“You know it doesn’t turn me on/ Singing that same old song/ You don’t want to find me gone/ Gone/ Gone, gone, gone.”

Oh man, even though it’s only four years old, doesn’t this just transport you back into a blissful world of late 1990s pop? You remember: those days long before superior production and the superpowers of Kelly and the Girls and Rachel made pop a valid cultural choice. Back when it really was just pre-teens and gay clubbers who could legitimately consume this kind of crazy camp nonsense without shame. In the olden days, you really had to own your pop love without the handy, post-ironic veil. You were stranded in the deathly uncool domain of kitsch with no popstarz to save you; no underground mp3 collectives to validate your rebel status. There weren’t even any real blogs!

But, oh, you had A1! The bargain-basement punchy synth beats, those 90s-drenched harmonies – I can practically see the robo-god dance-thrust routines gyrating before me in a haze of coordinated denim and skintight vests! And damn, but they could construct a pitch-perfect piece of cherry-pop pie. (Think they’re unworthy of such alliteration? Take a listen, my dears, and think again).

Isn’t the bridge here an art form? Doesn’t the “Same old lie/ One more time/” quick repetition transcend the boundaries of traditional taste? And the vo-coders! The ‘Up a key!” two-thirds joy! Listen and weep, my friends; weep for the days when this kind of song actually got to number one.

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Bonus: ’First to Believe’. Oh. My. God. This is pretty much the most exceptionally, joyfully, gaily fantastic epitome of divine dance disco-pop love. Ever!
Buy ‘The A List’ from Amazon UK