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Has it happened to you? It has to me.

Some rip-roaringly overconfident young person will announce that he has just discovered a new singer. “Some guy named Paul McCartney,” he will proclaim. “I hear he played in a band back in the day.”

Or maybe it’ll be “some guy” named Fats Domino or Buddy Holly, both huge stars in the 1950s. Today’s kids prove two very old truths: Yesterday’s pop music truly was better than today’s, and ancient history for today’s youth begins sometime in 2017.

Were all oldies goodies? Many were. But I recently revisited a gut-churning exception.

I hereby nominate it as the worst rock and roll song ever written or recorded. Title: “Black Denim Trousers and Motorcycle Boots.”

It was foisted upon us in 1955 by a group called The Cheers. It rocketed to number six on the hit-parade charts before plummeting right back down, to highly deserved oblivion.

The song tells the tale of a motorcycle enthusiast who sported the attire of the title. Of course, he had a girlfriend. Of course, she had a mighty bad premonition about his plans to ride one night. Of course, he collided with a diesel and was rubbed out.

All together, now: Mawkish, maudlin, mind-numbingly predictable. As for the tune, the less said, the better.

I hadn’t thought about the song — or, mercifully, heard it — in 69 years. But there I was beside my wife, as we rolled south on U.S. 101 during a recent trip to California. When I saw the little roadside sign that identified the road we were on, the song popped into my head.

I started to sing…

He wore black denim trousers and motorcycle boots

And a black leather jacket with an eagle on the back

He had a hopped-up cycle that took off like a gun

That fool was the terror of Highway 101

Why were those lyrics locked somewhere inside my white-topped head? Why had I memorized them when I was still a wee lad? Why hadn’t I realized then — as I do now — that the song wasn’t danceable, or particularly singable, or at all memorable?

And yet…Two cheers for The Cheers. They were never heard from again. Who could be surprised?

So, as we approached Los Angeles, and I hadn’t seen a single hopped-up cycle amid all the SUVs and Teslas, my wife asked an excellent question:

If “Black Denim Trousers” is the worst 1950s rock song ever recorded, which is the best?

I cogitated. I caressed the steering wheel with total concentration. Finally, I announced my choice:

“Only You” by The Platters.

If you’ve never had the pleasure, this is a ballad sung by lead vocalist Tony Williams. He’s backed by three men and a woman. They offer up five-part harmony throughout, and lyrics that dance with originality.

Only you, can make this world seem bright

Only you, can make the darkness bright

And in a later stanza:

Only you, can make this change in me

For it’s true, you are my destiny

Not quite poetry, but pretty close. As for the melody, it’s catchy and utterly singable. I haven’t showered in a month without hitting the highest C.

Best of all, “Only You” doesn’t try to clobber you with a back beat or a throbbing bass. It’s lyrical. It’s light. It’s inviting. It’s inventive.

And it conjures memories.

I barely remember the girl’s name, but I certainly remember the host who plopped “Only You” onto his record player at a party in late 1955.

The girl and I started to dance. I pulled her close. A ham then — and yes, a ham still — I whispered in her ear: “Only you.”

She thanked me. But then she said she wouldn’t kiss me no matter what.

I can’t blame The Platters for that misfortune. But I can say to any youngster reading this:

Give “Only You” a listen. Then give “Black Denim” a listen. You will learn the true meaning of musical bookends.

Bob Levey is a national award-winning columnist.