Joan Rivers Is Looking A Bit Rough

You would never know this one had a song called Breathe once upon a time, performing her new single in America was a tough exercise for face-lift addict Kylie Minogue, whose pressence is admittedly magnificent here but she falls short of oxygen, whilst barely standing on her own two feet for any duration, and can't manage one full chorus without sounding like nails are being hammered into one's ears. Seriously, I just love this song and there are not many even half as good on that album where each are seemingly botoxed into the same tired expressions over and over again.

Kylie Minogue - Aphrodite

Collagen-clogged cougar queen Kylie hits her MOR Hi-HRT chaffing stride on her latest campaign to stop Dannii's imminent world domination, entitled Aphrodite, with imagery suggesting Rita Hayworth as the 'Godess of song and dance' in 1947s Down To Earth. Whilst the waxed n' botoxed-scrotum face is certainly a tryer, with a voice like pins-and-needles she promotes the sensation of wanting to thump your foot off the floor when you 'can't beat the feeling' of bad circulation. I almost don't know what to write about this piss poor album: with glossy production lubrication courtesy - mostly - of Stuart Price, it is like dipping mouldy toast into honey and expecting the intense sweetness to disguise the fungus it is smothering. But here goes, gays...

Above: BraveKylie can't quite pull off the classic DanniiRoadkill pose even if her creativity has at least been dead since 1991.

It's no surprise she chose to finally come clean about her addiction to gangbangs (with those nostrils she can fit more in than a 5 story car park), and her confessional orgy anthem All The Lovers ripples with warm currents and is an all over sensation of going into a choma, but my guess is that an ice pack would feel better. Maybe her youthful puffiness is down to all those facials, no wonder it is always so shiny and sore looking.

Above: Time for a facial, anyone?

Love At First Injection soundalike Guetta Outta My Way has that new-day/new-start freshness feel, or maybe she just really needs the toilet, who knows? In such blithe panic Kylie has the (swollen) cheek to bark 'I don't recognise the zombie you're turning into' - with one skin peel away from turning into an onion, I would say it must have been hard for her to have delivered that line with a straight face. Oh. A gutsy finish surely solidifies this song's pert position for single #2.

Above: younger sister Dannii's eternal beauty has literally left Kylie hung out to dry.

The mild sweatless disco fizz of Put Your Hands Up froths up with even less calories than Coke Zero, and if 90s festival rumours are to be believed Kylie is never one for zero coke on cock. Actually that was Dannii, but nevermind. Dark orchestra shadows can't quite polish a turd, and I'd rather do a Dannii at Glastonbury than pretend I am a rubbish gay by insisting on enjoying this crap. Music for Bodypump classes, she can't even get her Olivia Newton-John on right.

Above: More clamy than a marathon runners you-know-what pouch, Kylie perfects her 'so damned bionic' strained wrinkle-free grimace.

The haunting Closer begins beautifully with some kind of blissfull damp-battery alarm sounds and a spiralling sense of botched plastic surgery realisation. Kylie is obviously alarmed as she hates for the camera to come any closer than 100 metres these days. Maybe it's about her biological clock, or perhaps it's her sat-nav as she drives to her local sperm bank or fertility hospital.

Kylie is clearly still high on painkillers and yet to unwrap the bandages off her face if she wants to insist Everything Is Beautiful. The tragic pathos stretches the concept of Kylie being a good pop star even tighter than her right eyebrow. 'I hear what I want to hear' ain't even half of it.

Gold rush Hollaback Girl tribute Aphrodite is almost a euphoric revelation in such stagnant company, and with more bulge than her forehead the track oozes an atypical excitement for a whole minute and a half until it starts going nowhere new: 'I was gone and now I'm back' is her defining moment. Enjoying the high, she loosens her inhibitions and finally admits she likes watersports.

Above: A surgical-facade sheilds an increasingly distressed Donatella Versace who is said to have turned to drugs and even forced anorexia onto her own daughter in order to shock Kylie into ditching her beloved botox, and is close to breaking point according to Dannii Minogue who rolled her eyes and begged 7digital to allow international 'fans' to knab her visibly much older sister a number one more fixed than the It's No Secret singer's forehead.

The musky Light Years-esque backing vocals on Illusion spritz a subtle cocktail of self-awareness: sultry silliness, me lykie. The line-dancer esteem of Better Than Today is ironically the one you'd think Jake Shears helped co-write, but Kylie's relentless child prostitute vocals hardly pass for the bravado such honky tonk requires.

