2004-05 - My shadow's the only one that walks beside me

These were difficult years for me. In addition to the emotional pain of my protracted split from Kim, I was enduring frequent physical pains as a result of a flare-up of my Crohn’s Disease. They undoubtedly affected my life and work throughout 2004, culminating in major surgery that November, and a slow recovery during the first few months of 2005.

Other dramatic moments also affected me. As a member of staff, especially based in Broadcasting House, I was inevitably caught up in the shenanigans which arose from Tony Blair’s disgraceful abuse of the BBC to cover up his wilful lies and misleading of the country over the Iraq War with the ‘dodgy dossier’. Popular Director-General Greg Dyke was sensationally forced to resign in February 2004. On Boxing Day, as I lay on my bed in Basildon Hospital, I was touched terribly by the pictures of the horrific tsunami aftermath in Thailand. The following summer I arrived in London just an hour after the terrorist attacks on the Tubes and buses. But life goes on.

There were shockwaves in the music industry, too. Singles sales plunged further, crumbling under the weight of technological advances. Of course by this time I was well versed in emails and the internet. I’d even invested in a PC and, despite its lingering air of embarrassment, used it for online dating. Our vocabulary was evolving. On top of all this, there were the mysteries of (mostly illegal) file sharing, downloads and videos ‘going viral’. 

The first official Download Chart was introduced in September ’04 and, despite fears of the traditional chart being over-run by even crappier nonsense than was already there, the two sets of consumers proved to be pretty similar when it came to musical tastes. 

The nadir of chart history probably occurred at the beginning of 2005. That manifested itself in the marketing ploy commemorating the 50^th anniversary of Elvis Presley’s first record. Someone had the bright idea of re-releasing all of the Elvis number ones in chronological order, week by week to build up fans’ own box sets. ‘Jailhouse Rock’ duly topped the chart again, followed immediately by ‘One Night’. Despite sales barely scraping 20,000, this duly became the official 1,000^th UK number one single. I braced myself for another fifteen weeks or so of rock’n’roll torture. I reckon the Top of the Pops production team were even more concerned. Presley’s estate had never granted the BBC permission to show Elvis recordings so what could they do in the usual climactic number one slot? One week they were even forced to hire a tribute band! Luckily, only three of these posthumous performances made it to the top for a second time, and contemporary artists were allowed a look-in. Mind you, if none of them could shift 21,000 copies in any particular week, they clearly didn’t deserve to top the charts either.

In each of these two years, only two singles sold more than half a million, half of them being mega-charity records. Band Aid 20 was the 2004 Christmas number one, but the biggest-seller of 2005 was one of those weird bolts from the blue. I’d never liked Tony Christie’s 1971 belter 'Is This the Way to Amarillo?’ I’d never much liked comedian Peter Kay either, not having seen his cult Channel 4 sitcom Phoenix Nights, nor any of his stand-up routines. However, when the Bolton comic revitalised the record, miming with the aid of numerous B- and C–list celebrities marching with him on walking machines against increasingly bizarre backcloths, even I had to smile and sing along.

OK, so the appearance of Jimmy Savile, still alive and not yet revealed as the predatory pervert we now know he was, casts a stain on the memory of the video. But it’s more entertaining to remember Ronnie Corbett falling off his machine or Jim Bowen, against all odds, somehow staying upright. Neither are still with us, but I hope this is unconnected with their gym equipment experiences. Anyway, the record raised millions for Comic Relief. The video spawned countless amateur copies, many cleverly choreographed, going viral on a youthful YouTube. Peter Kay has successfully used the song as a crowd-pleasing filler in live shows ever since. As for me, I no longer hear the opening “‘Sha-la-las” with dread; rather with an automatic smile on my face.

The Gallagher brothers are hardly known for their laugh-a-minute demeanour. Yet their eighth and final number one hit, ‘The Importance of Being Idle’, was unusually wry and jaunty. While the vocals were Noel’s and the guitars reminiscent of The Kinks, the record was also memorable for its video. This featured a mime-and-dance tour-de-force from Rhys Ifans in funeral director garb. It followed all the previous Oasis chart-toppers by spending just one week at the pinnacle. I guess it’s because the band’s legion of fans tended to flock to the shops, High Street or online, in the week of release. All the same, for this most successful of groups, it’s quite an amazing sequence. There were to be more lengthy and lucrative tours but no further major hits. 

Oasis did at least last the best part of 20 years. But that’s a meagre career span compared with Eighties icons The Pet Shop Boys, Erasure and Depeche Mode. Each enjoyed a return to form in 2004-5 with respective singles ‘Flamboyant’, ‘Breathe’ and ‘Precious’. The latter was the best of them; indeed I rate it amongst their top three singles of all time.

Like the enduring Basildon boys, Morrissey never made it to the top of the UK singles charts, either with The Smiths or solo. However, he came pretty close with ‘Irish Blood, English Heart’, the first single from his seventh studio album You Are The Quarry. It was typically controversial in its political theme but, despite its lack of airplay, went straight in at three. For all that, I preferred its successor, ‘First of the Gang to Die’. I remember seeing this performance on Later…. Morrissey seemed so effortless and precise in his vocals, raising him even higher than his already lofty position in my estimation, if not for his dodgy politics then as a singer.

I also appreciated releases by a couple of former boy band members. OK, so Robbie Williams was by then better known as a solo star. Whatever his origins, the 2005 Intensive Care album gave us one of his more divisive singles. On first hearing, it was hard to fathom what to make of ‘Tripping’. With no proper intro, it dived straight into a Clash-like ska rhythm. Huh?! I hung on in there and was rewarded by an uplifting chorus and, for all its eccentricity, a strangely engaging song. Was it all about drugs, as suggested by the title? I don’t know. However, credit to the Robster for trying something different.

Blue were taking a break, leaving some of their members to forge separate careers. I liked Simon Webbe’s ‘No Worries’ single, although the “I just know your life’s gonna change” line, sung by Yvonne John Lewis, is the best bit about the song. Webbe’s vocals make the record sound like superior Lighthouse Family fare but it was surprisingly good. More surprising perhaps was his failure to extend his discography beyond two albums. Meanwhile, Westlife survived the departure of Brian McFadden in 2004 and droned their way to yet another stodgy chart-topping ballad. ‘You Raise Me Up’? No, it just got me down.

Busted’s tour support act, McFly usurped their bosses’ crown and proved even more successful. Debut ‘Five Colours in Her Hair’ was pure pop gold and the follow-up ‘Obviously’ was almost as good. Incredibly, they went on to notch another sixteen top ten hits. While Busted’s James Bourne contributed to some of their early tracks, it was Tom Fletcher’s songwriting and pleasant voice which proved decisive. Furthermore, the eager, easy-going personalities of Tom, Danny, Dougie and Harry appealed to kids and adults alike, helping them become charity song stalwarts. It amuses me to recall Mum telling me she liked their version of ‘Don’t Stop Us Now’, released for Sport Relief two years later. I doubt she’d ever heard the Queen original, but the melodic intro probably did it for her. Actually, I’d even go so far as rating their live performance of the song at Wembley as approaching the quality of Freddie et al. Praise indeed!

I can’t vouch for the quality of their musicianship but O-zone also enjoyed a big hit in 2004. ‘Dragostea Din Tei’ doesn’t exactly trip off the tongue – unless you speak Romanian – but it did have a catchy chorus and boast the USP of being the first, and probably last, band from Moldova to make the top three over here! Six months after breaking Europe they disbanded. Such is pop!

