The Smiths’ brooding, hesitant masterpiece started out as one of ‘William, It Was Really Nothing’’s b-sides before re-surfacing in its own right after the low mumble of indie kid demand finally wore Rough Trade down. That, or Johnny Marr wanted the world to marvel at his versatility – now he puts it to quirky use with the unspeakably irritating Modest Mouse.  Go back to Mozzer, Johnny, or Matt Johnson at least.  Or Barney Sumner.  Maybe not The Healers, though.
 
Junior found the throw-your-doll-into-the-air groove behind the menace, the ecstatic twirl behind the woe.  She shows a satirist’s knack of puncturing any bombast, or perhaps it’s just a clown’s unerring ability to ruin the moment.  Either way, this has never sounded so chirpy.
 
This and ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now’ are the true core of the Morrissey-as-sourpuss persona, beloved of Smash Hits and, well, everyone, let’s face it.  “.. And you leave on your own, and you go home and you cry and you want to die” is almost funny – it is funny, and Moz deadpans it splendidly. The real power’s in the tremolo, leaving the song teetering, ever teetering on the edge of… of…
 
.. ‘Hippychick’.

They came from Norway, all rippling muscles, leather wristbands, unfeasibly bouffant hair and a cartoon video – eventually. ‘Take On Me’ endured a number of re-releases and re-recordings before it became a hit, but it hit big, it sold millions. Of course, in the bewildering UK, it couldn’t topple Jennifer Rush’s tour de MOR force ‘The Power Of Love’, but that histrionic number isn’t its nemesis here.
 
Video had power in the ‘80s, far more than it does now - now live performance is the novelty on TV in our crazy soulless times. Previously, only Wacko Jacko had harnessed the potential, bolstering the inconceivably large Thriller sales with the “I’m not like regular guys” (come on, Michael, you’re as normal as a three-eared dog) 20-minute feature – not to mention the bloated yarn of his ‘Say, Say, Say’ video with Macca, which was falling down the Top 20 before its premiere on Noel Edmonds’ latest Saturday tea-time wackyfest catapulted it into the Top Three. A-ha’s third swing at the chart with ‘Take On Me’ was accompanied by that rotoscoped video and telly loved it.
 
Shame on you (and me) for not buying this before the video made it unavoidable. It’s one of the most infectious pop rushes of the decade, all melody, inspired keyboard riff and breathtaking vocals. Obviously, Morten Harket was “gay” with a voice like that, but – hang on! – the girls loved him.  Still going strong, the band will always be known for this and the No.1 follow-up ‘The Sun Always Shines On TV’, but the second and third albums were better.  There’s not much wrong with 2005’s mature, yearning Analogue either.
 
She came from South West London, all chubby limbs, denim skirt and unfeasibly bouffant hair.  She danced with the baby with the pink hat, and gave Dad the squashy one to do the same.  Even with gorgeous, urgent pop like this playing, it was more important to put on socks.

“Oh my, oh my – have you seen the weather?  The sweet September RAIN…”
 
Prefab Sprout’s calling-card classic grabbed its status early.  Relentlessly championed by the press (well, Smash Hits, at least) and the more easily-bruised indie pop fans for months, you’d have thought only some sort of treason was stopping it from topping the charts.  The clamour of the sensibly-dressed, bookish, perfect-pop freaks finally seeped through to The Kids who propelled ‘When Love Breaks Down’ to No.25 in the hit parade at about the fifth time of asking.  Ok, it was hardly the moon landings, but you take what you can get.  Maybe everyone took something: the early adopters ended up feeling a bit dirty and the mainstream slightly redeemed.
 
The song’s an odd mix - it knows it’s good, but it’s coy about it.  Shy, synthy breaths almost lifted from ‘O Superman’ combine with a forthright, definitive chorus delivering the last word on broken relationships.  But whatever you do, however it affects you, Paddy McAloon says it’s ok.  That’s what I take away from it.  That, and the nagging feeling that the keyboard chimes sound as if they’ve flown direct from ‘Wonderful Christmastime’.
 
