From this little hitch, I have become a superbitch

Remember those glorious days when there was an actual, honest-to-goodness, global pop phenomenon? Screaming tweens and pop dolls; branding oblivion and universal media assent; the long parade of surprisingly good number ones and all the frenzy an evil pop svengali could ever hope for. It was called SpiceWorld for a reason – it really was theirs. And then the end was nigh…

While their collective output was widely known, the Spice solo spin-offs eventually drifted into British chart obscurity. Times changed, tween audiences were fickle, and when it came to the material itself, the nuanced change in direction those girls fought for in order to step away – however far – from their legacy was too much. Or maybe it wasn’t enough; the solo identities progressing much as you’d expect the branding meetings to decree. Sporty as rock chick. Baby as flirty poplette. Hardly a revolution.

But there were a few pop gems for those who could look past the terrible lead singles. Mel C’s “Goin’ Down” bursts from the MOR schlock of her debut album with vitriolic power and biting rage. The riffs are slow with intensity, while her treble-heavy vocal is shrill and hypnotic. This is sharp angles and shattered glass; a wail of revenge and deadly intent from a pop puppet who has finally slashed her strings.

Baby, on the other hand, could never edge that far into an expression of anger even after she traded in her derogatory moniker for a real name. So she maintained herself not as an actual being, but as a concept (beloved of men who found real women a truly terrifying proposition) and thus Emma Bunton’s “Maybe” is a flirty, floaty, blissful little bubble of 60’s-style pop. Complete with ‘ba ba ba baba’s and a strange slowed bridge, it’s breezy with blonde charm and careful innocence.

(Click here to buy Emma Bunton’s album, and here to for the Mel C record, both from Amazon UK.)