When Madonna’s 4 Minutes went to No 1 on both sides of the Atlantic this weekend, it marked her 23rd Top Ten single, her 13th No 1 and 25 years of Zeitgeist-bothering since she released Holiday in 1983.

Though she has been referred to habitually as “the Queen of Pop” since the mid-Eighties – when she first displayed her power by making a generation of women consider lace gloves, and ra-ra skirts over Capri pants, as legitimate pub-wear – I will personally spend hours explaining why she is still, fundamentally, underrated.

Pop is a genre of quantum rapaciousness. So fast is the turnover of ideas, so intense the images and so jaded the public’s palate, that one year at the top in pop is equal to three in rock’n’roll, where all one has to do is “be yourself”.

By this calculation, then, Madonna is enjoying her 75th anniversary of global supremacy, having lapped any putative contender for the throne (Cyndi Lauper, Björk, Kylie, Janet Jackson, Whitney Houston) long ago. Just the sheer effort that has gone into Madonna’s hair alone over the past 25 years is breathtaking. Bleach crop, blonde power-bob, Woodstock tousle, Elaine-from- Seinfeld perm for Like A Prayer – across the world there must be a trail of exhausted stylists, whispering “We could go ginger, with. . . a side-parting?” before fainting. Her nearest possible rival in widescreen pop reinvention is David Bowie, and he managed only 17 years (Space Oddity to Absolute Beginners.)

On the one hand, what Madonna has done in terms of being female, and a female artist, is astonishing. Although the benchmark for all achievements in pop music will probably always be the Beatles, in many ways, Madonna’s intentions and impact on Western culture have been bigger.

The Beatles, for instance, didn’t do it on their own. The Beatles didn’t do it in heels. The Beatles didn’t have to overcome 2,000 years of the patriarchy before they left the house every morning. And, even at their most sociopolitically daring, the Beatles never displayed half the balls that Madonna did between 1989 and 1990 – first screwing Pepsi over with Like A Prayer, where their $5 million endorsement deal effectively allied them to a video in which Madonna kissed a black, bleeding Christ in a field full of burning crosses, then releasing her Sex book, in which she admitted, against all the taboos of our culture, to having sex with the pitiable albino rapper Vanilla Ice.

But while Madonna’s socio/sexual/ political/cultural influence is gigantic, and intractably embedded in the literal and mental make-up of every Western woman over the age of 18 – just like Elvis is for the guys – Madonna’s prime purpose is, ultimately, pop music. In any given year, Madonna has worked as bellwether for the pop climate. Her imperial phase (1983-91) came when FM pop (Prince, Michael Jackson, Duran Duran) was at its peak. She went quiet during the years of grunge and Britpop then went on the ascendancy with Ray of Light in 1998, when she caught a new wave of dance-pop ideas from Daft Punk, Massive Attack, All Saints and Air.

This explains why, despite the single debuting at No 1, her new album, Hard Candy, has been received as second-rate. The charts are full of indie-rock, confessional singer-songwriters and diva chanteuses – nothing for Madonna to absorb and release there. Although the album will probably sell well, it is by no means the equal of, say, Confessions on a Dance Floor in 2005, one of the best of her career.

Now in her 75th pop year, Madonna is stopping, and catching her breath a bit. But let’s face it, on past performance, you wouldn’t bet against her kicking everyone’s arses again next year.

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