The septic-necessity of the lethally throbbing Too Much Skin (I Want Rid - Book Me In, Big Willy, Thanks Darling) jabs me sharper than a routine botox top-up and flares up wider than her nostrils.

Above: Just a lift away from enering the Grand National, Kylie's Impossible Princess anthem Say Neigh is a favourite of commedien Joan Rivers.

Try-hard electro-dribbler Cupid Boy shoots blanks. About as appealing as stepping bare foot on a used condom. The thick thunderstorm of uninspiring Luciana try-hardness isn't my cup of tea or even Kylie's syringe of organic community trade collagen, sounding like Lisa Scott-Lee having a never-or-now attempt at copying a Vetrtigo remix of Holly Vallance circa 2002.

Above: Do you 'nose' Kylie's favourite crisp? Crinkle-cut of course.

Dannii tribute Looking For An Angel is at least a bit 'more'. The sprouting strings give her some air to breathe - something that's hard to do when you can't move your face.

Above: Ever since Ally McBeal, expression-hungry Kylie hasn't looked back or been able to without spinning around.

Soaking up her influences like one of Kelly Llorenna's used tampons floating in a blocked toilet, the much hyped closer Can't Beat The Feeling amazingly features a writing credit from none other than Richard X. Fucking hell, she must have botoxed his eyeballs to get him to agree to it if this is the resulting poor man's Jentina version of a Daft Punk finale.

Below: A surgically-smug Madonna sent rival Kylie a boquet of needles to thank the Australian for making her look good for the first time since Bo Selecta.

Verdict:
A sad echo of past glories with faint traces of inspiration sweating from the gaping pores of only a few numbers. A Somalian's water bottle has more juice. She might look like Elton John face-painted his scrotum, but girl knows how to churn out mediocre trash and make it seem somehow decent in spite of her flaws.

6.8/10

Kylie's Still A Makeshift Madge

Like pus oozing from a 'sore bit', Kylie's All The Lovers video has leaked onto the net. It'a not giving me a full facial of anything other than boredom - I guess Kylie's addiction to bukkake doesn't translate into the innocent sexiness she was hoping for. It's damn right dull, no wonder she has to botox her right eyebrow halfway up her forehead against Dannii's advice. Girl's love blender must be the size of the pacific coast highway after filming wrapped. Stodgy disco.

Kylie Minogue Premiers New Single

With a voice that sounds like hissing botox and face resembling a waxed pig's scrotum with fillers injected, Kylie has officially premiered her new single - it is called All The Lovers incase anyone missed the invite to test it out, and is bloody nice except all that is missing is a bit of push. Speaking of deliveries, sister Dannii's contractions are going to have more euphoria. Don't get me wrong, I am actually impressed but it's no Better The Devil You Know, although the track does swim in a lush electro pool and ripples ever so elegantly. I don't know why she sings with an English accent though, what's that all about?

Kylie's Dyson-Nostrils Must Be Stopped

Selfless Kylie has once again put her fans health and safety before her own interests: in a massive blow to Parlophone's marketing plan to erect a series of billboards to promote her latest attempt to exploit gays by releasing a whole album of dance music, Minogue has put a stop to any image of her face being any bigger than a standard TV screen - it is a well known fact that if any larger than 100x100cm, images of the singer have resulted in numerous disappearances of thousands of homosexuals (the sheer vacuum of Minogue's triangular nostrils famously have the snorting capacity to empty entire stadiums - why else do you think it looked as if no one attended Dannii's Unleashed tour?).

She Bangs!

Kylie's gargantuan quest to upstage Dannii's pregnancy continues as she literally goes through 'all the lovers' at one of her weekly clusterfucks in LA whilst pretending to shoot a music video for her single, also called All The Lovers (good save, Kylie), which she wrote merely as a daily schedule until it accidentally turned into a dance song when she realised there were no more Dannii b-sides to rip off.

Kylie Minogue - Impossible Princess

Impossible Princess is Kylie Minogue's most interesting album - of course it is, after all it is possibly the only one that challenges people to like her for reasons beyond a pleasing smile and an intrusive disco beat.

