Shall we get the pop predictions for this year out of the way first? Taylor Swift will continue to conquer the world; the charts will continue their descent into meaninglessness; some long-forgotten group or style will become inexplicably popular because kids use it to soundtrack their TikTok videos. There. That’s the coming year taken care of. And how did the old one wrap up? With a week of gigs in the run-up to Christmas that was so overloaded it was impossible to get to them all.

That still left plenty of treats, though, beginning with Jockstrap. The band was joined on stage by strings, a percussionist, a soprano, as well as someone on stilts dressed up as a monster straight from the props cupboard of Terry Nation-era Doctor Who. This was the first of three consecutive nights that offered three visions of what English – and I mean English, rather than British – pop is and can be.

At times it could be confusing and overwhelming – but it was exhilarating, too

Jockstrap – singer/guitarist Georgia Ellery and keyboard player/programmer/producer Taylor Skye – are a group who see possibility in everything: four-to-the-floor rave, finger-picked folk songs, big ballads. The song ‘What’s It All About?’ would fit comfortably on a Radio 2 playlist. The closing track, ‘50/50’, which is all glitchy electronics, was more second hour of John Peel with the headphones on.

The duo exemplify a pop trait that’s much more common here than across the Atlantic: the notion that having good ideas counts for an awful lot more than musical or melodic proficiency. That’s not to say Jockstrap are musically or melodically incompetent – two sold-out nights at the Barbican reflected the fact they have captured imaginations over the past year – more that they refuse to sit still, not just from song to song but within each track. At times it could be confusing and overwhelming – just give me five minutes to catch my breath! – but it was exhilarating, too.

Madness have become a part of the fabric of Christmas through the simple strategy of touring every December for the party crowd (something Gary Glitter used to do too – but best not to dwell on that). These days they’re routinely compared with the Kinks for those kitchen-sink songs about growing up in north London (not, it must be pointed out, the north London of the liberal elites, but the north London of shoplifting and bunking trains). But there’s another reason to compare the two groups. The 1960s British beat boom was based on groups taking an older form from across the Atlantic – in that case R&B – and transforming it lyrically and sonically. Which is precisely what Madness did, too, albeit with Ska. They made the ‘chicka-chick’ – say it out loud, briskly, and you’ll know the distinctive sound – of Ska as redolent of Kingston-upon-Thames as it is of Kingston, Jamaica.

So party hats on and hits ahoy, right? Not quite, because Madness had a really pretty good album out in the autumn. Their singer, Suggs, told me earlier in the year that the band had been arguing about the Christmas setlists – about how many new songs should feature – and the wrong side won. Nine of the first 17 songs came from Theatre of the Absurd Presents C’est La Vie, the new record, and good though they are, there was a continual sense of momentum being sapped. It was, very much, ‘one for us, one for you’ when ‘one for us, two for you’ would have been more appealing.

But when they reached a run of five songs to finish the main set – starting with ‘One Step Beyond’ and ending with ‘It Must Be Love’ – all was forgiven. That latter song, which was originally by Labi Siffre, has assumed something of the status of ‘Hey Jude’ for music fans too young for the Beatles: it’s part of the consciousness, and to hear 20,000 people singing along to such a simple message was deeply and unexpectedly moving.

And finally, to Suede, who sit in a third school of English pop: the glamourisers of squalor. Like Madness, they had an album out recently. And like Madness, they played most of it during their live show. This time, though, it worked rather better. The four albums they’ve made over the past decade, since reuniting, have been the equal of the ones that made their name – itself quite extraordinary – and they blended in rather better with the older songs than Madness’s new ones did.

Brett Anderson’s voice was a little rough to start, but it lost its edge as the set progressed. At 56 he remains a remarkable frontman, plunging into the middle-aged crowd during ‘The Drowners’, and shimmying, shaking and shuddering his way through the rest. His crisp white shirt was soaked through in under ten minutes, clinging to his body. My wife gazed up at him besottedly – and she was not alone. What a great band they are.