52: The Surfaris, “Wipe Out” (no.5, 1963)

Because I can’t seriously get away with including the Animal version, and not the original and best. Originally released as the B-side to the far less dynamic “Surfer Joe”, this is one of those great records apparently made up in the studio: the frenetic guitar and drums are those of born surf dudes itching to get back out in the sunshine, while the manic laughter at the beginning was provided by the band’s manager Dale Smallin, clearly realising just what a smash he had on his hands.

53: Blameless, “Breathe (a Little Deeper)” (no.27, 1996)

At the risk of turning this list into the musical equivalent of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier… proof that one-hit wonders need not necessarily be novel, iconic, or extraordinary; that they could, simply, be a bloody good song about the joys of getting out of the house from a long-forgotten Sheffield band who split shortly after their only chart hit, and whose expectations for said track were so low they didn’t even make a video for it. In an age where acts are expected to embark upon tireless - and, indeed, often tiresome - self-promotion to sustain their recording career, we should applaud anyone who takes the noble art of self-effacement to such heights: in the end, and to their eternal credit, they weren’t so much Blameless as traceless.

54: Men Without Hats, “The Safety Dance” (no.6, 1983)

“Or, as they’re known these days, Men Without Jobs” (© The Simpsons), with the only one-hit wonder to have been written in response to draconian health-and-safety legislation. While gigging some time in the early 80s, this Quebecois combo - whose name derived from brothers Stefan and Ivan Doroschuk’s refusal to wear the appropriate headgear during the cold Canadian winters - found themselves aghast at the harsh treatment being meted out by bouncers to patrons of the Montreal club scene found guilty of pogoing too enthusiastically to the then-current play list of New Wave favourites. The Doroschuks retreated to their cabin in the snowy woods, where they fumed and schemed and vowed to write the protest anthem that would stick it to The Man. And that, children, is how we arrived at The Safety Dance, a form of physical expression so circumspect it requires everybody to “look at [their] hands” and thus ensures “everything’s under control”. And it’s got a little person in the video. [Footnote: Dom Joly and I are in agreement that MWH’s follow-up single “Pop Goes the World” should have been a bigger hit. Or, indeed, “a hit”.]

55: A Tribe of Toffs, “John Kettley (Is A Weatherman)” (no.21, 1988)

Here’s one we’d almost forgotten about: 1988’s definitive roster of C/D-list talent. (Frankly, if you weren’t on here, well, you probably were somebody.) In the years since, some of the individuals mentioned (Jonathan Ross, and indeed Kettley himself, who rather sweetly went on to title his autobiography simply “Weatherman”) have fared better than others (Simon Parkin, David Icke), and some (Ayrton Senna, Lester Piggott) haven’t fared very well at all; still, it’s always cheering to hear the immortal couplet “Richard Keys/Has got no knees”. A little bit poor-man’s-Half-Man-Half-Biscuit, if I’m being completely honest: all “John Kettley”’s celebrity namedropping probably only adds up to the one (altogether more pointed) reference to “goading Paul Ross” in HMHB’s superlative “Tyrolean Knockabout”. Despite the great future predicted by Jonny Briggs’s sister in the above clip, the band’s follow-up single, 1989’s “Terry Wogan’s On TV (Again)”, deviated from the established formula not greatly, and failed to chart.

56: Artists United Against Apartheid, “Sun City” (no.21, 1985)

And this is why we need Pop-Up Video back on television every night from now until the Rapture. (Because, if nothing else, it spares lazy list writers from having to explain the context surrounding their choices.)

57: Booth and the Bad Angel, “I Believe” (no. 25, 1996)

Not so much for Booth (as he would have additional hits with the band James) as for the Bad Angel part of the equation: Twin Peaks composer Angelo Badalamenti, providing his usual lush orchestrations on his only credited UK chart success. (Although, arguably, you could say he was as responsible as anybody else for the appeal of this particular one-hit wonder.) An unexpected collaboration - further bolstered by the recruitment of Suede’s Bernard Butler to add a little extra class on guitar - it never lacks for high musical ambition; as the lyrics have it, “Why be a song/When you can be a symphony?”