At the time of it's release, the album's first single Some Kind of Bliss was an obsession of mine - those divine strings, guitar raunch, the white trash video and femme fatale ginger dye job, not to mention Kylie's most atypically let-go vocals of all time (she wasn't trying to sound like an underage prostitute as she has done on her albums from Fever onwards). The song slipped somewhere between motown and post-punk British indie, and the singer was dubbed 'IndieKylie' well before the 'AmazinglyShit Spice' hoolah was injected into the eyes of Smash Hits readers.

She talked up Breathe on BBC1's Live & Kicking to presenter Zoe Ball as 'the first dance single' (I knew to laugh even back then, before the album was released for some reason), and indie hack and cheap wine voiceover granny Jo Whiley sarcastically boasted that Kylie simply 'got cooler every year' when introducing the thorn on Dannii's side on Top of The Pops. Don't blame me either, but Kylie was on the way out despite 3 of her most vivid, fascinating and tempestuous singles to date - none of which cracked the UK's top ten.

Opener Too Far is clumsy and impulsive, rather like Cyndi Lauper's slicker and more Cher-ified Higher Plane. The celtic-country tinge of Cowboy Style was a mooted Australian-only release. The sinister pride of final international single Did It Again is so deliciously pissed off it sounds tailor made for Dannii.

The pulsating aspirations of Limbo don't really come off. Substandard acrobatic momentum can't disguise ill-fitting lyrics and it's a mess. The chorus is in gear, but this is disappointing considering such a concerned effort to rev itself up, which is all too palpable. Mincing itself as a vaguely embarassing polvolt of strifent degradation, it is much too serious and deliberate to be effective.

With a constant pulse of tribal drumming, Drunk is actually a fantastic backing track. The chorus hints towards a human being with genuine feelings of dissilusionment - a unique sensation in the Kylie catalogue. Her lyrics are impossible for a vocalist of her debt to conquer, so despite the flashes of Italo-house piano, the excitement is in short bursts that are not sustained.

The legendary Norwegian whisper siren Annie's Bad Times instantly reminded me of I Don't Need Anyone, which is like a dirty Saint Etienne collaboration with the Bluetones that never actually happened. Slight and waift-like, it's sprightly charm is at odds with everything else but it provides some necessary sense of light and of outside.

The captivating Dreams' oriental grandeur carries stony conviction and reaches a crazily energetic climax - a rare moment where the album genuinely flashes a sense of naked discovery usually found on a debut.

The song Say Hey actually hovers into place, pre-empting the dead-eyed fornication found on Anima Animus by The Creatures. Her sinewy vocals and inane 'mmmmm' droplets are a challenge to not mention pretentiously twee, but that's a prejudice worth getting over - its milky smooth electronic riverbed could almost be Sally Shapiro. The murky ambience is far superior to what Kylie herself brings, but why should that matter?

Through The Years simmers with a smouldering atmosphere of ennui - Kylie's voice crawls out from the shadows to encourage a shuffling beat to continue far longer than it needs to. Cocktail music.

The album is totally overrated, but it's still rather good whereby she veers from brooding and pulsating voltages that are sometimes too advanced for her lithesome vocals to sound in charge of. Her indie liberty on Some Kind of Bliss is worth the tripe elsewhere, remaining the album's only truly momentous track, with the other singles creeping close. A radical departure? Perhaps, but it's hardly operating at the fringes of commercial pop music. Her voice is too slight to be left to act as an exposed instrument, and yet the serene and sensual adroit balladry mission of the almost title track Dreams is flown in from a forgotten world, but 13 years later she would clearly rather be a lifeless forehead and up to her knees in backing dancers - that's the 'realest' Kylie we're ever going to get these days.

Above: BraveKylie couldn't bear to look at her chart positions.

Kylie Minogue - All The Lovers Video Shoot

Not since Geri self-helplessly campaigned for germ-free chocolate cake bin raking with her classic anthem Bag It Up has an ageing gay icon made such epic use of gym-ready male torso's in a music video that looks like it might make Kelly Llorenna's This Time I Know It's For Real promo look like a Ingrid Bergman short film.

Yes gays, girls and gays who just act like them, the first promotional stills for Kylie Minogue's new All The Lovers music video has leaked via twitter and probably countless other music blogs faster than a Glaswegian becoming addicted to heroine.

Her addiction to all-inclusive equal-opportunity gangbangs has been rumored for years, and finally the 'lucky' singer has came clean with her goal of shagging every single organism on the planet.

