On her ninth studio album Kylie discovers coitus. Again
She was always going to struggle to follow “Can’t Get You Out Of My Head”, that ziggurat of cyber-pop which Paul Morley wrote a 180,000-word book about and described as the missing link between Shostakovich and Steps. Body Language tries too hard, period. It comprises a dozen attempts to prove that La Minogue is, as one title here risibly puts it, a “Red Blooded Woman”, superfluous perhaps when one considers she has been parading her pudenda before us for a decade. Self-consciously libidinous first single “Slow” is just Madonna circa Erotica doing Grace Jones circa Nightclubbing. It took nine?NINE!?writers to come up with the girl-group hackwork of “Secret”. Curtis Mantronik’s “Someday” and “Promises” sound like offcuts from the sessions that produced “Got To Have Your Love”. “Chocolate” is trip hop for tweenies. And there’s a duet with Green Gartside that for people of a certain age and aesthetic inclination should be godlike but is entertaining mostly because, after all the tweaking and smurfing of her voice, Kylie still doesn’t sound as paedo-girly as Mr Politti. And there’s only one Cathy Dennis song, and it’s awful.