[16] Sebastien Tellier, ‘Divine’

Sebastien Tellier and Daft Punk's Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo

Pop fluff of a different hue now, and French dance lord Sebastien Tellier’s audacious, doomed attempt to bring a bit of credibility to the Eurovision Song Contest. More doomed than audacious, because a) there isn’t a great deal of cred to an electro doo-wop number performed by a bloke with a beard (with further fake-bearded backing singers) even if he’s ably abetted by the Daft Punk chap pictured above, and b) it’s never going to work, is it? Eurovision is unsenduppable. In the event, even Sebastien’s zany arrival in a golf cart couldn’t stop the backing vocalists utterly messing up the bop-bop-doo-wop harmonies which make up the essential beauty of the song. A lovely bit of chuckaway pop was lost and a rapt continent was left with a French fellow taking the piss.

Junior pigeonholed ‘Divine’ as a “sitting-down song” and thought it had finished when the beat broke down in the middle. Maybe that would’ve been the moment for M Tellier to sneak off and leave the floor for the mighty Andy Abraham.

[17] H two O featuring Platnum, ‘What’s It Gonna Be?’

H two O featuring Platnum

At the ripe old age of thirtysomething, I’m not supposed to keep up with these new-fangled genres that populate the latest ringtones at the back of the bus – but, somehow, I almost do. This song, along with any number of staggeringly poor and derivative Basshunter hits that have clogged up The Box’s screen-time this year, is an example of that latest pop’n’roll craze, Bassline. Now, it seems to me that Bassline is UK Garage with added Europap, but what do I know? What matters is H two O (crazy name) and their mates Platnum (possibly crazier) made one of the sweetest little pop nuggets of the year. That it appears to be fuelled by a full jar of Kenco (or maybe something a touch edgier – again, who am I to ask?) only adds to the charm.

What we’re dealing with here is uninhibited joy, mixed with those teen fears that the object of those funny feelings in your tummy is not burning with the same ardour. These worries are soon swept aside when the boy and girl start exchanging cuddly words in cute street (Sesame) accents before bursting into yet another ecstatic chorus. It makes me want to dance, but there’s not a ghost of a chance that I’d be able to keep up – thankfully Junior is on hand to go bananas for the entire ferociously fast three minutes; turning circles around her sister and leaving me panting by the stereo, trying to look as if I get it.

[18] Vampire Weekend, ‘A-Punk’

Vampire Weekend

So the critics’ choice of 2008 was a bunchy of preppy American lads doing a Strokesian (look it up) take on Paul Simon’s Graceland. You could’ve seen that coming a mile off. What should’ve been arch, alienating, irritating, pompous, Sting-esque and – frankly – an utter mess, turned out to be the most delightful set of pop tunes since The Sound Of Girls Aloud. That good. ‘A-Punk’ happens to be one of the more conventional arrangements on the album, but it’s so infectious I’m taking the rest of the week off.

You have to catch Junior in the mood and – whereas she usually spins out to all things VW – this time she sat on the rug and asked for, yes, Girls Aloud. She’ll have to wait, probably. If it’s any consolation, Juniorer rocked from side to side, bang on the beat.

[19] Estelle featuring Kanye West, ‘American Boy’

Estelle

Junior recognised this from the mere ambience before the beat slips in – “It’s American Boy!” – and spent at least the first couple of verses shaking booty around the kitchen while dressed in her new hat, scarf and gloves combo. She must have been cooking. Or cookin’, to the schmoove r’n’b rhythms.

The record brims with chutzpah, a bare-faced attempt to grab a slice of the American market. And fair enough; if Britain isn’t going to appreciate its urban stars then why shouldn’t the US? Becoming best buds with John Legend and Kanye West (who muscles in with a hilarious, offbeat cameo here) can’t have done much harm either. Estelle has come along way since I met her working in a video-editing suite, persistently turning up late for work and eventually getting sacked. Video-editing’s loss is truly jazzy hip-pop’s gain.

[20] Hot Chip, ‘Ready For The Floor’

Hot Chip

FITTING START, as this was my favourite single of the whole of, er, January. It seemed like a hard act to follow, but then the rest of the year turned up.

Still, it has all the hallmarks of a great early-year single, with a chorus that’s as catchy as a looping miss-hit to short leg (or something – does anyone know anything about cricket?) and lighter-than-air synths that lift the load of post-Christmas sluggishness. True to its name, it’s also a sop to your dancing feet – and Junior takes that to heart with a high-speed groove around the kitchen. There are songs in this chart that she’ll be more familiar with, so full sing-alongs will have to wait.

As for Hot Chip, this is a bright spot in a curiously patchy career. They possess semi-gems like ‘Over & Over’ – and really their style should be right up my street – but I don’t think they have it.

[1] Blur, ‘Girls & Boys’

Oh. Seems they did stand a chance after all.

