How are you doing on this fine Sunday eve?
Are you well?
Wow, that’s great, love that for you.
Anyway, I have more important news to share so it’s simply imperative that you stop everything you are doing right now…
Kylie Minogue‘s highest-selling single, Miss ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head’, is 18 today so it’s time to get your glam rags on, kid – you have no choice but to turn the fuck up tonight.
‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head’s worldwide sales exceed 5 million, so I’m pretty sure that this is going to be slightly more than a gathering…. Maybe I should’ve bought more than a $10 value pack of Woolies thin sausages and 2 litres bottles of Fanta… Either way, we’re burnin’ up, baby.
When ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head’ – debut single from Fever, Kylie’s eighth studio album – spawned into the world 8th September 2001, it forged a new path… a horny, space-age, disco path. It spent 3 months atop the ARIA charts and reached number one in 40 countries.
At the age of 6, I was entranced.
If Kylie was a drug of choice, consider me under the influence. Watching Saturday morning Rage, I, too, wanted a bath sheet with slits for legs and a plunging neckline. I, too, wanted to be surrounded by a sea of robot men wrapped in red cellophane. I, too, wanted to boogie on a CBD rooftop adorned in my finest disco ball mini-dress.
Thank you, ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head’, for being a tune that I could always rely on – the mere intro to the track sent even the most basic of my childhood parties into a UDL-flying, Lynx Africa-smelling mosh-pit (the best kind of mosh-pit).
Thank you, ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head’, for being way ahead of your time in the fashion department. Thank you for being at least partly responsible for turning me into the thriving homosexual I am today.
So it’s time to raise a toast to one of the most iconic tunes of our generation, which is now old enough to get a Prosecco at the RSL.
But seriously, I expect you all to hulk-smash the play button right now, blast it at maximum level, get naked and roll around on the floor. It’s what Jesus would want.
Merry Kylie-mas, kweens.