We see them outside our office, angry people carrying pitchforks, torches, and signs that say “Limey Go Home.” Someone from Votefortheworst.com is at the front. People are jumping on the “American Idol”-bashing bandwagon left and right. And frankly, we’re tempted to join them.

But not quite yet.

Yes, we’re still mad as hell that “the public” chose Blake Lewis and Jordin Sparks over the clearly superior Melinda Doolittle. I, for one, have stopped watching the show after last season’s finale, and I’m pretty sure that if Mike Farley didn’t have to blog it for us, he would have stopped watching too after Mindy Doo’s ouster. Not good timing, then, for Randy Jackson’s Music Club Vol. I, where the onetime Journey bassist plays Clive Davis for a day and assembles a compilation album filled with the top of the pops. His leadoff single – whether he wanted it to be or not – is fellow “AI” judge Paula Abdul and her song “Dance Like There’s No Tomorrow.” It’s her first single in 12 years. Things have, um, changed a little since then. How will she adapt?

Much to my surprise, rather well.

Adbul only had a couple of really killer singles – “Knocked Out,” “The Way That You Love Me” and “Cold Hearted” were my personal favorites – so to compare this to the rest of her work is pointless; most of that stuff just wasn’t very good. This song isn’t great either, but it’s also not exactly terrible, which Paula should take as a major victory. Even more surprising is the video, which features some of the neatest choreography I’ve ever seen. The whole singer/backing dancer stuff has been done to death, but Paula does something different here. Most of the time, they move like a single organism. It’s pretty damn cool.

The other two set pieces, however, do not fare so well. The shots of her with the band look laughably inauthentic. They’re clearly here so Randy can pluck a little bass, but there is just no way those musicians are making the sound we’re hearing (especially that ridiculous drummer). The other set piece is a close-up of Paula in what appears to be a wind tunnel with red drapes. She’s always looking to the left and right of the camera, as if she’s forgotten the lyrics and she’s trying to find the teleprompter. Not her best money shot.

But still, we had every reason to expect something as god-awful as that Gwen Stefani yodeling song, and Paula delivered something that, if not genre-busting, is better than it has a right to be. So good for her. I’m still not watching “American Idol,” though.