Four years old, I was entranced, listening to it on repeat.
Next came Celine Dion's The Power of Love - not just the song - the whole album. Five years old, I'd sit at our brand spanking new stereo, headphones on, and at the top of my voice:
"The whispers in the morning, of lovers slee-eepin' tiiight ..."
Needless to say, I was far ahead of the curve when Dion shot to superstardom in 1997 with Titanic hit My Heart Will Go On. I'm telling you, it's not a patch on 1993's Everybody's Talkin' My Baby Down.
I still know the lyrics to the whole album, 29 years later. Fight me: it's a classic.
With that, I knew what I wanted to be. A pop star. I wanted to sing in arenas to sell-out audiences.
A few years later I built my own guitar. I use "guitar" loosely here. I hammered together splintery four-by-twos and strung some nylon across it with nails.
You have to start somewhere.
I roped my neighbours and cousin into starting a band. After much discussion, the name Sault was landed on. It was inspired by the surf shop Assault which was the height of cool in the 1990s in Mount Maunganui. We staged our first and only live performance in a carport.
Two family dogs formed a mildly engaged audience.
I'm reliably informed by the internet that there is now a relatively successful neo-soul band with that name, and I can only assume its members were inspired by our trailblazing performance. I expect a royalty cheque in the mail any day.
I'm a bit surprised they didn't approach me for the rights to play our lead single, Sexy Underwear, however. The real genius there was rhyming underwear with yeah, you see. It was edgy too, going on to say "you think you are so cool, posing in your ... oh yeah, yeah, sexy underwear".
Don't tell me that's not catchy.
If not that song, I would have thought they would have mooched around the b-side, Cameron, about a cat called Cameron.
My desire for pop stardom intensified at the rise of the three-piece boy band Hanson. If they could do it, so could I. To be fair, there isn't that much of a gulf between oh yeah, yeah, sexy underwear and MMMbop.
There was one big difference though.
I can't sing. At all. I can't even speak in tune, let alone sing.
A lot of people tell me, "oh everyone can sing, you just have to learn how to use the instrument".
Then they hear me attempt to sing.
It's not fair. I count among my cousins Aria-award-winning singers, chart-topping pop and country stars. Insane talents. But the gene ruthlessly completely skipped me.
I am grateful, however, that I know this. It would be far worse if I didn't. It's brutal, but it's pretty much because my parents let me know, as gently as they could. It's a fine line because it hurts at the time, but it is a kindness.
Sometimes you see parents push their children and promote them - especially through social media - when they really shouldn't, and I worry for those kids.
I thought pop star fame would help me be important and help my life have meaning. I think that's what motivates some of those stage parents, which at its core is genuine enough. But fame can be a destructive force, it takes away privacy. And there's nothing wrong with an ordinary, happy life.
I might not ever be a chart-topping success, but hey, I'll always have Celine, the carport and sexy underwear.
• Felix Desmarais is a journalist and mostly-former stand-up comedian who sold out very cheaply.
