PICK ON SOMEBODY YOUR OWN SIZE
Let’s think of some small things. The profits that the Poptones label made in its first year. The amount of emotion the Pet Shop Boys pour into every one of their songs. The number of times Slade or Prince actually spelt things properly in their record titles. Now think of something even smaller. That’s right, you’ve just thought of Kylie Minogue.
Somehow Kylie is held up as all that is good and decent in the pop world these days. All on the strength of having been around for fourteen years and apparently not ageing. It was this kind of thinking that let Cliff Richard have a career for so long. From soap star to pop diva, Kylie’s career is a catalogue of wretchedness so unspeakable I’m sure it is shelved next to the Necromonicon in the British Library. Even when “Indie-Kylie” flopped we never got rid of the antipodean munchkin.
The warning signs were there, with her perky post-Neighbours tomboy efforts with that staple of the zimmer-framed party set The Locomotion. See how the irony dripped from her voice as she sang “Everybody’s doing a brand new dance now”. It wasn’t even new when Little Eva did it twenty years before. Chugga chugga motion is the oldest dance in the crap dancing book. She obviously had that special kind of talent that appealed to Pete Waterman (like the special kind of songwriting skills Status Quo had) and what followed was slab after slab of (if only) forgettable pop. It was during this period that Kylie appeared in what are critically assumed to be the worst two Christmas Number Ones ever: Band Aid 2 and Especially For You. And critics like music. Imagine what I think of these two stinkers.
Oh, but what is this. Pop Kylie becomes Dance Kylie become Sex Kylie. Spare me the pop chameleon routine, its pop desperation. Obviously taking the lyrics to Better The Devil You Know too seriously (in being diabolical) for some reason her audience also stuck with these fickle changes in image. Though what is sexy about a midget is something which I believe can only be answered by the patrons of the Dwarf Porn Bar in Bangkok. I at least liked the idea of Confide In Me – though I daresay what I was going to confide in her with was naughty in a wholly different way to the one she imagined. She was thinking slap and tickle, I was thinking more punch and tie to a concrete block pitched into the Tasmanian Sea.
How disappointed do you think I was when Nick Cave – that eternal tease – sang about bumping Kylie off and then shagged her instead. Its a sad day when even the dark lords of pop cannot be trusted. Instead she tried to commit suicide – of a career variety – by working with the Manic Street Preachers. At least The Impossible Princess had the right title. It would be impossible for Kylie to be a princess, as princesses are gracious, respectable and admired by all. The only thing admired by all about Kylie is her arse – and even then only if you have a magnifying glass. She was so desperate to be as influential as Madonna that she even had to continue her crap acting career.
I thought it was all over after Indie Kylie, but some fool gave her a new song to tempt me with more fantasies. Spinning Around – I’d put her in a blindfold, spin her around and let her loose in a minefield. Frankly you are getting a bit to old for this stuff love. And now winning two Brit awards? I fear foul play here. Of course we can’t get you out of our head Kylie, you are small enough to climb into our ears and brainwash us into liking you. Which is why I sleep with ear plugs in. So I never have to hear her again.
I should be so lucky.