From baggy also-rans via Kinksian chroniclers of rubbish modern life to standard-bearers of a New England, Blur came back an unexpected success in ’94. The game had seemed up, but ‘Girls & Boys’ was shot through with a new lease of life. For me, the trick wasn’t sustained over the whole Parklife album – although legions will disagree – with nothing repeating the pure pop bounce and sneering conviction of this curtain-raiser. It sounds like early Duran Duran (yeah, that is a good thing), yet bolstered further by its punk-funk credibility and cheery dismissal of Club 18-30 culture.

A dunderheaded chorus, too, which has stick-on appeal for the younger listener. Junior’s up to speed by the second airing, and shows off an interesting dance where the legs stand stock-straight and still while the upper body wigs out. It’s all a bit mid-‘60s Top Of The Pops.

News just in: The 2008 Top 20 Singles countdown will start tomorrow, one-a-weekday until Christmas Eve. It has an extra feature too. Gosh, I’m all a-flutter.

[2] Oasis, ‘Live Forever’

Well, this just glows with melody, doesn’t it? I’m not sure whose melody it is, but the fact it’s not immediately traceable has to be a good thing. Oasis were that bit too raw in ’94 for the Pastiche Police to really get their claws in – they’d save that for, er, 1995 – and it helps to remember this and Definitely Maybe in context. That context saw a refreshing blast of scally rock, blowing away the grey ashes of shoegaze/any other indie feyness you care to name. It’s best not to think of what Oasis were to become.

But, just in case you were wondering, there are more hooks in Liam’s first “mayb-eh” of ‘Live Forever’ than there are in the whole of ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’, ‘All Around The World’, ‘The Importance Of Being Idle’, I could go on. That the song is also a statement of intent, fierce belief in the immortality of youth, only makes the grizzled dadrock flavour of later stuff harder to swallow.

Junior ploughed through her cereal as the band waded through what seems a more sluggish record 14 years on. ‘Live Forever’ does lack some oomph out of that context again, but Junior eventually got sucked in, whipping out the guitar to throw some shapes for the final solo.

So, that’s three Oasis singles in our Top 20. Britpop wars? Pah. Blur didn’t stand a chance.

[3] Underworld, ‘Cowgirl’

“Everything everything everything everything everything everything everything everything…”

Now we’ve got that looping around your head, you’re ready to big fish, little fish, cardboard box. Junior was, anyway. Who knew that rave shapes were instinctive? She’s pushing clouds, jabbing elbows, funky-worming; in short, everything (everything) except wearing a boiler suit and making a pilled-up “o” with her mouth. Which is a relief.

15 years on, Dubnobasswithmyheadman is still a scorching good album. It should feel dated, but somehow – my old hobbyhorse again – it’s the dance scene that’s moved backwards, while this keeps step with the vanguard. It’s not rave, no, but it’s the more cultured big brother that came along to see what all the fuss was about. Bit like me at the gay quiz night at that pub in Bushey Heath, only less awkward.

[4] Tricky, ‘Aftermath’

Yes, it was released next year, the following year, that is, 1995, but Maxinquaye was a fantastic album, wasn’t it? Weed-killed, paranoid Tricky and Poltergeist girl-a-like Martina weaving hydroponic magic out of a punk-bred hip-hop, yet still managing to sound pop – and resolutely NOT trip-hop. Way too aggressive for that sort of chilled-out entertainment.

‘Aftermath’ was the initial signal after Tricky had fled the increasingly banal Massive Attack, and it’s a dark delight filled with punchy beats and half-inched Japan lyrics. Plays havoc with the PA, too, if you’re confrontational with the bass.

Not in the best frame of mind to welcome the Brizzle apocalypse, Junior sat sulkily in the naughty seat, having shook the muslin rather too pointedly in her little sister’s direction. By the time we reached the false endings of the track, she was up in her room.

[5] Bomb The Bass featuring Justin Warfield, ‘Bug Powder Dust’

I’m getting weary legs as we stagger towards the 1994 finish – but hey, the thrilling 2008 Top 20 countdown begins a week today! Make a note in your Smash Hits diaries, pop fans.

This is an excellent record and everything; I’m just feeling tired today. Let’s see if I can pep myself up simply by talking about Justin Warfield’s pseudo-intellectual cut-up flow and Tim Simenon’s aggressive electro motor beats. Warfield was ever keen on styling himself as a beat poet and ‘Bug Powder Dust’ is ripe with Burroughsian word clashes and good sounds – verbal and musical – as he waggles his beatnik head to Simenon’s spiky Brit-house. It’s cool and rules, although I think I prefer Warfield’s own ‘Fisherman’s Grotto’. Ok.

We do the bus-listening trick again, reprazenting in the priority seats by the door. Junior rolls her shoulders and twists her hips before announcing at the end, quite unnecessarily, “That made me dance.”