The mid-Noughties were filled with American pseudo-punk bands, from Good Charlotte and Fall Out Boy to emo idols My Chemical Romance. However, in 2004, Green Day reminded us why their template could not possibly be improved upon. That was on account of the album American Idiot, unleashed that September with the single of the same name. Expletive-laden and provocatively political, it bowled me over from the dramatic opening riff to the sudden ending. Its three minutes are as powerful and energetic as anything ever recorded. TOTP accorded them the accolade of a live performance in the Television Centre car park, with the rest of the gig available on the red button. I took advantage and loved it.

Four other tracks were released as singles but my favourite has to be ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams’, one of the very best rock ballads. It peaked at number five at Christmas but deservedly hung around for months. Billy-Joe Armstrong’s kohl-eyed, round-faced rock rebel look never seems to change, even in the second decade of the 2000s. Will he ever succumb to the ageing process? Who cares? As for the album, it was described variously as rock opera and concept album, telling a story of working-class love and life in a post-9/11 President Bush America. It was begging to be made into a stage musical and, five years later, this became reality. Another five years, and it crossed the Atlantic, landing at Cardiff. Angie isn’t familiar with the band so we didn’t buy tickets. Another regret. 

Last year I happened upon an interview with Green Day in which Billy-Jo and co spoke fondly about working with Dave Grohl many years previously. Nothing surprising about that; everyone who has worked for the Foo Fighters front man has nothing but nice epithets to say about him. However, the programme reminded me of another broadcast I watched in 2005 when The Foo Fighters released the double album In Your Honour. For all Grohl’s ‘nicest man in rock’ persona, I’ve rarely heard a track of his which had the ‘Wow!’ factor. ‘Learning to Fly’ came close – but no cigar.

This new album featured one typical heavy rock CD alongside a more mellow acoustic record. Together Grohl described them as “the bottle and the hangover”! I don’t know what I was watching back then (Jonathan Ross, possibly?) but the band performed live a song from each. When Grohl stepped up with just an acoustic guitar with no other accompaniment, I saw a different side of the Fighters, which I guess was the whole point. He was probably singing his old composition from the early Nirvana days ‘Friend of a Friend’. These days it has come to represent a Kurt Cobain tribute but for me it merely showcases Dave Grohl’s many and varied talents. 

Green Day apart, I was more into the emerging indie rock sound emanating from every corner of Britain – and Finland. Starting with the latter, The Rasmus breathed some new life into a traditional rock genre with ‘In the Shadows’ but in January 2004, it was Scottish band Franz Ferdinand who made the headlines. ‘Take Me Out’ certainly grabbed the attention. The snappy guitar and deadpan vocals in the opening minute had a touch of the Nineties about it, then the chords slowed and we were into what sounded like a completely different song. I can’t pretend I found the melody particularly appealing but as a modern splash of guitar rock, it worked a treat. 

Franz Ferdinand were definitely at the arty end of the spectrum. Singer Alex Kapranos was for a while a food critic for The Guardian for heaven’s sake! My natural inclination was for something more earthy, more engaging. Enter The Kaiser Chiefs! ‘I Predict a Riot’ wasn’t a big hit but once heard, never forgotten. Of course the chorus has lived on amongst football crowds. Not in anticipation of Seventies-style mayhem but mocking a chunky opposition player with ‘riot’ replaced by ‘diet’… 

‘Every Day I Love You Less and Less’ subverted the usual idea of a relationships song and ‘Oh My God’ had a delightful languorous swing to it. I remember watching them do Glastonbury and appear, sweaty and swaying, for a live post-gig interview. Whether Ricky Wilson was actually drunk on alcohol or euphoria, I couldn’t be sure, but he delivered entertaining answers, unusual for a pop star. I went on to buy their 2005 album Employment, which still bears up.  Rather too many “OhhhhhHHHHHs”, perhaps, but there were few duff tracks.

2005 was also the year in which The Stereophonics finally achieved a number one single. ‘Dakota’ seemed to spring from nowhere. More than a decade later, it still feels fresh; a twenty-first century classic. They haven’t really come close since and, on hearing on the radio, it’s a track for which we still raise the volume to yell “I don’t know where we are going now”. 

The Welshmen had been going too long to be media darlings but The Arctic Monkeys ticked the boxes of musos eager to find fresh faces and new exciting music. They rode the crest of the technological wave on which new artists could promote, market and distribute their work in seconds. The internet was already an amazing thing. The Sheffield quartet typified the new DIY rock band trend, and the back-to-basics video for ‘I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor’ further played to this elemental image. As for me, I hated it, but you couldn’t avoid it.  

Madonna may have been 47, almost old enough to be Arctic Monkey Alex Turner’s granny, but she still looked good on the dancefloor, too. Her 2005 disco track ‘Hung Up’ was another in her line of retro-modern dance fusion singles, sampling Abba’s arpeggio keyboard hook from ‘Gimme Gimme Gimme’. An eleventh UK number one was the inevitable conclusion. The video also ensured that nobody else could ever again wear a pink leotard and make it their own. For all the ubiquity of manufactured dancers with vices like Girls Aloud and the Pussycat Dolls, Madonna still had more talent and charisma in her left ankle than a hundred Cheryl Tweedys or Nicole Scherzingers in their whole gyrating bodies.

Madonna had been around seemingly for an eternity, but Britain was churning out more young female singer-songwriters. KT Tunstall was already a multi-instrumentalist, music graduate, professional songwriter and almost 30 years old when she recorded her debut album Eye to the Telescope. It brought her intriguing blend of folk, blues, pop and rock to the world and sold a million in the UK alone. The beautiful ballad ‘Other Side of the World’ had evident echoes of Dido at her best, but it was the up-tempo ‘Suddenly I See’ which seemed to be on the radio all the time and had my feet a-tapping.

Jemma Griffiths was another Celt with a degree (in law!) under her belt. Born in Penarth, and furthering her musical education as DJ, agent and promoter around Brighton, she finally broke through with her Finally Woken album. Like Moby before her, she’d used her professional experience and instincts to license all tracks for use on TV, which helped break her in the States. She came to my attention in July ’05 as Jem performing the bouncy ‘They’ on TOTP. Her breathy voice needed multi-layering but she owned the stage to the manor born, a talented free spirit with an ear for a killer pop tune. ‘Just a Ride’ and ‘Wish I’ sounded equally refreshing and yet, at the time of writing, she has inexplicably failed to dent the top fifty again. I bought the album yet remain the only person in my circle (admittedly with a feeble radius) who has ever heard of Jem. 

That same summer, animated ‘artists’ enjoyed considerable success, but with mixed critical response. I’ll start with the positive. When Damon Albarn found a post-Blur collaborator in artist and designer Jamie Hewlett several years earlier, the virtual band Gorillaz enjoyed actual chart success. I wasn’t so impressed. However, when they released ‘Feelgood Inc’ in May 2005, I was converted to the cause.  I couldn’t really relate to the ugly-but-cool Gorillaz bandmates. I left that to my fifteen year-old niece Rachel. But the captivating combination of rock, electro, hip-hop and bruising bassline was topped off by the astonishing animation. The synth-backed sequence of the floating windmill island still gets me moist-eyed and generously goose-pimpled. The follow-up ‘Dare’, with Shaun Ryder, had a more conventional structure, and went to number one, but for me it’s ‘Feelgood Inc’ that has the edge. 

At the pond life end of the spectrum, Crazy Frog’s ‘Axel F’ must surely go down as one of the most irritating three minutes of – I hesitate to ascribe the term music – amphibian turd in the history of mankind. Thank you, Erik Wernquist! Harmless attempts at sound effects became associated with a creepy computer animate character. With mobile phone ringtones becoming big business, the frightful frog’s “A ring ding ding ding d-ding” was taking over not only the radio airwaves but also seemingly the very air that we breathed.

