Ultimate 90s Number One: Baby Spice, Baby D and a bunch of terrible Brothers

It's time for another blog episode (blogisode) of my ongoing chart countdown (chountdown) to find the bleepiest and the bangiest (blepangiest) number one hit single of the 1990s.

This is the final heat of Ultimate 1990s Number One. Once I pick through this final selection of 1990s chart-toppers, we will move to the grand final in which I will choose the titular ultimate number one. How exciting.

"But Fat Roland," I hear you plead, "surely, you should put the final singles to a public vote, and get your loyal readers to choose the Ultimate 1990s Number One." Nope. This is not the X Factor. I am not Dermot O'Leary or Davina Whats-her-face. There is no phone vote at 98 quid a minute. The bleepiest banger will be my choice and my choice alone.

With that heart-warming audience-friendly reassurance clanging gently in your head, let's get into the final selection. Remember: my two criteria are: is it a banger, and is it bleepy?

The contenders

All Saints: Bootie Call  |  Another Level: Freak Me  |  Baby D: Let Me Be Your Fantasy  |  Baddiel, Skinner and The Lightning Seeds: 3 Lions '98  |  Boyzone: All That I Need  |  B*Witched: To You I Belong  |  Peter Andre: I Feel You  |  Snap!: Rhythm Is a Dancer  |  Spice Girls: Wannabe  |  Spice Girls: 2 Become 1  |  The Outhere Brothers: Boom Boom Boom

Beefy bangers

Every pop act has a lesser well-known hit single, and this might well be the case for these All Saints and Boyzone selections. Let's discard these, like an old pair of boxers or a broken old stereo or an unwanted child. Same goes for Baddiel, Skinner and The Lightning Seeds: their football anthem was dealt with in a previous blog post.

Ginger, Scary, Beefy, Farty and Parpy have been regular stars of Ultimate 90s Number One. But it's not until now that I get to rate the two iconic Spice Girls singles Wannabe and 2 Become 1. They are both hands-down, cards-on-the-table, hamster-in-the-shredder bangers. One is a patchwork of sassy pop hooks, and the other is a seductive salute to rubber johnnies. Total bangers, but not bleepy enough for this competition. And bleepiness is what I really, really want.

Take a bow(ers)

"Let me lick you up and down," said Another Level in Freak Me. I had never realised these schmalty chart-topper was so soggy. The most famous Level-er was Bowers who, after a flirtation with UK garage, became a TV presenter. He has appeared in Totally Boyband, Celebrity Big Brother and season three of The Wire. I lied about The Wire. For me, Another Level were never really on another level.

To You I Belong was perhaps B*Witched's more obscure number one single. I can't remember how it went, but it probably involved a lot of denim. Despite that, this single should be notorious. This was the song that ended a seven-week run at the top of the charts for Cher's Believe. I'm not a legal expert, but that should rank as some kind of hate crime.

Like To You I Belong, Peter Andre's third number one single I Feel You has faded from public memory. It's basically him impersonating a late-career Michael Jackson ballad, with a bit of falsetto and some washboard abs thrown in for good measure. Meh.

I cannot get excited about any of these singles, and they certainly don't fit my bleepy banger criteria. Why am I even writing about them? Let's move on.

You've come a long way, Baby

Our very final number one selections end things on a strong note. Mostly.

Melodic, euphoric, emotional, and a beautiful tribute to the hardcore scene. Baby D's one chart-topper Let Me Be Your Fantasy is a bang-to-rights banger with extra bangs on top. It took over two years from original release to get to the top of the charts. Its sampling is next-level: the Amen break, 2 Bad Mice, Bizarre Inc and more. Baby D (pictured above left) really did like the hardcore scene. Straight through to the Ultimate 90s final.

A year after their brilliant smash hit The Power, Snap! seemed like a spent force. Any group from that era resorting to a 'Megamix' single was clutching at straws. However, in 1992 Snap! (pictured above right) produced their biggest UK hit. Rhythm Is A Dancer was as serious as cancer, scarier than malaria, as stern as, um, Covid-ninetern. It's also a bit silly, so I won't put it through, despite that feeling like an arbitrary call. A snap decision, if you will.

"Boom boom boom," Shakespeare once wrote, "let me hear you say wayo." The Outhere Brothers are included in this final section because I guess it's a bleepy hit, in that it falls under the umbrella of 1990s dance music. But that's like calling Coldplay a rock band or calling JK Rowling a positive role model for young readers. Smash Hits gave this single zero stars out of five, which was the second best thing Smash Hits had ever done, the first being employing Neil Tennant. No, you won't hear me say wayo, thank you very much. Pah.

What a miserable note to end on. Stupid Outhere Brothers. I have now covered all 206 number one singles of the 1990s. At least I hope so: there are bound to be mistakes. If I've missed something, leave a comment.

