still dominated by glam and prog. I Believe in Father Christmas was released in November, and it looked like a shoo-in for the Christmas Number One spot.
Then came Queen.
👉 See also: Death Wish II: Why This Sleazy Sequel Still Triggers People Today
"Bohemian Rhapsody" was a juggernaut. It stayed at the top for nine weeks. Lake’s masterpiece was held at the number two spot. Honestly, being stuck behind one of the greatest songs of all time isn't exactly a failure, but Lake always felt a bit cheeky about it. He famously said that he didn't mind losing to a record like that.
There's a persistent myth that the song is "atheist." Some religious groups at the time were a bit prickly about the lyrics. But Lake was always clear: he wasn't attacking faith. He was attacking the commercialization of faith. He wanted to find the "real" Christmas under the layers of tinsel.
Why We Still Listen 50 Years Later
Music critics often group this song with Slade or Wizzard, but it doesn't belong there. Those are party songs. This is a thinking person’s Christmas song. It resonates because it acknowledges that the holidays can be lonely. It acknowledges that they can be disappointing.
The video is just as striking. Shot in the Sinai Desert and the Dead Sea, it’s devoid of traditional Christmas imagery. No trees. No elves. No fake snow. Instead, you see Lake in a desert, interspersed with harrowing footage of the Vietnam War. It was a bold move. It forced the viewer to reconcile the "peace on earth" message with the reality of 1970s geopolitics.
Reclaiming the Magic
If you want to truly appreciate the track, you have to look past the radio edits.
✨ Don't miss: Dark Reign Fantastic Four: Why This Weirdly Political Comic Still Holds Up
Listen to the way the choir enters at the end. They aren't singing about Santa. They’re singing "Hallelujah." It’s a moment of genuine transcendence that manages to rescue the song from total cynicism. Lake gives you the "harsher" reality for three minutes, then offers a glimpse of hope in the finale.
The final lyric is the most important: "The Christmas you get you deserve."
That’s not a threat. It’s an invitation. It means that the "magic" of the season isn't something that happens to you because you bought the right gifts. It’s something you create by being present. It’s a call to personal responsibility in a world that wants to sell you happiness in a box.
How to Listen Properly
To get the full experience of I Believe in Father Christmas, don't play it while you’re rushing through a grocery store.
- Find the 1975 original version, not the later ELP re-recordings. The rawness of the original solo vocal is superior.
- Use a decent pair of headphones. The stereo separation of the 100-piece orchestra is incredible.
- Pay attention to the transition between the second and third verses. The way the Prokofiev theme swells is a masterclass in tension and release.
- Watch the original music video. It’s a time capsule of 1970s experimental filmmaking that puts the lyrics into a much grittier context.
The song serves as a reminder that it's okay to feel a bit skeptical of the holiday hype. It validates the "blue" feelings that often come with December. By acknowledging the rain, the song makes the eventual "sunshine" feel earned rather than manufactured.
Next time it comes on the radio, stop and listen to that 12-string guitar. It’s a lonely sound, but it’s a brave one. It’s Greg Lake telling us that even if the storybooks are full of "chrome," the belief itself—the choice to believe in something better—is still worth holding onto.