“Fall, be free as old confetti…”
 
Those stunning opening synth shards stop Junior in her tracks, and she stands open-mouthed, awestruck.  That’s what I wanted.  I hope she really likes some of this and doesn’t just act out a part, brainwashed by an endless barrage of music.  We had a long car journey over the weekend, where it started to become clear that she’s learning lyrics to some of our favourite records – let’s hope she’s embracing them, rather than surrendering.
 
That’s 1985.  It felt longer.  I’ll leave the final word to someone we caught our first glimpse of last Thursday:
 

D90, minidisc, mp3 go!
 
My exhaustive research suggests we are left with
 
1986
1994
1998
2004
 
on various formats.
 
Place a vote, before Thursday 5pm.  Or suggest another that I can start from scratch (not 1956) – this could take a while to get off the ground, mind…

This month, Q Magazine has published the Top 10 “Most Perfect Songs Ever”, the finest examples of this purest of crafts. To make the list, they polled some of our leading songwriters, including James Blunt, Mika, Katie Melua, Joss Stone and members of The Twang, Hard-Fi, Athlete, Kasabian and Fall Out Boy.  In short, it’s unimpeachable.
 
Now, I’m not sure if the magazine meant to put the songs in any particular order, but they’re numbered 1 to 10 so we might as well count ‘em down in time-honoured fashion.  At 10, it’s Laughing Lou.
 
Whether it’s Euan McGregor sinking into the shag pile or Heather Small rrrrRRRREEEEAAAAPING WHAAAAT YOU SOWYEAAAHHHHH, ‘Perfect Day’ comes heavy with cultural baggage now, but it started off on Wimbledon Common with Lou coming up with songs to impress producer David Bowie.  Yes, it’s all about drugs, drugs, drugs and has the de rigueur overblown strings and portentous air, yet it’s sparse and resonant: you remember every note and wonder about “I thought I was someone else, someone good”.  That’s a haunting line – particularly in its flat delivery - reaching far beyond any glib meaning you slap on the song.
 
In the end, I can take it or leave it.  Junior starts off swaying – we all did when we first heard it – before being drawn to the alphabet block with the piano on it, as she is every time she discerns some ivories.  Before long she’s distracted by the spray of her sneeze on the floorboards and throwing Minnie Mouse about.  Lou’s just a memory; Minnie Mouse will be back later.

Beholden to Bob like everybody else, Junior puffs out her cheeks and blows every time he sings “blowin’”.  Dylan’s hymn to life’s mysteries is painted as a protest song – “How many times can a man turn his head, and pretend that he just doesn’t see… How many deaths will it take till he knows, that too many people have died” – but it is never specific.  That’s its power, and its ordinariness.
 
‘Blowin’ In The Wind’ is softly rendered and subtle as a sledgehammer, a folk song for the righteous.  It’s a touch too basic in melody and straight in tone for me, but Junior found a dance element that Dylan could never have envisaged.  There are more “perfect” examples of Bob’s craft – his voice is quite rich here and the imagery is clear – but it’s a neat summary of the early years.

I played The Beatles’ ‘Mother Nature’s Son’ on the walkman an hour or so later, and its chords seem to follow on.

So it looks as if Q’s list wasn’t in order after all – ‘God Only Knows’ can’t be the eighth most perfect song ever.  It’s either top, or you’ve forgotten it.  Anyway, are you allowed to say “most perfect”?
 
The yearning horns (we’ve all had ‘em), the pizzicato strings, Carl Wilson’s pure tones, Brian Wilson’s surefooted melody and a simple lyric with a high concept all add up to pop gold.  Junior latched on to the “ba ba ba”s, as we knew she would and was rapt from start to finish. Given half the chance, she’d be right there in the sandpit with Brian.  Mind you, she’d be knocking over his castles as soon as he’d built them like some sort of miniature Mike Love.  She’d make damned sure that Smile was never recorded.
 
No one could stop ‘God Only Knows’ – the words just a whisper until they’re enforced again and again in the overlapping fade – a fade you never want to end.