To shag all the lovers might sound ambitious, but if she can survive cancer then STDs are the least of her infertile worries. After Dannii getting pregant first, it took some time, but finally Kylie found a way of getting pregnant on an even bigger scale, via planet earth, but simply wanted to do it with a bigger bang - a worldwide gangbang.

Gay guys might be immune, but trust me, Kylie's death stare, death-threats to Dannii and fridge-door forehead have been destroying hetrosexual men's lives, driving them to drugs, suicide, bad musical theatre productions and Angelina Jolie movies since the 80s and she's not about to stop now.

Kylie Backs Out of Whitney Cover For New Single

For 23 gruesome years, Kylie Minogue was hell bent on stopping her younger sister take over the world. All Kylie could manage was Europe, but she still succeeded in reducing her sibling to nothing more than a gay icon with a really hot baby daddy. As if that wasn't enough, she is also releasing a new single. It sounds reallu good. In blogsphere this news will have more coverage than Heidi Montag's herpes, yet I couldn't resist regurgitating the sample of the first single, which celebrates K's well known love for equal opportunity gangbangs, All The Lovers:

Above: it really is hard to tell whether or not Kylie is singing in this clip or not ('LOL').

The new name for her new album? Aphrodite. It's not the first time she's taken inspriation from Lady Miss Kier Kirby (just go with me on this one), but I'll let it slip when it sounds this AMAZING.

It's Tough Being Perfect

Thanks to the person who reported my blog regarding the Keisha download, but just like Kylie, Diva Incarnate is a survivor.

Dannii's X-tra Helping of Forehead

Saturday's X-Factor was more of the same as last week, only without the squeeling excitement of Dannii debuting more looks than she's had hit singles, Dannii's forehead thawing to room temperature, Dannii gasping 'yes' at anyone with a cock, and well you get an idea as to why I can stand to watch this conveyor belt of vainglorious misfortune-boasting. The oinking contestants use their families death count like league tables - we all know this, but when a fatherless kid is chased onto the stage with a chainsaw in order to cling onto his uncle who is alive and not letting us forget about it, then I think it is time for things to stop. Are producers secretly crashing funerals and asking 'well can anyone sing at least?'

Above: as the show heats up, so does Dannii's dartboard forehead - she literally beams with pride these days.

The biggest problem of this series has been the butchered editing - Simon reaching 'the end of his patience' has already been narrated last week in typically hyperbollic style, so how are they going to edit surprise talent at the end of more episodes if footage from all auditions are mixed together like a public school? Unlike Britain's Got Talent, diversity is a good thing, but serving vomit as ice-cream doesn't taste as good as it did first time around. And where are my bullimics at? It's all dead relatives when clearly the post-size zero 21st century contestants ought to be throwing up a curry live on stage instead. Dannii could crawl up and then go 'nah, I don't eat meat mate, has anyone got a big fish?'

Below: where my bullimics at?

And whilst Dannoushka uses any excuse to scrunch her newly set free forehead, I cannot wait until she flies her group to Iboiza where she is helped by Kylie to choose her final three fuck buddies: tears will flood as she grips onto her elder sibling, accidentally drawing blood.

Pre-Botox Wilderness Bliss

Back in the summer of 1997 Kylie came back into my life in a big way - this was a sweltering summer that sipped the sickly remnants of Gina G, introduced Gala's inferno and No Doubt, gave bible bitches Eternal their only UK #1, where Vanilla exposed themselves, and held its breath whilst the Spice Girls filmed their movie and recorded a second album, leaving fans to count the days as well as Pepsi Max cans. Kylie was partly out of sync with an invogorating pop boom of this time, but I did also momentarily believe Don't Speak was actually Minogue herself. Instead the lazy guitar slice Some Kind of Bliss became an obsession, Kylie's most unassuming and life-affirming track to date - the press could not swallow this and seriously went overboard harking on about 'Indie Kylie' which never really existed, and her belated Manic Street Preachers collab could only stab through to #22. Did It Again by her fair hands of design did better, #14, signalling an artist not content with just playing along. The Deconstruction days produced 6 very individual, elegant and accomplished singles that provide a legacy far stronger than much of what has came since it must be said. Here are some live files very kindly sent to me, which I thought I would share such is their overall nice-ness!

Some Kind of Bliss (Mark & Lard 1997)
Did It Again (Mark & Lard 1997)
Put Yourself In My Place (Simon Mayo 1995)
If You Don't Love Me (Simon Mayo 1995)