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FROM SUPER SUDSY TO SUPER SULTRY, THIS AUSTRALIAN POP ICON IS READY TO STUN THE STATES--AGAIN

As brief and unremarkable as her initial burst of American success proved, the life and career of Kylie Minogue has held an entire continent captive for almost a decade. Europe--especially the U.K.--has been infatuated by this thimble-size Australian since she starred as tempestuous tomboy mechanic Charlene in the soap opera Neighbours. Segueing smoothly into a singing career, her twenty consecutive hits have grown in quality from multitracked fizzy-drink jingles to invigorating dance-pop. Watching Minogue grow up in public--one moment a ratchet-wielding scamp, the next a scantily clad, full-lipped siren--became Britain's national pastime. With an about-to-be-released album, Kylie Minogue (Imago), which eschews her trademark pep for more adventurous clubland nuances, and a role in the upcoming Jean-Claude Van Damme film Street Fighter, Minogue has come a long way from the cheerleader in kneesocks who trilled her way through "The Loco-motion." Resuming an acquaintanceship struck up over a recent dinner, Minogue and I picked up where we left off during a transcontinental phone call a few weeks later.

JONATHAN BERNSTEIN: The remarkable thing about your success is how much of it has been inadvertent. I don't think anyone in the world imagined that Britain would grind to a hypnotized halt every time Neighbours came on. And when you started making music, it seemed like you were following the hallowed tradition of soap stars who make one record to test their fans' devotion.

KYLIE MINOGUE: I basically wanted a job. I didn't have that hunger for success then. But I must admit, after the cast of Neighbours did this little musical performance thing, and someone said, "Oh, that was great. You should make a record," I did have stars in my eyes.

JB: The idea of making the record was probably more important to you than how the record would actually turn out.

KM: Yeah, probably. Making a record is something that you dream about as a kid, but I never had that burning ambition so many artists talk about: "I knew when I was two that I was gonna sing for the rest of my life."

JB: You were doing the soap in Australia and singing in Britain simultaneously for a while.

KM: Doing a series is difficult during the best of times, but trying to start a recording career on the other side of the world made it ridiculous. So then I started to just do music.

JB: It must have taken you a while to take a stance and say to your producers [famed British hit factory Stock Aitken Waterman], "A lot of this stuff stinks."

KM: I don't think it was until my third album that I started to want to have more involvement with the making of my music, which, of course, didn't happen. I was learning about the industry and how I fit into it. But more than anything, I was just learning about myself and finding my voice. It sounds like a really terrible excuse, but I do believe in fate and that we're meant to experience things at different times. The experience I had early on was great. It was good that I was held back, that I wasn't able to take control and do my own music, because I wouldn't have known what I was doing anyway.

JB: Were you conflicted about America? You've said that you relish your anonymity here, but do you find yourself listening to the radio or watching MTV and feeling resentful that you're not being played, thinking, This is rubbish. I'm better than that?

KM: No, I don't think that.

JB: Well, I do.

KM: If there is any conflict in the States for me, it's that I do love going to America and being for the most part unrecognized, but at the same time, it's such a huge, wonderful challenge. And as soon as I have a challenge in front of me, that's it.

JB: It always seemed weird to me that your millions of critics have reviled you as this little lump of sugar, yet you rose to fame as Charlene in Neighbours, who was feisty as fuck, and in your movie The Delinquents, you threw tantrums.

KM: That's true. They still like to paint me as the girl next door, and sometimes I am the girl next door. I don't know if they also expect me to be an absolute prima donna bitch. I have my moments. I quite fancy slamming doors and flouncing out. I give good flounce if I have to.

JB: So let's talk about your now-legendary transition from a little girly-girl in a rah-rah skirt into a gorgeous, pouting sex bomb.

KM: Hey, you never know. Rah-rah skirts might come back.

JB: I might be wearing one right now.

KM: It wouldn't surprise me.

JB: Back to your gorgeous, pouting evolution. Natural or calculated?

KM: I would love to take the credit and say it was calculated, that I was clever enough to do all that, but it was really part of growing up and exploring and experimenting and making really stupid mistakes.

JB: How did that transition affect the people around you?

KM: Some of them were very nervous and some of them were very pleased. I think the men in suits were probably more nervous. But I probably also gained more respect, because even if they thought what I was doing was foolish, at least I was doing it. All that vampy stuff had been brewing in my head, and it just reached the point where I had to let it out. I was just so tired of flashing the pearly whites and feeling like I was in a soap commercial.

JB: Most of your contemporaries from your initial success in the '80s are back working in butcher shops. To what do you attribute your longevity?

KM: I guess I had a good start because people came to know me--or at least they thought they knew me--through Neighbours, because I was in their living rooms twice a day. And when you're in people's living rooms, and they think they're getting a glimpse into your kitchen and your bedroom and your bathroom, they feel a little bit more for you. I think it's incredible that I lasted for the duration of my contract with [Stock Aitken Waterman label] PWL. Maybe it's because I did take those risks and I did try to stick my hand in the air and say, "I'm different," but at the same time not biting the hand that was feeding me. So, for whatever reason, I'm very thankful.

JB: After all these years, what sort of gratification can you still get out of your career?

KM: Things like performing at [Liverpool club] Cream last week. There were these amazing DJs from all over the world and one special guest: moi. To be topping off a night like that was just mad. And even things like being able to make someone's day. As corny as it sounds, it's so much easier to deal with success and recognition and fame in small terms. I was in a cab one time, and the cabbie kept looking at me and he finally piped up and said, "Are you who I think you are?" "Well, it depends. Who do you think I am?" "Are you Kylie Minogue?" And I said, "Yeah." And he said, "I named my daughter after you."

JB: Well, you are special.

KM: Right now I feel exceptionally ordinary. I'm tired and I'm trying to sort out my packing before I go shoot a video.

JB: Career seems to be taking precedence over life for you right now.

KM: At the moment. I just don't seem to ever unpack my bag. But life's too short. If I have any philosophy that I try to stick to, it's to live life to the fullest. I can't believe how fast the time goes. And I can't believe that the older I get, the faster it's going to go. It's not in my character to sit around and watch the days go by. As soon as I wake up in the morning, that's it--there's no going back to sleep. Of course, things might be different if I had a loving male next to me. If I had a boyfriend, maybe I'd stay a little bit longer and make him get me breakfast in bed.

JB: You had me next to you at dinner last month. I'd have made you breakfast in bed.

KM: That wasn't the morning.

JB: It could have been, but you ran like a chicken.

KM: Maybe I had the image in my mind and I fled.

JB: You're not the first person to have that image.

KM: You spilled wine over me, thank you. I can't imagine how you'd be with a breakfast tray.