The year was 1997. No longer a mere elementary school student, I felt it was my responsibility to advance past Top 40 radio pop to more "mature" sounds. Thus, I swore allegiance to Metallica, Pantera and other aggressors.

The year was 1997. No longer a mere elementary school student, I felt it was my responsibility to advance past Top 40 radio pop to more "mature" sounds. Thus, I swore allegiance to Metallica, Pantera and other aggressors.

Of course, anyone raised on pop music never truly abandons pop music, so I still had plenty of encounters with WNCI, especially when I was with my family. (For some reason they never cared much for "Cowboys from Hell.")

I remember riding in the backseat of my dad's minivan pretending not to sing along to "Show Me Love," the breakthrough single by a Swedish teenager named Robyn. I had seen the video on MTV (ha!) or maybe VH1 (HA!) and was slightly unsettled by her bizarre haircut and weird fashion sense.

The music, though, was pure pop perfection. "Show Me Love" and follow-up hit "Do You Know (What It Takes)" surged with unforgettable melody and hip-hop bounce. Her singing was as soulful and direct as any good diva, bolstered by a unique charisma that confounded my seventh-grade brain.

Despite my best efforts, I could not resist her charms. I think I even checked her album "Robyn Is Here" out from the library, much to my dismay.

Then she disappeared. Despite continuing to make hits overseas, Robyn's next two albums weren't released in the U.S. Though I later came to reject my undercooked anti-pop ethics, by the time I would have allowed myself to fully enjoy Robyn, I had forgotten about her.

She swung back into my life in 2005, when, out of nowhere, I began reading impassioned reviews of her self-titled fourth album. Critics raved about a quirky, captivating personality performing next-level pop songs.

Music criticism had already undergone its pro-pop makeover, and I was skeptical that writers were heralding Robyn because she appealed to both that new pop-friendly ethic and the "we had it first" mentality that ramped up in the blog era.

She became a critical sacred cow so quickly that I figured the hype must be inflated. So I didn't download the album. When it finally reached these shores in 2008, I continued to ignore it. Ditto to the trilogy of "Body Talk" albums she released throughout 2010.

It was a stubborn position. It was also a stupid position.

I realized my error when I saw Robyn perform last summer at the Pitchfork Music Festival in Chicago. This woman was a born star - a cult star, perhaps, but a star nonetheless - and everything about her show was a delight, from her tweaked-out dance moves to her infectious hooks to her band's throbbing disco rave-ups.

So you better believe I'll be there Tuesday when Robyn stalks the stage at the LC. You'd be wise to show up too. Don't be a fool like I was and keep trying to resist her inevitable pull.