Everyone wished there had been a tadpole murder when ‘Axel F’ robbed Coldplay of a first number one single in June. The event allowed Chris Martin to show he did, after all, possess a sense of humour. Appearing on, I think, the Jonathan Ross TV chat show, he opened a performance of their superior ‘Speed of Sound’ with a gritted teeth “ring ding-a-ding” rendition! He acknowledged Coldplay’s nemesis again at Glastonbury and probably on subsequent occasions too numerous to mention. 

After the split from Kim, I filled my Saturday mornings listening to Jonathan Ross’s show on Radio 2. The network was rapidly building a reputation for personality-led radio, playing music for my age group. The evening schedules remained full of fodder for pensioners but newly-promoted Controller Lesley Douglas was transforming Radio 2 into a commercial-free haven for thirty- and fortysomething Radio 1 exiles like me. Jonathan Ross was the star signing. He may have come at a price but was worth every penny. I looked forward to his broadcast over breakfast and it was sometimes difficult to switch off to do the weekly shop. ‘Wossy’ is nothing if not a master of the anecdote, and his life was ripe for an endless stream of funny and credible stories, accompanied by producer Andy’s helpless giggling.  

Of course, it wasn’t all about the chat. Radio 2 could break new music acts, and it was on one of those Saturday mornings when my ears were first treated to ‘Somewhere Only We Know’. Hmm. Sounded good. It must have been a song I’d heard but long forgotten. Jonathan back-announced the artists as Keane. I soon realised Keane were a band, on the road to conquering Britain with their brand of piano-led pop rock, out-Coldplaying Coldplay.

The multi-platinum album Hopes and Fears is one of my all-time favourites, containing so many excellent tracks. ‘Somewhere Only We Know’ was an instant success with me, marked by Tom Chaplin’s high tenor vocals and Tim Rice-Oxley’s fervent keyboard rhythms. And yet ‘Everybody’s Changing’ has become perhaps their signature piece and a song I never tire of hearing, or singing along to. For all that, it may well be the album finale ‘Bedshaped’ which was their concert performance highlight, be it at Glasto or the 2005 Live 8 charity mega-gig. 

Writing of which, I was with BBC colleagues at the Radio Festival in Edinburgh that July. Hordes of horseback riot police were on every corner in case of civil unrest linked, not to our event, but the Gleneagles G8 summit. Midge Ure had organised for Murrayfield the final Live 8 concert to further focus hearts and minds of people and politicians to Make Poverty History. At our venue, Midge had actually set aside a ticket for every delegate to attend straight after the conference ended. Wow! Fantastic! Only problem was the fact that I had no place to stay that night and a non-transferable train ticket booked for that afternoon. I therefore had to decline. 

That may have been disappointing but it turned out to be fortuitous. Had I delayed my return until the following morning, my train would not have reached London. The 7/7 bombings caused a public transport lockdown, closing not just the Underground network but also all the rail termini. I did watch much of the rain-soaked concert on telly, though. 

One of the top songs for the waving lighter brigades, including those being soaked at Murrayfield, was ‘Run’ by Snow Patrol. The track may have subsequently become purloined by the loathsome Leona Lewis, and the band more famous for the drearily monotonous ‘Chasing Cars’, but it’s easy to forget how popular and influential the original was. The verse is so sad and mournful but with the “Light up, light up….” refrain, the mood lifts and – well – lights up into a symphony of hope in the face of adversity.

Another power ballad beloved of all but the most pop-adverse radio stations in the mid-Noughties was Daniel Powter’s ‘Bad Day’. However, for a heartwarming, heart-melting romantic message, the simple approach is often the best. That was the thrust of Natasha Bedingfield’s ‘These Words’ which topped the chart in October 2004. After exhausting the traditional inspirations of classical poets, etc, she settles quite rightly for the most trustworthy source of all:

“These words are my own
From my heart flown
I love you I love you
I love you I love you!”

She emerged that autumn from the shadow of brother Daniel to become a genuine star in her own right. ‘These Words’ may have been a hip-hop ballad but back then Natasha could be forgiven anything. The Yanks preferred her follow-up ‘Unwritten’, reminiscent of Natalie Imbruglia or a loved-up Alanis Morissette, but our own chart-topper was endearingly British and all the better for it!

Another example of a delightful no-frills love song was ‘Nine Million Bicycles in Beijing’ by Katie Melua. Not a title which shrieks passion and romance, but the sweet lyrics explain that for all the so-called facts and figures we learn, the only precise truth is that “I will love you ‘til I die”. Ahhhh. And yet I also loved this latest Melua-Batt collaboration from her second album Piece by Piece. A few years later, Mum asked me if I was familiar with the songstress. She had apparently been featured on BBC Essex and Mum proceeded to request Melua albums for Christmas. Not sure I had a sweet enough tooth to bear the piles of sugar heaped into an entire album but this was a rare occasion when our musical tastes overlapped.

I’ve no idea what Mum thought of James Blunt. Nevertheless, during the summer of 2005, most people I knew had an opinion, and it was generally rather negative. His second single ‘You’re Beautiful’ was a real Marmite song. Love it or hate it, the song haunted the summer airwaves for months. Unusually, it entered the chart outside the top ten and climbed slowly to the summit, staying there for five weeks. For all its chart dominance, it didn’t even sell half a million copies, but it carved a niche deep in the British consciousness.

Here was a bloke so posh he’d ridden horses in the Life Guards, was a son of an army colonel and with a family tree traceable to tenth century Danish monarchy. At 31, he was quite late to pop superstardom but that’s where he was heading. One minute he was supporting Katie Melau and Elton John, the next he was headlining around the world, selling 11 million copies of debut album Back to Bedlam.

Back to the chart-topping single, where do I stand? Well, I considered it one of the best love songs I had ever heard. Another simple structure, plaintive lyrics charting the singer’s yearning for a woman’s affections he cannot possibly acquire. Women loved him. Apart from being a man (formerly) in uniform, here was someone unafraid to reveal his romantic side and lay his heart bare. It’s a trait common in male balladeers in recent years but for a few years Blunt blazed the trail. He even became the first Brit to top the US chart since Elton’s Diana tribute in 1997.

I did adore the song but I was no fan of Mr Blunt. I found his voice so tiresomely weedy and reedy, it didn’t deserve to sing lyrics as powerful and heart string tugging as ‘You’re Beautiful’. He hasn’t claimed another really successful single although I felt 2008’s ‘Carry You Home’ merited at least a top three spot, not a dismal twenty. His 2017 reincarnation as a Sheeran soundalike didn't quite reap the expected rewards either.

At Christmas 2005, I did my best to avoid a feeble but popular song about a child’s ride on his father’s JCB and Shayne Ward’s shitty X Factor-winning ballad ‘That’s My Goal’. However, shitty X Factor-winning ballads were to become inescapable for the next decade. Meanwhile, my life and career were bound for new challenges beyond the reach of even Simon Cowell.

2002-2003 - Instead of spreading love we're spreading animosity

As the chart single suffered a near-catastrophic collapse – sales plunged by 32% between 2002 and 2003 – ITV inflicted upon the nation the twin horrors of Pop Idol and Popstars – the Rivals. Naturally I watched neither but it was impossible to ignore them. TV promos, poster campaigns, tabloid headlines, … When you commute to work across London there was simply no escape.

