There are a handful of musical moments in my life where I’ve heard a song for the first time and felt: This changes everything. Never Understand is one.

The first was seeing David Bowie on Top of the Pops singing Starman. The next was the first time I heard The Sex Pistols.  Another was hearing Public Enemy on my first trip to New York a decade later.

Then, one night on John Peel, I heard this. The arresting screech of Never Understand instantly jolted me out of my despair at the lacklustre direction pop had taken.

By 1985 the antisocial thrill of punk had subsided and the postpunk/New Wave diaspora was starting to disappoint. The charts were filled with rubbish like Elaine Paige and Barbara Dickson, the power ballads of Barbara Rush and Foreigner, and novelty songs like Paul Hardcastle’s N-n-n-n-Nineteen.

I remember a friend at the time deriding the JMC as “derivative.” I agreed to an extent: there are elements of The Velvets, The Ramones and The Beach Boys. But I felt it was a good thing.

As I tried to explain, no one had ever thought of putting those influences together before – the beauty of Sixties pop subsumed in a maelstrom of distortion and feedback.

And yes, the floppy-fringed bloke channelling Mo Tucker on drums is Bobby Gillespie.