The Most Depressing Christmas Dinner Hosts in Music

Christmas, a time to lay aside family differences (or confront them, which is also fun), eat slaughtered birds and drink till you’ve forgotten how meaningless your life is in both the grand and small scale of things. It really is the most wonderful time of the year. But what if you had to go and have Christmas dinner with these people? Well then my friend, it would be the most depressing time of the year.

ROBIN THICKE

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What he’d serve: Canadian Christmas dinner (Turkey), with “all the trimmings”, he says, seductively raising his eyebrows.

Where he’d serve it: In his LA mansion on a platform overlooking the Hollywood sign. All the furniture would be black leather and you’d be able to see three sex swings from the dinner table. You’d be surrounded by portraits of him done in different styles – but all with eyes that follow you – and there’d be “artistic impressions” of his penis in the bathrooms.

What he’d talk about: He’d talk “sexily” about “the music game” for about twenty minutes before cracking- admitting the house was rented, that he was lonely, he missed his family in Canada, and that he was frankly sickened by his music videos. “I’ve betrayed my Grandma”, he sobs into the maple-glazed parsnips, “she was a doctor and a feminist. Oh Grandma, what have I done? What have I done?”

Soundtrack: A throbbing bassline.

FEARNE COTTON

What she’d serve: “Posh nosh”.

Where they’d serve it: In a purpose built, entirely metal kitchen on plates from the Come Dine with Me collection.

What they’d talk about: A bunch of really well known bands as if they were obscure punk groups releasing vinyl-only singles on the Static Shock label. Watch her pirouetting around with a “glass of bubbly” in her hand, laughing maniacally to herself while you contemplate jumping through the window to freedom. Then the pirouetting stops and you have to call Holly Willoughby and tell her she’d better come round and make sure Fearne is OK.

Soundtrack: The Vaccines, to impress you. Mumford and Sons, to show you who she really is and then, when things get really bad, Tom Odell.

STEVE ALBINI

What he’d serve: Something that he can write about at great length on his food blog.

Where he’d serve it: On a table, in a room. “I don’t like to make a fuss. Food is food. No thrills. I would never take a percentage of the profits on this mean”, he says, humourlessly.

What he’d talk about: He’d lecture you on the putrid, rancid state of the music industry and would then question the morality of what you were doing with your life.

Soundtrack: 80s DIY punk bands played on cassette.

McBUSTED

What they’d serve: Having all had personal cooking lessons from Jamie Oliver, the boys “whip up” a goose, ham, and selection of vegetables cooked in an Asian-fusion style. The food is served on square plates. It’s oddly civilised.

Where they’d serve it: On a table entirely constructed of fan letters and half-mast ties.

What they’d talk about: Passively aggressively trying to outdo each other with stories that are meant to prove that they are real, authentic musicians. Everyone makes mysterious and regular trips to the bathroom. Just as things are about to spill over, they all decide to take the piss out of Charlie from Busted. But the fragile peace is broken when the Busted boys start calling Charlie a “prick” for taking lots of money off them. Matt goes on a 10-minute rant, which degenerates into the phrase “posh cunt” being repeated over and over again, the spit flying out of his mouth as McFly cry into their goose-fat roast potatoes.

Soundtrack: Sum 41.

GARY BARLOW

What he’d serve: Something his wife (who you never see or meet) has cooked in an industrial cooker on the patio. Gary eats none of it. “I’m watching my weight”, he says, with a laugh that turns to an expression of pain as he mouths the words “Simon Cowell”.

Where he’d serve it: On the patio under an enormous outdoor heater.

What he’d talk about: How, when he feels like his celebrity lifestyle is becoming too unreal, he talks to his friend and mentor Richard Curtis, who reminds him that there are people suffering in the world. He tells a long story about visiting Africa and how the people there helped ground him. When you ask which country he went to, he says, “I went to Africa”, with a straight face.

Soundtrack: Mozart. “As a songwriter, it’s very important for me to listen to classical music”, says Gary. Frank Sinatra.

MACKLEMORE

What he’d serve: Turkey burgers cos it’s Christmas, but everyone loves a burger and hey, that’s what Wu-Tang would eat, riiiiight?

Where he’d serve it: On a yacht under an American flag from the Revolutionary war.

What he’d talk about: He’d half-shout a lot of Christmas-related stuff at you: “Christmas… Santa… Rudolf… Yo… Reindeers, shiiiiit. Christmas been doing it since day”. Then he’d get serious and emotional and ask if you knew about prejudice and if you realised that it was OK for a man to love another man. He’d start talking about how proud his parents were of him and the meal would end with him looking straight into your eyes and saying, “You know, dog, I feel like we’ve got real here, y’feel me?”

Soundtrack: “Tribe”

KEVIN SHIELDS

What he’d serve: A nut-roast.

Where he’d serve it: In a room that hasn’t been cleaned since 1991, on a stack of discarded guitar pedal boxes, within a wall of sound.

What he’d talk about: Decibel levels, different types of amp, how the success of Blur and Oasis were the result of a government conspiracy. Long silences.

Soundtrack: Hours of guitar feedback punctuated by the sound of A-roads being violently constructed, played through eight 100w amps.

GERI HALLIWELL

What she’d serve: A lean Turkey breast salad made by an unseen servant.

Where they’d serve it: In a kitchen that has never been used before.

What they’d talk about: Having piously revealed her conversion to Christianity, Geri delivers a rambling lecture about how shallow everyone is, followed by a nice, long talk about the true significance of Christmas (Jesus = born). You try to pretend you haven’t seen her gnawing on a Chicken bone in the toilet and the meal ends with an enforced yoga session that culminates in her shouting, “Why are you leaving? Why does everyone leave?” at your retreating form.

Soundtrack: Robbie, George Michael.

LORDE

What she’d serve: Lorde’s Christmas brunch is formed by a tofu “Christmas log” sitting on a bed of crunchy (uncooked) winter vegetables. Flat whites are drunk.

Where she’d serve it: On a rustic, Beechwood table hand-crafted by two guys from Auckland who are old enough to be her uncles and have a critically claimed electro side-project.

What you’d talk about: You’d have a pleasant conversation but would be left with an overwhelming panic relating to how the cruel, dark world was going to destroy her and her boyfriend would receive 6823 hate messages on Twitter during the meal.

GABE DAY (DANIEL DAY LEWIS’S RAPPING SON)

What he’d serve: Having tried to make a “motherfuckin’ goose, yo”, John Proctor’s son Gabe Day loses it, screams “what’s wrong bitch?” at the goose and orders KFC, “cos that’s how we roll”. Twelve pre-rolled spliffs are smoked with the meal.