At the start of 2002, posh boy Will Young was up against spiky-haired teenager Gareth Gates for the chance to win Pop Idol. According to Wikipedia, Will’s supporters included Noel Gallagher, while Gareth could count on Francis Rossi. Really?! What about me? Well, given that I had walked right past both protagonists on my way into Broadcasting House without recognising them, I could hardly claim sufficient knowledge to pledge allegiance to either. History records that Will emerged victorious in a massive public vote. His version of an old Westlife track ‘Evergreen’, doubled with ‘Anything is Possible’, promptly sold a million in a week. Presumably nobody else bought anything.

The runner-up Gareth didn’t exactly fade from the public eye. He followed Young’s opener with another sure-fire winner ‘Unchained Melody’ and the two acts ended up spending fourteen weeks at number one between them, including an EP duet in the autumn. By this time, even I was in a position to offer an informed opinion. Will, like me, is a graduate of Exeter University, so on that basis alone, he had the edge. Musically, both had rather tame, almost feminine voices a la Gately, but this seemed to represent the changing taste of the record-buying public. A taste, it’s fair to say, I didn’t share. It’s not that all the songs were bad, just mind-numbingly vanilla. Oh, for a double-scoop of banana and lemon sorbet! To his credit, however, Will Young’s 2003 effort ‘Leave Right Now’ was at the very least mint choc chip. The brilliantly-choreographed, if slightly disturbing, single-shot video was particularly memorable.

Even the losers got in on the act. Third-placer Darius Danesh also went to number one with the pleasant ’Colour Blind’ while the second ‘Pop Stars’ formation, Liberty X, hit the top briefly with ‘A Little Bit More’. At least this had something more seductive, and is one of the few so-called ‘reality TV’ songs which remains listenable.

The 2002 Christmas number one was ‘Sound of the Underground’ by the next Cowell/ITV victorious combo Girls Aloud. Not a typical bland ballad but I still wish it had never been allowed overground. It also set the Spice Girls wannabes on the road to massive, but unfathomable success throughout the decade.

They were deposed by a rarity: a song not only performed by a TV talent show winner but also written by him! The Beeb, recognising the need to get involved with the genre, had launched their Fame Academy series. The eventual winner was young Scot David Sneddon. I recall one Thursday afternoon hearing umpteen repetitions of his piano-led ‘Stop Living the Lie’ during the course of a Personal Effectiveness training course deep in the bowels of Television Centre. It sounded as if Sneddon was rehearsing assiduously for a TOTP performance. The song was pleasant enough, but on constant hearing it was annoyingly intrusive. As for the course, my personal category was identified as ‘CI’: methodical, perfectionist, team player and slow decision-maker. I didn’t need a test to tell me that. As for Mr Sneddon, he quickly stopped living the life. Having defeated more than 30,000 fame-hungry hopefuls, he decided that fame wasn’t for him and quit performing in favour of being a professional songwriter. Good luck to him. 

I occasionally had to pop into Television Centre for other reasons. When I did, I tended to venture to, I think, the second floor and pop into the studio viewing galleries. You never knew what rehearsal or recording might be in progress. A Tuesday or Wednesday afternoon diversion was sometimes rewarded with a few minutes watching TOTP. Often there was nothing happening at all but I do remember one week witnessing a performance by the engaging Jamelia of her new hit ‘Superstar’; it may well have been this one. I was quite impressed by her personality on the studio floor, too, and not just her legs.

Talking of legs, I’d be lying if I denied noticing the shapely limbs of Beyonce. Let’s be honest, viewers of the video for ‘Crazy in Love’ were expected to notice. Blimey! Where did she come from? Well, Destiny’s Child. Obviously. But I hadn’t paid much attention to them. Beyonce wasn’t even the first of that R’n’B trio to have a UK Number one. That prize had been claimed by Kelly Rowland (‘Dilemma’). 

In the meantime, a temporary gap in the British girl group market was amply filled by The Sugababes. With a clear nod to The Spice Girls (sugar…spice…), the name was truly dreadful, but in my humble opinion, their music was far from it. They had a so-so start but, by 2002, Heidi Range had joined Keisha Buchanan and Mutya Buena and their more varied approach to pop was paying dividends. It wasn’t that I really loved any of their singles but, for consistent high quality, they were hard to beat. Great ballads like ‘Stronger’ and ‘Too Into You’ were mixed with chart-topping fare like ‘Hole in the Head’ and ‘Round Round’. Nevertheless, my fave was, by the narrowest of margins, ‘Freak Like Me’. Built around that artfully atmospheric synth lick from ‘Are Friends Electric?’ it’s a sultry sexy song that grabs you by any part of the body you can imagine, including the ears. Unlike most of their songs, the band members weren’t amongst the many writing credits but it knocked most of the other 2002 number ones into freaking cocked hats.

For all their excellence on CD, I have it on good authority, supported by the evidence of any number of YouTube recordings, that the Sugababes were terrible live. Keisha always looks so bored. Nevertheless, more than a decade later, ignoring the hilarious frequency of line-up changes (the latest one is all-male – I jest!), they remain one of the most successful girl groups in UK history.

There was a good deal more charisma, sex appeal and eye-popping hip action going on in one second of any performance by Shakira than anything the ‘Babes or even Beyonce could manage. The Colombian queen of Latin rhythm blew me away on ‘Whenever Wherever’. The inclusion of Andean pipes and charanga gave the record a rare exoticism, Shakira’s voice and movement provided the pure eroticism. Deprived of a number one by Will Young’s debut, it took her from being a mere superstar of the Spanish-speaking world to a global icon. Intelligent, creative, philanthropic and apparently a jolly nice woman as well, Shakira must be one of the few women who could marry a Barcelona and Spain footballer (Gerard Pique) and be more famous than he is. I don’t hear much of her new music these days but, as arguably the best record of 2002, ‘Whenever Wherever’ must be one of the most joyfully infectious three-and-a-bit minutes of dance-pop ever made.

Ex-Spice Girl Emma had dropped the Bunton as her material also embraced her inner Latina. Clearly keen to shed her cute and fluffy ‘Baby’ image, all her videos seemed hell-bent on showing as much thigh and cleavage as possible but the music was unflinchingly carefree pop with a Sixties vibe. Before she dared to cover ‘Down Town’ Emma enjoyed herself with a Bunton bossanova in ‘Maybe’. I quite enjoyed it, too, probably the last of the listenable post-Spice solo singles from any of the quintet.

However, if it’s genuine Latin beat you wanted, Las Ketchup were the real deal. From Andalusia, the family group’s ‘Asereje’ was simultaneously annoying and adorable. I do find it embarrassing that it had to be re-branded ‘The Ketchup Song’ for the UK market. There were no references in the lyrics to ketchup or indeed any other condiment, so why the crass change? When I hear it, I am transported back to the very un-Latin environment of Thailand during the water-throwing carnival of Chiang Mai’s Songkran the following April. I have a clear recollection of its toe-tapping tune emanating from either a ‘pick-up’ or café just before I was drenched by a bunch of bucket-wielding Aussies who felt I was fair game. As it happened, everyone was fair game during the three-day New Year festival. At least it was only water, and not ketchup…

Hip-hop duo Outkast were very much 'in'. I was never an aficionado then, in October 2003, along came ‘Hey Ya!’ which defied any logic when it came to explaining why I liked it, or indeed any attempts at categorisation. Even now I feel compelled by some primeval urge to join in with the ‘clap-clap’ and ‘Hey Ya’ chorus. Can’t help it. Sorry! 

