I suspect the key to enjoying this album may be to go into it with a sense of either irony or ignorance. I was so giddy at the thought of ripping it to shreds that I giggled as I showed DJ Fatkid what I was reviewing.

He took a glance at the photos accompanying the liner notes and said, in utter shock, “Wow, Kylie. You’re really … naked.”

She’s never been known for her singing prowess, but then, her success hasn’t depended on it. Her stint on the Australian soap “Neighbours” probably did more good than her recording career. In fact, some of the most popular singers have made it on pure spunk alone – just look at Madonna and Cher. Whereas they’re “divas” who sing out of their throats, Kylie’s more of an ingenue, singing the entire album out of her nose. And none of it’s very operatic.

Fever combines elements of British house and trance with the swank of disco – and some Commodore 64 sound effects thrown in for good measure. What’s surprising is the sophisticated air in which the songs were written and produced, thanks to the aid of mid-’90s dance-pop star Cathy Dennis. Her airy backup vocals stand out from the rest of the album, being the only vocals that aren’t nasal.

That said, I wanted so much to hate this album but it’s just pure cheesy fun. I found myself tapping my feet to its downplayed beat by the second track. Damn. One cheesy highlight from the album’s title song: There ain’t a surgeon like you/ Anyplace in all the world/ So now, shall I remove my clothes? Apparently she’s seducing an M.D. by telling him she’s got a case of nymphomania.

Infect a CD player in Isla Vista with Fever, and I guarantee people will start dancing. I just wish Kylie’s younger sister Dannii (only slightly less cute) had a bigger career – she’s a much better singer.

As Erin says, “Kylie. You’ve come a long way since ‘Neighbours.'” Guy Pearce and Natalie Imbruglia should be proud.

[The Yellow Menace isn’t nearly as naked as most Australian soap stars.]