Kylie Minogue

As sales of her remarkably successful current single continue to dwarf all opposition to the tune of half-a-million copies in 14 days, her 8th studio ablum – titled Fever – suddenly finds itself this Autumn’s most eagerly-anticipated mainstream pop release.

Several major highstreet retail chains have multiplied their orders for this, the diminutive Aussie pop queen’s speedy follow-up to 2000’s well-received Light Years, purely on the unprecedented popularity (even by Kylie’s golden-era peak of the late 1980s) enjoyed by Can’t Get You Out Of My Head.

Already the definitive hit of 2001, it completed a remarkable turnaround in fortunes for Ms Minogue. Her PWL-puppet days long since behind her, even those transitional years in the mid-90s on the now-defunct deConstruction label (which produced two self-titled efforts of varying quality and musical direction) are suddenly looking a lot further away than they actually are.

Such is the enduring appeal of Kylie, constantly defying the odds with relaunches and reinventions which – while lacking the authority and zeitgeist-straddling gravitas of Madonna – are often effective enough to put her right back at the heart of the pop landscape.

The question surrounding Fever is whether it can maintain the momentum created by both Light Years and now *that* 5-star single. Let’s be honest, Kylie albums are not noted for their strength in depth, or for their durability beyond their initial release period. 1990’s Rhythm Of Love (which included Better The Devil You Know) was an underrated mini-classic, and will forever be PWL’s high watermark, but for most people it took Light Years‘ consistently enjoyable 14 tracks to really suggest Kylie could cut it on the longer format.

It would be unfair to expect Fever‘s dozen songs to all be of similar stature as Can’t Get You Out Of My Head, but there are, encouragingly, a few other tracks here which attempt to emulate its sleek Kraftwerkisms and infectious refrain. Come Into My World, Burning Up and Fragile stand out among some occasionally mediocre disco stylings that, especially during the album’s first half, just sound like everyone concerned is trying a little too hard.

The lyrics don’t exactly help, never rising above serviceable love-oriented cliches, but when the tunes and grooves hit the bullseye, such things are not quite so important. Unfortunately, such occasions are not quite as frequent as might have been hoped.

With no ballads to speak of, or any lyrical deviation from its chosen formula, Fever lacks any of the traits that enable detailed critical analysis. It’s simply an album which – when heard – you will either instantly warm to (thanks to its sheer dancefloor-friendliness), or else find somewhat vacuuous.

Can’t Get You Out Of My Head transferred the focus of Kylie’s career firmly onto the music itself, transcending all the preconceptions created by her past and her celebrity status, but this accompanying album is not really distinguished enough on its own to flourish with quite so much ease.

It will undoubtedly sell in very healthy quantities at first, simply because of the single, but the long-term prospects are more difficult to predict. Hopefully, Fever‘s other outstanding tracks will be chosen to follow Can’t Get You Out Of My Head into the Top 40, and all should continue to be well.