Also in the process of broadening their hip-hop horizons were The Black Eyed Peas. I’d certainly never heard of them until they released the lament for the apparent absence of good feeling and social justice, ‘Where is the Love?’ Although selling barely 600,000 copies in 2003, it was the year’s best-seller here and topped the charts for six weeks in September and October. Even I could pick out the heartfelt rap lyrics of will.i.am et al, and the sentiment struck a chord with many others, too. That it was a hip-hop-pop crossover was important; it wouldn’t have had the same impact globally had it been sung by will.r.young!

Where is the Love? An apt question to ask, given the final collapse of my relationship with Kim. The move from my flat to our larger house in Atridge Chase in February 2002 had merely postponed the inevitable. The first post-split show I went to on my own was a concert at the Palladium on Sunday 14^th December by one of my favourite bands Saint Etienne. I mentioned this in the 1993 section, but given my emotional state, this one-off gig ten years later has a special status in my musical life. Scheduled just before Christmas there was a real party atmosphere which I definitely craved at the time. The performance of all their hits culminated in 'Join Our Club' and the seasonal ‘I Was Born on Christmas Day’. Perfect.

Another track which stirred the by now dormant dance divo in me was ‘Move Your Feet’ by Danish duo Junior Senior. It wasn’t particularly clever. In fact, it was naively repetitively with a sequence of three distinct sections repeated throughout the three minutes. Yet it somehow came together. I saw them on various TV shows, always singing, if not playing, live, and they always succeeded in creating a vibe which made you smile as well as move your feet.

I’m not 100% certain but I think I saw them on the BBC’s Glastonbury coverage in 2003. That same weekend I was also introduced by two other bands hitherto beyond my ken. Although also from Scandinavia, Royksopp were a completely different kettle of herring, being distinctly electronic. Once you survive the onslaught of all those random electronic bursts at the start, ‘Eple’ (Norwegian for apple, apparently) settles into a wonderful groove of synths, drum machine and bass. Even in the rolling meadows of Somerset, it somehow works. On the back of ‘Eple' I’ve sought out other tracks, and it’s a shame that no others made the UK Top 20. They were just born twenty years too late. The Glasto coverage also introduced me to the London acoustic duo, Turin Brakes. I love their alt-folk harmonies on ‘Painkiller’ which reached number five. They shifted a fair few albums, sold out their local Brixton Academy, supported David Gray amongst others, but have never quite achieved headliner status.

One of the most successful bands of this period was Busted. Posh, tall Charlie, spiky James and annoyingly perma-gurning Matt were ever-present, their first eight singles all making the top three inside two years. I quickly tired of their well-practised knees-together leaps while thrashing guitars, but the songs were actually quite listenable. The likes of Good Charlotte and Blink-182 were too heavy for me, but the Essex boys knew how to write a tune which could shine from beneath the rock guitar.

‘What I Go to School For’ was an entertaining debut, ‘Sleeping with the Light On’ and ‘3am’ were nicely-crafted ballads but their trip back to the future for ‘Year 3000’ is my favourite. The lyrics were throwaway nonsense but I was amused by their tongue-in-cheek reference to their rivals in the lines:-

“He took me to the future in the flux thing
And I saw everything
Boy bands, and another one, and another one
……And another one”

The second album was more grown-up but I didn’t like the singles as much. Shows how mature I was! Charlie fancied himself as a hard rocker and split up the band at their peak. The 17 year-old who had been deprived by the record label of a place in the line-up had the last laugh. Tom Fletcher – for it was he - proceeded to lead Busted’s natural progeny McFly to even greater success in the next few years. At least there was a satisfying conclusion to the story of both bands when a decade later they joined forces to tour and record briefly as McBusted. 

American rock was entering a purple patch, too. Actually, REM’s Michael Stipe was in a blue patch. The band seemed to be on our screens quite a lot around that time, and the lead singer always seemed to sport across his eyes a band of blue as a kind of painted bandana. Why? Only he will know. But REM were back on form with songs like ‘Bad Day’ and I am prepared to forgive Stipe any of his weird idiosyncrasies.

REM were being challenged as top international rock combo by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. They weren’t new kids on the block either but I hadn’t really appreciated their music prior to the release of ‘Zephyr Song’ and ‘By the Way’. Canadians Nickelback were more old-school while The White Stripes, on the other hand, did offer something new. Amidst the media debate over whether Jack and Meg White were married or siblings (actually the former, and he took her surname), their brand of raw bluesy rock was earning rave reviews. Jack’s earthy voice had echoes of Jack Bruce or Robert Plant, while his guitar playing also boasted a dramatic simplicity, amply backed by Meg’s no-nonsense drums. It was all wrapped up in a consistent production of red, black and white. So far, so tedious. However, when I first heard the bass intro for ‘Seven Nation Army’, I recognised something better than most. The video of ever-morphing triangles genuinely made me feel physically sick (!) but it was a really exciting record to listen to. And, of course, the riff lives on in football grounds, with the cries of ‘Oh, Santi Cazorla’ and variations thereof.

Another duo who made an even bigger splash was TaTu. It wasn’t that they were the first Russians to reach number one in the UK. Instead, the teenage girls Yuliya Volkova and Len Katina aroused the typical middle-class, low-intelligence indignation of the Daily Mail and Sun by daring to kiss each other in the dramatic video of ‘All the Things She Said’. Of course, the whole lesbian schoolgirl controversy (both were decidedly heterosexual) was all a manipulative marketing ploy, which worked spectacularly well. Cutting through that crap, the record itself – produced by our own Trevor Horn - was brilliant, and topped charts around the world. Russia cashed in on TaTu’s European popularity by having them sing their Eurovision entry a few months later. Unusually for this era, I actually watched the BBC broadcast that year and, must confess that, while coming third, their live performance in Riga sounded terrible. They fared rather better than the UK entry. Jemini’s ‘Cry Baby’ which utterly deserved the dubious achievement of our first ever ‘nul points’ total. 

Britain did have some pleasant pop-rock singles, of course. Travis were back on form with ‘Reoffender’ and I even liked Mark Owen’s mature solo single, ‘Four-Minute Warning’. Top DJ/producer Paul Oakenfold joined the gang of Ibiza’s finest releasing their own albums, and his 2002 rap-assisted ‘Starry-Eyed Surprise’ possessed a super summer vibe. Admittedly, it owed much to a sample of the gentle guitar riff from Harry Nilsson’s ‘Ev’rybody’s Talkin’ that I always loved. So beloved of Terry Wogan, Katie Melua took Mike Batt’s saccharine ballad ‘Closest Thing to Crazy’ into the top ten at Christmas. I just adored her dark curls.

There were few love songs in the entire decade which could match the power of Dido’s ‘White Flag’. Her second album Life For Rent beat even No Angel by selling more than 2 million in one calendar year, and this was the stunning lead single. It followed the same successful formula of sweet, breathy vocals, perfect multi-layered production and memorable melody, and became Dido’s highest-placed single. It took the Black Eyed Peas to keep this classic off the top spot but ‘White Flag’ was certainly one of my top two records of 2003. 

Around this time, ‘Girl Power’ seemed to be replaced by ‘Girrrl Power,’ the ‘I’ being optional! Duplicated ‘r’s appeared for no logical reason, too. Christina Aguilera’s ‘Dirrty’ is a case in point. Avril Lavigne did at least adhere to the English language conventions in her excellent debut, ‘Complicated’. However, she lost my respect when her single ‘Sk8er Boi’ came out. Text spelling was now in the mainstream and the world would never be the same again. Pink was the epitome of the new brand of ballsy women with attitude but I had yet to hear any music by her which appealed.

