Watching the whole YouTube clip – a gross buddy-to-buddy pre-amble with Clarkson, the mild xenophobia, fast laps and subsequent apoplexy – the puzzling mysteries of Jay Kay seem to dissolve, revealing a wanker. Then, you let the next YouTube video auto-play, and it's "Virtual Insanity". It's complex, groovy, catchy – that's a good song, right? There must be more to Jay Kay than meets the eye. Then you pay more attention. You hear the words, "Now there is no sound / for we all live underground" – a phrase that doesn't mean anything. You scroll his Wikipedia page; see he once lived in squats, is said to have been stabbed and you think yes, that is an impressive place for such an impressive career to have been launched from. Then you picture him frothing "good job my boys aren't here" through a bloodied nose, separated by a hotel lobby window's glass from the face of the paparazzi who has just head-butted him. This rally continues, until you give up, realising the whole thing is pointless.