The first thing that came to mind when Kylie’s new video Timebomb launched last week was: you’ve changed, Kylie. There she was, swanning around, knocking people’s possessions out of their arms without a care in the world, stealing phones with a grin and jogging along filming herself… it’s not a good look.
What happened to that gentle girl who used to spend her videos having a little tidy up and a nice bubble bath, I wondered. So for all our sakes, but especially for Kylie’s, I’ve gone through her video catalogue to find the roots of this selfish new behaviour.
Scour the first ten years of Kylie’s career and you’ll find nothing but sweetness. There’s only a single scowl, as she flounces out of her bar job in It’s No Secret. And even that’s justified, in response to a grabby customer, so no-one could say a rot had set in.
And then finally in 1997, Kylie snaps. We find her Bonnie & Clydeing it up with Dexter Fletcher in Some Kind Of Bliss. We see her unleash her tendencies for hair-pulling, chair-throwing and general self-inflicted violence in Did It Again. And with her indie phase out of the way, Kylie returns to pop a new, inconsiderate woman.
As she writhes on the bar in Spinning Around there’s clearly no thought spared for hygiene or the welfare of other patrons. Hair everywhere, shoes on a work surface (possibly even following a trip to the Ladies), and we all know those hotpants go right up her crack. Don’t have the peanuts.
In On A Night Like This she deliberately smashes Rutger Hauer’s vase. To be fair, he’d left it lying around on the floor and wasn’t paying her much attention, but still. And in Please Stay she dances in stiletto heels on a pool table. That’s going to need resurfacing.
But is Come Into My World the worst offender? A blithe, indifferent Kylie saunters around a Paris intersection, duplicating herself with every circuit. And each new iteration of Kylie causes doubles of everyone around her to appear too, so that a potentially limitless amount of people going up and down ladders, throwing mattresses out of windows and fighting in scooter helmets is spawned. Ah, you might say, but Kylie’s just caught up in this madness like everyone else. Think again. She’s the centre of this universe – we watch from its core, whirling slowly around as she sings to us and pays no attention to the chaos around her even as every dropped shopping bag warps the world again. This impossible smearing of possible quantum states cannot hold – reality will be destroyed, and Kylie will take us all down with her. Come into my world indeed.
Then in Giving You Up, shortly before transforming into a twenty-foot woman, Kylie stops traffic – literally just to wiggle her arse at it. An abuse of the sanctity of the Belisha Beacon. And in All The Lovers, Kylie causes mayhem as people strip off and snog all around her, like in one of those Star Trek episodes where everyone gets a lust virus. More to the point, they spill coffee, milk and, er, marshmallows on her account. Someone’s going to have to clean that lot up.
All of which brings us here. Here, to her solipsistic Timebomb. Oh Kylie. For the love of God. (Good song.)