This was a relatively fallow period for Britney Spears but her ‘ex’ and fellow Mickey Mouse Club alumnus, Justin Timberlake happily filled the gap. His music wasn’t always my brew but if they had an X Factor competition in 2003, JT would win. With a further apprenticeship in N-SYNC behind him he had it all: good looks, a decent voice, a modicum of acting talent and dance moves that would give Wacko Jacko a run for his money. For all his upbeat singles like ‘Rock Your Body’, it’s the sad R’n’B slowie ‘Cry Me A River’ – based on his Britney break-up - which made the biggest impression on me then, and still has the ability to haunt.

The whole R’n’B genre was spreading its tentacles far and wide, even clasping Eminem to its burgeoning bosom. In December 2002, he topped the chart with another high-quality single, ‘Lose Yourself’. Taken from the soundtrack to his Eight Mile movie, in which Em had the tough task of portraying a young rapper trying to make his way in a tough world, it was a typically emotional monologue topped and tailed by tinkly piano. His more humorous ‘WIthout Me’ was the bigger hit here, but ‘Lose Yourself’ is for me up there with the best. Who can argue with the philosophical opening lines?

“Look, if you had one shot, one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted
One moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip?

Yo”

Yo, indeed. 

Marshall Bruce Mathers III was a polar opposite to that of Curtis James Jackson III. They had quite a bit in common: apart from both being ‘Third’s, they were Americans, successful rappers with backing posses. Yet they were so different in looks. Eminem’s skinny white boy was a million miles from 50 Cent’s mean, moody, muscular image. ‘Fiddy Cent’ wore his drug-dealing past and bullet scars like badges of pride. To me he just looked a right dumb plank of wood, albeit with biceps bigger than my chest. He did alright for himself, but proved incapable of holding on to his huge fortune. Back to half a dollar then….

While 50 Cent’s over-serious, precious lady’s man shtick made me laugh, another star was making a career out of a white comic character who did his utmost not just to imitate his black role models but to be black. Sacha Baron Cohen’s Ali G started life on Channel 4’s Eleven O’Clock Show, appearing in hilarious short films with unsuspecting real people. It was only a matter of time before the character moved into Da Movies and the music charts. I didn’t hear ‘Me Julie’ much on the radio, despite it reaching number two. Not surprising given the frequent references to knobbin’ and shaggin’. “Me Julie, I love you from my head down to my goolies” was one of the cleaner lines.

At least he gave me something to laugh at, The same went for a new British band by the name of The Darkness. Were they for real?! How did Justin Hawkins arrive at their musical mission? Did they, like me on many occasions at the Beeb, have an awayday brainstorm to identify gaps in the market? Seventies-style heavy rock?  Tick. Sparkly catsuits as in Queen? Tick. Choruses delivered in funny falsetto? Tick. Referencing their background in the mean streets of Suffolk? Tick! All they needed to do was write a few decent tunes. I still can’t believe the public bought into it.

Apparently they even had a Carling Homecoming gig booked for the London Astoria before they had even signed a record deal! I really didn’t like ‘I Believe in a Thing Called Love’, and was appalled at the prospect of their ‘Christmas Time single topping the chart. It didn’t. Instead of pseudo-glam rock, the festive number one slot unexpectedly went to the glum rock of Michael Andrews and Gary Jules’ cover of ‘Mad World’. Yet The Darkness sold well over a million copies of their debut album Permission to Land. Another album followed, then the band imploded under Hawkins’ alleged abuse of alcohol and cocaine. Their story had all the ingredients of a spoof rockumentary a la Spinal Tap. Joke music, joke image, joke descent into rehab. All that was missing was an exploding drummer and a undersized Stonehenge at the Brits. I’m sorry but, even in 2018, I am still waiting for the true tale to emerge.

2000-01 - How could I forget that I had given her an extra key?

And so to the 2000s. Just as the total solar eclipse of 11^th August 1999 had failed to signal the destruction of humankind, the doom-mongering descendants of Nostradamus were similarly disappointed as the world didn’t end at the stroke of midnight of 31^st December. People may have partied like it was 1999 but they just kept going. Whether it was all a big hoax or the people had reason to embrace the IT crowd, but neither did the ‘Millennium Bug’ bring the planet’s computers to a sudden halt, crippling microwaves and multinational banks alike. On the other hand, a few rough hands were dealt: foot and mouth disease, a fuel crisis manufactured by the right-wing Countryside Alliance, severe flooding and the 9/11 terror attacks. I even contracted chicken pox.

Music seemed to be at rock bottom, too. With a record 43 number one singles, the once-lauded achievement was surely irrevocably devalued. Things had come to a pretty poor juncture for me to declare Bob the Builder’s Christmas hit ‘Can We Fix It?’ one of my favourites of the year. On 13^th April 2000 I noted in the diary: “I always wondered at what age I’d lose interest in chart music. The answer is 38!”

Well, that assertion proved premature but back then, there were precious few top 20 entries that appealed to me. 2001 wasn’t a whole lot better but at least the charts had a bit more stability, allowing me to get more closely acquainted with a lot of the high-fliers.

Boybands and girl groups were possibly at their zenith. The Westlife conveyor belt of mum-friendly ballads continued to chug along remorselessly, A1 enjoyed an unfathomable run of top-tenners, 5ive (no ‘F’!) benefited from some help from Queen and along came Blue.

Keen to follow the success of The Backstreet Boys, the quartet ventured not into pop but definite R’n’B territory. Their biggest hit in 2001 was ‘Too Close’ but it’s ‘All Rise’ which was surely their highpoint. Lee Ryan and Duncan James may have had the girls swooning, Antony Costa providing the Robbie-ish tomfoolery but it was Simon Webbe who was surely the soul and voice of the band. They did have some credibility as talented singers in the UK but it was six thousand miles away where I recall my favourite performance of that song: by a young Thai group in a Chiang Mai open-air restaurant!

As for the females of the species, The Spice Girls survived the break for all their members’ (and Geri Halliwell’s) solo efforts to record a new album. They, too, took the R’n’B route, which quickly killed them off. The single ‘Holler’ reached the top – their ninth number one - was well received by the critics but failed to take their young fans with them. It sounded awful to me, too.

It wasn’t the end for Scary, Baby, Posh or Sporty, though. Mel B stuck with the American vibe, Emma Bunton sang some pleasant poppy songs, Mel C mixed things up nicely with ballads, dance and soul while Victoria….well, Victoria married David Beckham. Actually, her collaboration with Truesteppers and Dane Bowers, ‘Out of Your Mind’ did generate some media interest in August 2000. It was hyped as part of a battle with Spiller’s vastly superior ‘Groovejet’, which introduced Sophie Ellis-Bexter. Posh lost but, in her current guise as fashion designer and celebrity darling, she has won the war hands-down.

On the female side, Liverpudlians Atomic Kitten enjoyed a very successful start to the third millennium. I couldn’t stand ‘em. Nevertheless, their fifth single ‘Whole Again’ was indubitably one of those irritatingly perfect pop songs, like ‘No Matter What’ or ‘Earth Song’, selling a million but making me reach for the Off button. Somehow, they had several other top-tenners, led by a lame cover of ‘Eternal Flame’.  

I hadn’t been a fan of All Saints, either. Yet in February 2001, they released ‘Pure Shores’, a winning collaboration between Shaznay Lewis and that man William Orbit. I loved the trippy vibe from the first bar. I also quite liked the quartet’s seemingly random dancing, at odds with the over-rehearsed routines with which I had become so familiar. Watch their live TOTP performance: their shamble-chic swaying, the excellent voice of Mel Blatt and the harmonies of the Appleton sisters. Shaznay wasn’t the best singer but hers was the songwriting talent.