Next up, the grand final. I'm so excited, I'm frothing in several places. While I drill for gold so I can build a massive trophy, have a browse of the Ultimate 90s number ones series.

Set for take-off: remembering Stu Allan

There have been many famous radio DJs. There was John Peel, there was that Moyles one, and, er, someone called Dave probably. But for us Mancunians, the name that speeds up our heartbeats-per-minute is Piccadilly Radio DJ Stu Allan.

Stu Allan, or "Stoooo Allan" if you're the American voice doing his jingle, was legendary in the North West of England. He championed rave, electro and house music before it had properly broken through to the mainstream. He was a counter-cultural force as embedded into Manchester culture as Coronation Street cobbles, Tony Wilson's ego and Bez's quivering maracas.

I'm Gen-X so I grew up without the internet. A shocking thought, I know. I relied on the radio to learn about all the cool new bops. Mainstream radio was pretty tofu, with ballads, AOR and pop factory piffle. Allan's riotous shows on Key 103 felt like a portal into something subversive, as if it was a private broadcast of all the stuff you weren't allowed to listen to.

Allan was one of the first UK DJs to play Chicago house music. It was the clattering rave tunes I remember best; this would have been my first exposure to it. Offensive beats, breath-taking energy, and a liberal sprinkling of hardcore daftness. All listened through a gauze of fuzz because our radio equipment was naff back then.

And there's more. We have Allan to thank for Voodoo Ray legend A Guy Called Gerald. Allan used to welcome Gerald 'Guy' Simpson onto his radio show as "a guy called Gerald from Hulme", and the nickname stuck.

"Stu was so important to 808 State when we were starting out," remembers Graham Massey on Twitter. "He was the first person we delivered our test pressings to. I remember me and Gerald taking a copy of Newbuild there on a Sunday night, and Gerald had been on his show earlier than that giving him his moniker."

The tributes continue: "He introduced me to more amazing music than I can remember," said Justin 'Lionrock' Robertson at the time of his passing. "His Bus Diss [Piccadilly Radio show] and his seamless house shows were my introduction to the sound of hip hop and house."

I should have written this tribute following his sad passing, which was three years ago today. But any time is a good time to ping his name back into the internetosphere, and to remember the legacy of a lad who started off my listening to John Peel play Grandmaster Flash at his childhood home on Anglesey, and ended up soundtracking a generation of ravers.

I would finish by posting a video by Clock, the Euro dance outfit formed by Allan, and whose best-known single is Whoomp! (There It Is). But even the earlier, slightly clubbier stuff is naff. Instead, I implore you to jump over to YouTube and search 'Stu Allan mix'. There's a tonne of his DJ stuff, and it's pretty fun.

Maybe the last word should go to Suddi Raval from Hardcore Uproar hitmakers Together. He posted the following on Twitter:

"I was only nine years old when my older brother played me Numbers by Kraftwerk! By ten, I'd heard so many incredible new romantic records, oblivious this music affecting me. At 12, New Order, electro & Herbie Hancock’s Rockit, then by 15, Stu Allen gave me house music and I was set for take off."

And that's how it works. Stu Allan the rocket man, propelling others into a universe of musical discovery. Never forgotten.

Further Fats: A massive cry-baby remembers John Peel (2010)

Further Fats: Fader strokers unite – some recommended compilation albums (2011)

Back with another one of those Grok-rockin' tweets

The other day, the UK government tested its national Emergency Alerts system. On a quiet Sunday afternoon, millions of mobile phones blared out a siren. The alert might be needed for real one day, in case of fire, flood or Taskmaster going off air.

This was, naturally, a chance for me to be silly. Shortly before the test alert was triggered, I posted this across my social media channels:

Reminder: At 3pm today, the Fat Roland alarm will go off. Please prepare by having to hand an egg whisk, two car manuals and a cone of marbles (medium). No further instructions will be given.

Arf! Silly post, a bit of fun, let's move on.

Except...

Twitter has an AI chatbot called Grok. It likes to go round explaining things as if we were little children. And yes, I'm calling the service Twitter because it's current name makes me, er, cross.

I asked Grok to analyse my Fat Roland alarm post. Actually, that's not quite true: it was less intentional than that. I pressed the little circle next to my post because I didn't know what the circle was, and suddenly Grok whirred into life.

Grok said: "The post by Fat Roland, a Manchester-based musician and writer known for quirky performances, likely hints at an avant-garde sound experiment, given his history with albums like Hounds of Hulme and ties to Electronic Sound, where the listed items (egg whisk, car manuals, marble cone) could serve as unconventional instruments."

Nope. Wasn't even thinking about music. I was picking things out of thin air. Egg whisk. Car manual. Marbles. I am not Delia Derbyshire; I am not found-sounding my way to legendary status. I'm just thinking "marbles" sounds funny here, so let's write that.

