It is impossibly easy to root for Kylie Minogue. The Australian pop princess is funny in interviews – see her dry, casual dismissal of the idea that Kylie Jenner could trademark their shared first name. She is also remarkably private – rarely, if ever, whipping up hokey, pseudo-emotional backstories for her records or trying to claim that she is some kind of pop auteur. In this sense, she is a rarity in the modern pop landscape, in which bleeding-heart confessionalism and grand posturing are de rigueur. Her wine brand is pretty good, and while her 2010s and 2020s output rarely holds a candle to her unimpeachable 90s and 00s run, she has continually released enough great singles, and mounted enough fantastic tours, to keep fans interested (and stay in high rotation at drag bars).
This surfeit of goodwill meant that when her career began to genuinely reignite on a mainstream level last year – after the single Padam Padam took on a life of its own thanks to its kooky lyrics and insistent hook – many were swept up in the “Padamic”. That song’s associated album, Tension, also had the huge benefit of being Minogue’s best full-length in many years: a euphoric EDM-pop record that also indulged her long-established love of glittery French touch and hazily remembered 80s nostalgia. Songs such as Hold on to Now, with its Robyn-esque slow build, and the robotic sex jam Tension are among Minogue’s best tracks in ages – capturing, perfectly, the heightened mix of cheekiness and steeliness that wasn’t even totally nailed on, say, Padam Padam, which, despite its success, also felt a little bit anonymous.
