Jeff Lynne is one of Britain’s greatest songwriters and deserves a knighthood

I really never thought I’d write the above words about the amiable bearded Brummie pop maestro – but, just as time has revealed that Disco and not Punk was King in the ‘70s, so it’s now possible to look back at the decade and realise that Lynne was probably the best British songwriter of that era and that, as a pop act, the Electric Light Orchestra is right up there with ABBA.

I’ll admit that I tried for years to suppress my enthusiasm for ELO. The music press were telling me that their records were derivative and meretricious and over-produced and displayed not the slightest hint of political consciousness. The sort of people amongst my contemporaries who were expressing enthusiasm for ELO were straight out of Abigail’s Party – next, I’d be enjoying Demis Roussos and Gilbert O'Sullivan.

Let’s face it, I was being a raging snob. I almost emerged from the closet when I read a quote from John Lennon towards the end of his life. He was asked what the Beatles would have sounded like if they’d still been together: “Listen to ELO” was his reply. (Fittingly, when the three other moptops got together in 1994 to turn a scrappy John Lennon demo into a full-blown Beatles number, they asked Lynne to produce it – he’d already worked with George Harrison on solo LPs and the Travelling Wilburys.) But then our Jeff did a truly horrible job producing Dave Edmunds’ worst album, the synth-drenched Information in 1983, and I promptly stepped back into the closet and stayed there until the Wilburys came along.

But refusing to admit my secret love was frustrating, because, with the notable exception of "Xanadu", their collaboration with Olivia Newton John, there wasn’t one of their heyday singles that I didn’t enjoy. Their ridiculously rifftastic rockers, in particular, were simply magnificent: "Hold on Tight", "Do Ya", "Rock and Roll is King", "Rockaria!", "Four Little Diamonds", "Ma Ma Belle" and the deeply wonderful and endlessly-sampled "Don’t Bring Me Down" (see above) – hell, any of those come on while you’re on the motorway, and you’re doing 100 in no time. (I even enjoyed their version of "Roll Over Beethoven", which is borderline sacrilegious.)

As for the poppier stuff, the more melodic, bouncier fluff and the slower pop anthems designed to sung along to in raucous drunken voices by naff people in naff clothes towards the end of naff parties in naff suburbs in naff provincial cities – they were great too! "Turn to Stone", "Livin’ Thing", "Evil Woman", "Telephone Line", "Mr Blue Sky", "Sweet Talkin Woman", "Wild West Hero", "Shine a Little Love" and the sublime "All Over the World" (see below) – yes, I feel vaguely dirty when I listen to these tracks, but that doesn’t stop me loving them. I felt especially disgusted with myself when, in the late '90s, I finally succumbed and bought a double-CD of ELO’s greatest hits one lunchtime in Covent Garden. I slunk out of the store as if exiting a porn cinema.

The hell with it. No other British songwriter – or producer –  has created as many truly memorable singles in the past 40 years. And that’s not even counting the Wilburys’ tracks, all of which Lynne had a hand in writing and producing. (One might be able to make a case for Nick Lowe - but I'll leave that particular argument for another day.)

For further proof, head for the BBC iPlayer and a rather charming documentary about this unassuming and immensely likable chap (which can be found here, if you’re in the UK – apologies if you’re not).

I can almost hear those words now: "Arise, Sir Jeffrey - shame about the '80s perms and  that awful Dave Edmunds album, but, nevertheless, thanks for all the great tunes and the harmless, good-natured fun."