Grok continued: "No scientific studies directly apply, but the concept aligns with research on sound art, such as a 2019 study in the Journal of Sonic Studies, which explores how everyday objects enhance auditory creativity, suggesting Roland’s alarm might be a public art installation."

I have never worked in academia, but I'd imagine that response would strike a chord with lecturers marking student essays. "I have no basis for this, but here's something I reckon." Grok was now imagining me winning the Turner Prize for my sound sculpture, in a a devastating critique of the modern milieu lauded in broadsheet magazines everywhere.

Twitter's AI bot wasn't quite done with me yet. It had one final stretch to make, one more overreach to snap another twine of credibility:

"The timing, posted on September 7, 2025, at 11:51 UTC (3pm BST), coincides with global tensions from Israeli strikes in Doha reported on September 10, 2025, adding an ironic layer—could this be a subtle commentary on chaos amidst world events?"

Thanks for the long dash, Grok, that's so very AI of you. Turns out I'm commenting on Israel's genocide now. From avant-garde sound experimentation to an auditory art instillation to critiquing the collapse of world peace. All that from me finding the word "egg" funny, and deciding that "medium" in parenthesis was funnier that "large" or "small".

At the end of the analysis, Grok cited its sources. The first two links were a Roland synthesiser owner's manual and a manual for a rechargeable egg-beater whisk. So many manuals. Grok is your dad, sitting in his stew-stained armchair, paging through an old Haynes manual, flicking to a page all about sprockets, and deciding that am illustration of a Type B reboreable chain sprocket is a comment on the cost of living crisis.

I'd generate another Grok response, however I respect the environment, and encouraging AI data-mining is something that should be done sparingly, like switching off the hall light when not in use, or only flushing after a number two, or only burning tyres on a Sunday.

Further Fats: Totally gay for Scouting For Girls (2011)

Further Fats: Twitter – a pile of collapsed scaffolding populated by only bird crap and rats (2023)

Full-mast hysteria: waving the flag for electronic music

 

Everyone's getting their cummerbunds in a twist over flags. Racists brandish St George crosses, idiots vandalise mini-roundabouts, and union jack underpant sales have gone through the roof. Probably.

In an effort to reclaim the national debate, I have designed six flags dedicated to electronic music. Shall we plaster pubs in these emblems instead? Replace the UK national anthem with Ageispolis by Aphex Twin? Yes. Let's do that. If you're reading this, please make that happen, the King. 

The first flag I designed is a red-white-blue rendering of the Aphex Twin logo (see above). This feels very flaggy indeed, and could be a distant cousin of the flag of Laos or maybe North Korea.

However, there's a problem or two. There's too much flag about this flag. Electronic music should be more creative than this. And the existing Aphex logo is black and white, which are the flag colours of his native Cornwall. No, we can do better.

This is my flag design based on Leftfield's Leftism. The shark jaw is pretty intact, and the embedded camera is represented by a series of circles. You do get animals on real-world flags – Wales has a dragon and Bhutan has a, er, dragon – but bits of bones are less common. Should flags have teeth? Vexillum dentata?

A simple T. Or is it? This one breaks a cardinal rule of flags: no fades. However, the speaker design feels geometrically pleasing. The KLF were notorious for their flag-flying, banner-raising live performances, so this redesign of their 1991 album The White Room seems apropos. The flag of Mu Mu Land.

Here is a flag version of Autechre's Oversteps album.  I did consider the designs for their numerous NTS releases, which were plastered with brilliantly blocky Designers Republic fonts. But I couldn't resist this more basic artwork, which is, essentially, the Japan flag with all of its colour and joy removed. Very much like an Autechre live performance, in a good way.

It was either this or the brown album. One thing I've noticed about actual national flags is that the colours are often bold. Look at Bangladesh's contrasting eye-popper or Seychelles' vivid fan of fun. Eyes will certainly be popped with this flag, based on Orbital's green album (Orbital 1). This flag feels lickable, which is something I always look for when hoisting a banner. 

I was drawn to Man-Machine by Kraftwerk because of its colours, and the geometry of the album text in its upper corner. But how to represent the band itself? Four simple polygons. And what are flags other than an arrangement of polygons. The main down side of this one is that once you think it looks like Hitler, that's something you can't get out of your head. Dammit, that's ruined it. Shouldn't have said anything. Sorry.

Flags are not bad things. They're fun, and we all want to cling on to identity and community. But let's keep them fun: everyone loves a bit of bunting. However – and this is just a suggestion – maybe let's not use flags to cause division and intimidate the vulnerable. If you're using a flag as a weapon, you are the weapon.

Further Fats: Blowin' in the wings – why protest songs should return to centre stage (2009)

Further Fats: I'm too techno to be Brexit (2017)