My current favorite songs:

Mariah Carey, "We Belong Together." Yeah, yeah, it's overplayed, but there's a reason for it. Mariah's penchant for melismatic overkill has always signified a reluctance to embrace adulthood; what is adolescence if not the squandering of gifts wihout the requisite self-control? On "We Belong Together" she sounds tamed, anonymous, relaxed, warm. She'll never, ever be my favorite best-selling-diva-of-all-time; has any other artist who's sold so many records produced work so evanescent? But this song suggests that her most interesting years are yet to come.

The Power Station, "Communication." My weakness for Robert Palmer knows not from logic. John and Andy Taylor, on holiday from Duran Duran, join Chic drummer Tony Thompson on a groove whose slinkiness might have impressed Nile Rodgers. A bit of the credit must go to producer Bernard Edwards, who could make a groove on a slice of rye bread funky. Palmer growls and grunts with more conviction than he managed on "Some Like It Hot," on which he sounded like an ageing sleazo. Extra points for dropping the word "telex"

Funkadelic, "Can You Get To That." The most batshit track on Maggot Brain, an album chockful of batshit moments. George Clinton croaks like a bullfrog with soul while two chicks testify in the foreground, buoyed by acoustic guitars so immaculately strummed you can hear fingernails brushing the strings (cheers, cheers, to Ace Record's remastering job)

Bloc Party, "Price of Gas." You got all these bands that sound like Gang of Four. Here's the only one that summons their rage. The words are monosyllabic and direct, unsullied by Marxis sloganeering. Relevant words, too.