It was the album even my father attempted to disavow all knowledge of.

When one of my more flamboyant friends called to ask if he could borrow Madge's 1986 album from where I had left it at work, my Dad told him, jokingly, that in no uncertain terms did his son own "that album". He was right – it was actually my older brother's.

True Blue was my first, real encounter with the constantly evolving artist born Madonna Louise Ciccone, a musical love-affair that would last for the best part of two decades. Like a Virgin had somewhat passed me by and her deliberately provocative headline-making and relationship with acting enfant terrible Sean Penn didn't exactly endear her to me. But that was before I heard True Blue, a nine-track masterpiece that became a soundtrack to my early teenage years and near daily runs around the hills of Dunedin.

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Hardly anyone shares my enthusiasm for True Blue as Madonna's Magnum Opus. Most prefer Virgin, Like a Prayer, Ray of Light and Music. At the time of its release, my mates were extolling the virtues of Bon Jovi's Slippery When Wet, The Beastie Boys' Licence to Ill or Queen's A Kind of Magic (or Paul Simon's Graceland and The Smiths' The Queen is Dead, if they had more hip, esoteric leanings), so I confined my tastes purely to my Walkman headphones and on the stereo at home.

Looking back in 2003, Slant magazine's Sal Cinquemani described at as "the most-dated of Madonna's albums", one home to "some of her biggest clunkers". And I'll concede That Jimmy, Jimmy and Where's the Party? aren't exactly shining examples of Madonna's finest four minutes.

Madonna's True Blue was first released in 1986.

However, the rest is a perfect showcase of the diverse musical styles and memorable lyrics that the young Italian-American artist was able to muster. And yes it helped immensely that most of them also boasted music videos with intriguing narratives, eclectic hairstyles and generally eye-catching visuals that matched what Madonna was signing about.

Three decades on, Papa Don't Preach still feels anthemic and a cultural touchstone (even if I now wait in dread for the day my Tween daughter quotes the lyrics back at me), with its opening staccato string-arrangement, plaintive lyrics and the Danny Aiello-starring video, which also had our heroine sporting a stunning gamine blonde crop.

Likewise, Open Your Heart is a heart-skipping, joyous song, full of life and with a slightly naughty video to match (at least it was when I was 12) – plus Madonna rocks a cool hat.

It helped immensely that most of True Blue's songs also boasted music videos with intriguing narratives, eclectic hairstyles and generally eye-catching visuals that matched what Madonna was signing about.

La Isla Bonita, while not quite the Despacito of its day, certainly had the same allure of exotic lyrics and sultry sounds, while Live to Tell is a heart-rending and haunting ballad that Madonna tried to recapture a few times later in her career (This Used to Be My Playground, Take a Bow) without exactly the same kind of impact.

For me though, the crowning glory of True Blue is the title track. A toe-tapping 1950s-inspired ditty, it is simply pop-song confection perfection.

Boasting an upbeat tempo, filled with hooks and eminently sing-a-longable, it can still brighten the mood of even the most trying day.