No wonder Madonna was fuming Orbit gave the song to the Anglo-Canadians and not her. The similar ‘Black Coffee’ gave us more gorgeous ‘dream pop’ harmonies and also went to number one. After this and ‘Pure Shores’, I could almost forgive All Saints for the more popular ‘Never Ever’. Almost.

It wasn’t just the single-sex groups bringing in the punters. Steps staggered on before splitting up in 2001. By then, the baton was well and truly passed to Simon Fuller’s new creation, S Club 7. Created for children’s TV, they weren’t exactly The Monkees. For starters, the Sixties funsters didn’t have Rachel Stevens swinging her hips to I’m a Believer! I must admit I never watched a minute of their BBC series, and their early singles left me cold. ‘Bring it All Back’ and ‘Reach’ were perfect pop anthems for seven year-olds and their ballads were pale shadows of The Spice Girls. Then in April 2001, from nowhere, came ‘Don’t Stop Movin’’.

Unusually, the boring Jo O’Meara was relegated to second lead, ceding the verses to Bradley McIntosh. There were real instruments, it was grown-up, the rhythm was utterly infectious and what an intro! Besides its Best Single Brit award, it achieved the rare accolade of being a ‘split’ number one. Its two weeks at the top were divided by Geri Halliwell’s awful ‘It’s Raining Men’. No longer could I dismiss the group as dumb child fodder; they had a record it was OK to like.

Lee Cattermole’s departure the following year meant the ‘7’ had to be discarded and in the middle of a live performance in 2003, the remainder of the band also called time. In the meantime, the brand extended to a bunch of genuine youngsters called S Club Juniors, later re-named S Club 8. That was the final straw. Britain was all S-Clubbed out.

As a solo artist, Robbie Williams had conquered the nation’s affections in a way that Gary Barlow had so surprisingly failed to do. For several years, you knew summer was over and the autumn leaves were about to fall when the new Robbie album came out. Youngsters ran to the shops to buy the CD to wrap for their Mums’ Christmas prezzy, and there were usually attention-grabbing singles assailing the number one spot, too.

2000 and 2001 weren’t years for his best songs. However, I will concede that ‘Rock DJ’ was a decent stomper with a controversial video, the uncut version definitely not for the squeamish! Then, when the 2001 album turned out to be a vanity project, Swing When You’re Winning, satisfying Robbie’s inner Rat Pack desires, I felt the bubble had burst.

There was only one hit single, a faithful for-Christmas reprise with Nicole Kidman of the sumptuous Sinatra duet ‘Somethin’ Stupid. Robbie had a decent voice, no question. Yet he surely couldn’t compare himself with Frank Sinatra, could he?! I remember watching with Mum and Dad the TV Albert Hall ‘special’, with Mr W posturing in classic chilled suit and casually unfastened ‘dickie-bow’. They also recognised he wasn’t a bad singer. Yet Mum couldn’t escape her classroom instincts for spotting a troublemaker. She simply could not get away from her observation of the cheeky persona as being a sure sign of a ghastly child to teach! In the event, ‘Swing When You’re Winning’ proved me wrong by being one of Robbie’s most successful albums. Moreover, the show DVD went on to be one of Europe’s biggest sellers of all time. Back then, the man could walk on water.

At the start of the millennium, I didn’t attend any West End musicals, but did watch a few films featuring prominent soundtracks. In November 2001, Kim and I saw Baz Luhrmann’s screen musical, Moulin Rouge. It garnered great media reviews but I considered it “overblown and over-rated”. A few female friends loved the romantic lead Ewan McGregor, but I wonder what would have happened had Leonardo di Caprio got the part for which he auditioned. Roles were reversed in the Danny Boyle adventure-drama The Beach, which we went to see in February 2000. Unlike Moulin Rouge, this did boast a cracking soundtrack and one which actually complemented the film. Indeed, perhaps apart from the Thai scenery, the music was probably the best thing about it.

‘Pure Shores’ was an obvious choice: shores…beach….duh! However, the top track must have been ‘Porcelain’ by Moby. To me, the tinkling piano represented a gentle subtropical stream while the four-chord string progression played backwards gave it a soothing yet mysterious backdrop. This proved perfect for a film about a stoner backpacker community, at first so idyllic, yet about to fracture so horribly.  Even the title suggests something beautiful yet brittle, again fundamentally fitting for the storyline. I didn’t really register Moby’s own downbeat introspective lyrics, so stunning was the production. The album from whence it came, Play, was an unexpectedly huge hit, albeit not a source of successful singles. Instead, all the tracks were licensed to the advertising industry. Ever the creative producer and musician, Moby has never been away, but I doubt ‘Porcelain’ could be surpassed as an electronic ambient dreamscape.

Checking back through my diary I was surprised to find that this wasn’t my favourite song of 2001. Instead it was the Manic Street Preachers’ ‘Ocean Spray’. These days, it wouldn’t even have been my favourite Welsh release!

That would have been a toss-up between ‘Have a Nice Day’ and ‘Handbags and Gladrags’, both by The Stereophonics, who were at the peak of their popularity. The Manics may have given Cardiff’s Millennium Stadium and the 2000s a memorable launch with the rollicking ‘Masses Against the Classes’, but the ‘Phonics won on sales. Kelly Jones’ voice was ideal to deliver a fabulously faithful cover of the wistful 1971 Rod Stewart track. However, the easy rhythm of ‘Have a Nice Day’ more snugly fitted my mood at the time.

Mellow male melancholy was big in Britain. Travis followed their 1999 conquests with the sumptuous ‘Sing’. The subtle banjo, chimes and guitar made for a captivating sound as good as anything else they have done. I could say the same for ‘Yellow’ by the then little known band called Coldplay. Their debut album Parachutes sold a million but the floaty ballad was the only single from it that I liked.

The simple video was also a winner, although I don’t understand why it had to be filmed – and lip-synched - at double speed before being played at half-speed. That’s why, as he strolls along Studland Bay beneath the stars, some of boyish Chris Martin’s mannerisms don’t quite look right. Apparently ‘Yellow’ remains a crowd-pleaser in their concerts and I recall seeing their first Glasto appearance on the telly. As usual, I failed miserably to predict their longevity and incredible global superstardom.

David Gray’s White Ladder was another album which crept up through the cracks and took the UK by storm. I considered his top-five single ‘Babylon’ one of the best in 2000, although it was sometimes difficult to ignore his infuriatingly persistent head-shaking as he sang. It didn’t matter whether he was playing guitar or piano, ‘old noddy’ was at it constantly. Never mind. There weren’t any other solo blokes singing their own songs so the Mancunian stood out from the crowd. I’m not sure why he hasn’t maintained that early momentum. It’s not as if there’s no longer any appetite for introspective young men strumming to ballads. Maybe Ed Sheeran et al should be grateful for the trail blazed by David Gray a decade earlier.

It was a fruitful period for Will Smith, too. Shrugging off the Fresh Prince persona, his old-school amiable pop rap, sampling the likes of Sister Sledge (‘Getting Jiggy Wit It’) and Stevie Wonder (‘Wild Wild West’) was always on the radio. And yet the baton was about to be passed to a new brand of hip-hop in the form of Eminem. A successful white rapper? Surely not? And yet in 1999-2001, the former Marshall Mathers III apparently created a sub-genre all of his own.

