We live in revisionist times. The term "r 'n' b" seems to have been wrenched away from multiple generations of venerable African-American combos permutating vocals, horns, guitar and piano; these days to serve the needs of an army of computerised-backbeat-supported Beyonce clones. Likewise pop; for me, this was always catchy songs played by guitar bands, but I reckoned without the march of Stock, Aitken and Waterman and their natural sons and heirs on the likes of the X-Factor; I mean, I suppose it's catchy of a fashion, but then again so is smallpox and that's why nobody's allowed it out of a test tube for years.

Which brings me to a proper band. A band that ruined my university dissertation. As they were once rather embarrassingly introduced onstage at the old Wembley Stadium by Gary Davies, "a band who come from Pleasanton, California". Jellyfish.

Jellyfish was built on the core of two self-confessed jazz snobs who met in high school; singer/drummer Andy Sturmer, and keyboardist/backing singer Roger Manning. Fortunately that love of jazz doesn't manifest itself in the Jellyfish oeuvre; all is crunchy and concise, rather than "hey Andy, you take a ten minute drum solo here, ok?". Originally members of a new-wave band signed to Atlantic named Beatnik Beatch, Andy and Roger kept their deal when the band broke up, and started to work on their new project, eventually christened Jellyfish because it was the only name that neither of them hated.

Acquiring a hugely gifted guitarist/backing singer, Jason Falkner, along the way (a man who amazingly narrowly missed out on being a member of New Kids On The Block) and moving labels when their A&R man was fired by Atlantic, the band hired Albhy Galuten to produce. The fact that this is the man who produced most of the Bee Gees' Saturday Night Fever-era output is telling, not so much in that it sounds like a disco record (it doesn't), rather it shows that the band aren't ashamed of the things they like (and nor should they be). With the record finished, Roger's brother Chris was drafted in as bassist (actually credited as "bassist, band witch-doctor and mime"), and the band were set.

Chris amplified one of the dimensions that Jellyfish are most remembered for; their dress sense. Once memorably described as "making Deee-Lite look like Van Morrison", Jellyfish live were a riot both musically and visually. The musicianship was formidable (the sight of Sturmer playing stand-up drums while singing lead remains etched in my mind 14 years on, and they are the finest four-part harmony singers I've ever heard on stage), and the clothes were the kind of flammable fabrics straight out of the locker room at Willy Wonka's factory.

And of course, there was a record to promote. And for a while, the industry thought that said record, "Bellybutton", would jump the band straight into the big leagues.

The album rather bravely opens with "The Man I Used To Be", a lamentful message from a father to a son in waltz time. A bit of a red herring too; most of the rest of the record is uptempo. There are outright rockers of varying degrees of urgency (from the slow "She Still Loves Him" to the frantic "All I Want Is Everything"), a slow psychedelic number ("Bedspring Kiss") and a couple of songs that sound alarmingly like Supertramp ("That Is Why" and "Calling Sarah").

But a band that does catchy pop-rock songs lives or dies by the singles, and "Bellybutton" contains four zingers. "Now She Knows She's Wrong" is a harpsichord-driven-thing that was the centrepiece of their "Scary-Go-Round" EP (a Christmas record released in July; they were that kind of band). "I Wanna Stay Home" is a song much covered since; a gorgeous piano ballad with a lovely trippy trumpet solo. "Baby's Coming Back" is a straightahead catchy verse-chorus-verse three minute precis of the band, with a hugely amusing and comically dated Hanna Barbara cartoon video. Pride of place though must go to "The King Is Half-Undressed", a show-stopping rocker with a chorus so enormous you could probably park an aircraft carrier on it; it remains a mystery that a song so loved by everyone who heard it managed to reach a mere no.39 in the Top 40.

Obviously, with so much going for them, how could they possibly succeed? Well, they didn't. They recorded another album, "Spilt Milk" which is just as good (but with a new guitarist and bassist), before splitting up. And my dissertation? Well, I saw them live in 1993 in Cambridge, and they were so loud and I was so "at the front smack next to the speakers" that I couldn't hear properly for days; as I gave my presentation on "fractal behaviour in iterative systems" the following day, every question from the panel got the response of "I'm sorry; can you speak up?" from the utterly blocked presenter.

It's tempting to think that the lesson to be drawn from Jellyfish's career is "don't bother being any good". But that would be cynical; I prefer to think that it's a warning never to let Gary Davies introduce you on stage. After all, the other acts upon whom he bestowed the honour that day in 1991 (Hothouse Flowers, remember them? Roachford? Deborah (as she was at the time) Harry? Jesus Jones? And the headliners, INXS) don't seem to have been anything other than cursed in the immediate aftermath.

But if you want a pop classic lost to the mists of time, check them out. Try to pick up the Special Edition of the album featuring five bonus live tracks, as sometimes the live versions considerably outstrip the studio counterparts.

Speaking of outstripping, the cover art features a naked model strategically daubed with dayglo acryllic paint. Just in case anyone needed any more incentive.