We live in uncertain times. That's not to say any time is certain, for surely all times are uncertain insofar as we never can tell what lies behind the corner of that which has yet to come. If we ever had certain times, then we could never have uncertain times, as we would see them coming. Unless you mean to say that many things seem in doubt these days, rather than a few. You see, reader, we live in uncertain times in the sense that we cannot even say when times are certain or not. Our uncertainty is mitigated, thankfully, by the reliable beacons of light that guide us through life, recurring in the same fashion as they always have. Few of these lights shine brighter and more stalwartly than a certain pint-sized, over-bitten Aussie. Kylie Minogue has remained an international superstar for three decades, and every time we assume she has retired to her former glories, she reemerges, like the proverbial queen of come back. The sum total of Holly Valance, Jason Donovan, Peter Andre, Deltra Goodram, Natalie Imbruglia, Gotye, Olivia Newton-John, Men at Work, and even Kylie's sister Dannii are dwarfed when placed next to her stardom and staying power (Dannii's problem is that she cannot spell her name properly).
I recently assumed that Kylie's run had finally ended. She is descending into her sixth decade and has to complete with a pantheon of young Über-skanks, such as Rihanna and Ke$ha, the latter who has succeeded despite having acute difficulties in spelling her name. I felt there was little hope for a star who had her renaissance around the time of Christina Aguilera's Dirty, a video that caused much controversy at the time of its release, but seems average compared to most videos of today. However, Kylie's most recent endeavour has silenced all doubters, proving she has the stomach for the sub-mediocrity required for contemporary pop. Sexercise has all necessary ingredients to be a hit in this decade. Its lyrics are rendered largely inaudible by the poor hip-hop style and computerised voice. Fortunately, the word 'sex' stands out clearly, and careful listeners will be able to pick up the obvious innuendos that comprise the rest of the lyrics. Playfully drawing comparison between sex and working out, Kylie fearlessly unveils the truth, and candidly explains that sex is a long, arduous labour of erotica. In the songwriter's office, I imagine you would a bin fill of crumpled up paper, bearing rejected, less glamorous lyrics such as, 'fat people find it difficult to find training partners', 'I quickly lose my motivation', 'this is very monotonous', 'I take drugs to enhance my performance', 'I don't like the idea of people seeing me all red-faced and sweaty', and 'I prefer not to be seen doing it in public'. The lyrics fall short of required standards, however, as they request an adequate sexual performance from her lover, implying that some sense of dignity and implying she has some needs of her own. If she were a younger woman, Kylie would most certainly recognise that her value lies solely in her body and her ability to conform to male sexual desire.
What makes this a true masterpiece is the tightly-edited video, which has all trappings a simple man lead around by his penis longs for. As well as the portrayal of exiguously-clad females in the gym, the video also boasts of a feast of obvious sexual hooks: clearly visible nipples; (w)edgy ass shots; simulated sex; wet bodies; contorted torsos; gyrating; pained, sexual facial expressions; implied group sex; nude-colured suits; faux-lesbianism (which bestows dignity on being gay like nothing else); stilettoed legs; the faint, phantasmal memory of a forbidden Oedipal-like desire. All that remained to be shown was simulated fellatio and camel toe, putting Kylie right up there with Robin #Thicke (Perhaps the greatest I-have-no-idea-how-to-spell-my-name success story), Miley Cyrus, and Lady Gaga. In a survey of horny teenage boys, 92% said they would totally chug one out over the video. "Did you crack one out yourself over the video, bro?", I hear you ask. "No, I didn't, bro.", I reply and wonder why I don't have the confidence to refrain from using the trite gym handle 'bro'. The use of the largely redundant gym balls was off-putting, and I was distracted by how hazardous squatting is in stilettos. Worst of all, one part of the video, where Kylie and her uniformed friends are kicking their legs back, reminds me of my mother's aerobics classes in the eighties. Now, you must excuse me, for I need to shift through another bunch of trashy, obvious videos to further my research.
I recently assumed that Kylie's run had finally ended. She is descending into her sixth decade and has to complete with a pantheon of young Über-skanks, such as Rihanna and Ke$ha, the latter who has succeeded despite having acute difficulties in spelling her name. I felt there was little hope for a star who had her renaissance around the time of Christina Aguilera's Dirty, a video that caused much controversy at the time of its release, but seems average compared to most videos of today. However, Kylie's most recent endeavour has silenced all doubters, proving she has the stomach for the sub-mediocrity required for contemporary pop. Sexercise has all necessary ingredients to be a hit in this decade. Its lyrics are rendered largely inaudible by the poor hip-hop style and computerised voice. Fortunately, the word 'sex' stands out clearly, and careful listeners will be able to pick up the obvious innuendos that comprise the rest of the lyrics. Playfully drawing comparison between sex and working out, Kylie fearlessly unveils the truth, and candidly explains that sex is a long, arduous labour of erotica. In the songwriter's office, I imagine you would a bin fill of crumpled up paper, bearing rejected, less glamorous lyrics such as, 'fat people find it difficult to find training partners', 'I quickly lose my motivation', 'this is very monotonous', 'I take drugs to enhance my performance', 'I don't like the idea of people seeing me all red-faced and sweaty', and 'I prefer not to be seen doing it in public'. The lyrics fall short of required standards, however, as they request an adequate sexual performance from her lover, implying that some sense of dignity and implying she has some needs of her own. If she were a younger woman, Kylie would most certainly recognise that her value lies solely in her body and her ability to conform to male sexual desire.
What makes this a true masterpiece is the tightly-edited video, which has all trappings a simple man lead around by his penis longs for. As well as the portrayal of exiguously-clad females in the gym, the video also boasts of a feast of obvious sexual hooks: clearly visible nipples; (w)edgy ass shots; simulated sex; wet bodies; contorted torsos; gyrating; pained, sexual facial expressions; implied group sex; nude-colured suits; faux-lesbianism (which bestows dignity on being gay like nothing else); stilettoed legs; the faint, phantasmal memory of a forbidden Oedipal-like desire. All that remained to be shown was simulated fellatio and camel toe, putting Kylie right up there with Robin #Thicke (Perhaps the greatest I-have-no-idea-how-to-spell-my-name success story), Miley Cyrus, and Lady Gaga. In a survey of horny teenage boys, 92% said they would totally chug one out over the video. "Did you crack one out yourself over the video, bro?", I hear you ask. "No, I didn't, bro.", I reply and wonder why I don't have the confidence to refrain from using the trite gym handle 'bro'. The use of the largely redundant gym balls was off-putting, and I was distracted by how hazardous squatting is in stilettos. Worst of all, one part of the video, where Kylie and her uniformed friends are kicking their legs back, reminds me of my mother's aerobics classes in the eighties. Now, you must excuse me, for I need to shift through another bunch of trashy, obvious videos to further my research.
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