I didn’t particularly like ‘My Name Is’ but in 2000’s entertaining ’The Real Slim Shady’, Eminem lambasts Will himself, as well as a host of other contemporary celebs. Somehow, his cheeky alter ego seems to get away with it. His biggest hit over here is probably ‘Stan’ and, ‘Neneh Cherry’s ‘Man Child’ excepted, must be my top hip-hop song of all time. The tale of a crazed fan who ends up killing his pregnant girlfriend, blaming Eminem for his actions, gave Mr Mathers full rein to spit out more vitriolic rhymes, this time as part of a character other than himself. Yet would the song have been so memorable without the guitar intro and the airy-fairy verse sung by the woman who in the video played the ill-fated girlfriend of Stan?

Not long afterwards, I discovered her name was Dido. Well, Dido Florian Cloud de Bounevialle O'Malley Armstrong, to be precise. A year later, she had cornered the international market for female-perspective romantic angst. A few tracks had been used in films and TV dramas a few years earlier and her album No Angel had a curious history. Recorded and released in the USA in 1999, then a year later in Europe, it didn’t exactly set the world afire until her contribution to ‘Stan’ raised her profile several notches.

I don’t think Dido’s voice is anything special but the gentle melodies were consistently exceptional. I came to recognise that ‘bit from Stan’ in ‘Thank You’, a clear example of a song where the chorus fails to lift the verse. It went to number three, ahead of the superior ‘Here With Me’ and my preferred track, ‘Hunter’. As for the album itself, it has since sold a barely credible 21 million copies around the world, 3 million of which came in the UK alone. By the end of 2001, there was no avoiding Ms Armstrong or her magnificent mellow music.

In 2000 Britney Spears followed ‘One More Time’ with two further classy chart-toppers, ‘Oops I Did it Again’ and the grown-up ballad ‘Born to Make You Happy’. Billie became Billie Piper and tried to become the Brit Britney on the forgettable ‘Day and Night’. Her music career seemed to wither once she became Mrs Chris Evans at just eighteen. I wrote her off as just another ephemeral starlet, yet now she boasts a deserved reputation as one of our top TV and stage actresses. Good on her!

The Corrs continued their run of success with the US-friendly timeless light rock of ‘Breathless’ but I preferred the similar ‘Sitting Down Here’ by young Norwegian songstress Lene Marlin. Already big in her own country, this pleasant ditty brought her briefly to my attention but this was her first and last top-tenner in the UK. Meanwhile, a singer I’d thought I’d heard the last of made a stunning return to the charts.

Kylie’s time had surely been and gone, along with the Stock-Aitken-Waterman ‘Hit Factory’ era a decade earlier. Yet, on my 39^th birthday in 2000, Ms Minogue and her gold hotpants were propelled to the summit in ‘Spinning Around’. This was Kylie reinvented for the 21^st century dance generation and I was seriously surprised how well it worked. More hits followed, including the less-than impressive ‘Kids’ with the besotted Robbie Williams, but then the following September, she only goes and releases ‘I Can’t Get You Out of My Head’.

Wow! Where did that come from? And since when had flamboyant Mud guitarist Rob Davies been a songwriter? His robotic bassline, the ‘la-la-la’ hook, Cathy Dennis’ melody and lyrics and that miraculously and maddeningly stable white costume in the video not only made the single an instant classic but have gone down in pop history. I was delighted to find that Kylie was suddenly ‘cool’. Her second career as dance diva was to last longer than her first incarnation as ‘pop princess’ although it wasn’t really my cup of tea. 

For all the success of ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head’ it was only the third biggest-selling single of 2001. Top of the list was another song I wouldn’t have expected to have loved had it simply been described to me: ‘It Wasn’t Me’. I had never understood a word uttered by Shaggy. With apologies to all Jamaican patois singers, all his lyrics sound like “lubba-lubba-lubba”. And yet, aided by Rikrok’s character narration, his tongue-in-cheek humour and advice to deny everything despite being caught in flagrate delicto with an unnamed lady by saying – intelligibly – “It wasn’t me” made me warm to him. The song had a strange structure, rather repetitive, but I still adore it: a rare dash of humour amidst a welter of rather dour dance and R’n’B.

It wasn’t the only record to make me smile. The Bloodhound Gang’s ‘Bad Touch’ could easily have been just a bad-taste paeon to sex had it not been for a fun electro-beat and creatively descriptive lyrics like

“You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals
So let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel”.

Daft but delightful! The same goes for the charming slice of teen grunge rock ‘Teenage Dirtbag’ by Wheatus. The full-blooded modern punk by the likes of Linkin Park, Limp Bizkit and Slipknot left me cold, but this sweet love story and its powerful chorus was oddly enjoyable. Doesn’t the moment when the girl approaches the boy with those precious Iron Maiden tickets tug at the heartstrings? Or is it just me? At least the tale gives hope to all the geeks and losers that we can actually get the girl.The band must have had fun with it, too, as witnessed by their live interaction with the TOTP audience.

I hadn’t been completely deserted by US dance, though. However, it was hard to single out shining examples in 2000-01. I’d say my favourites were Jakatta’s ‘American Dream’ and Roger Sanchez’s ‘Another Chance’. Both featured a rather monotonous beat and few, if any, discernible lyrics, but then you could say that about any dance anthem. I guess that’s the point. However, both had something different about them. The former had that short chill zone in the middle, while I loved the cool chords in ‘Another Chance’. Sanchez is another of those yawnworthy superstar DJs of the Ibiza club circuit but I’ll let him off for producing this memorable mix of samples.

Around this time, new niche ‘urban’ musical categories were traversing the Atlantic and moving into our mainstream. Grime, Dubstep,…. They all sounded the same to me. However, in those early 2000s, another entered my vocabulary. Garage was no longer just somewhere you kept your car safe; it was a genre popular enough to top the UK chart. Acts like So Solid Crew and their offshoot Oxide and Neutrino didn’t float my boat but Southampton teenager Craig David possessed enough charisma and, more importantly, tunes to keep me listening. It was his voice on The Artful Dodger’s ‘Re-Rewind’ in 1999. Craig David was Oliver Twist, and he was the new kid on the Garage block. In 2000, along came ‘Fill Me In’, another rather boring blend of British R’n’B and hip-hop but I liked the groove in ‘Seven Days’; It was more Blue than Blues. 

‘Walking Away’ was a reasonable ballad, too, and his debut album Born to Do It went multi-platinum. Undoubtedly intelligent, young Craig could occasionally come across as a bit of a knob. However, he didn’t deserve to become such a laughing stock, mercilessly mocked on ‘Bo Selecta!’ by the perennially unfunny Leigh Francis, aka Avid Merrion. Credit to him for making such a successful comeback in 2015-16, proving his position as one of Britain’s most award-laden black acts of all time.

While Craig David was the latest in a long line of talented singer-songwriters, 2001 was year zero in the modern era of artists created by television. Of course, TV talent shows were nothing new, but when Simon Cowell’s new ITV Saturday night show Popstars assembled Hear’Say, the die was cast for a twenty-first century assembly line of stars, so lucrative for SyCo and ITV.

I wouldn’t mind so much if the music was any good. However, they all seemed to be lowest common denominator ballads. ‘Pure and Simple’ was in the ‘Whole Again’ mould but the three girls-two boys line-up was more S Club 7 for the ITV audience. The group didn’t last very long, but Coronation Street’s Kym Marsh, Suzanne Shaw and the classically-trained pianist-turned-model Myleene Klass haven’t done too badly since then.

On the other hand, Hear’Say’s swift success demonstrated the potential of such a light entertainment template. Popstars begat Pop Idol which in turn begat X Factor. Producer Simon Cowell was laughing all the way to the bank but musical creativity threatened to go gurgling down the toilet...