Disposable dance-pop at its best and a Lennon-lite yawnfest. Kylie and George Michael’s new albums reviewed

George Michael and Kylie Minogue have albums out this week. And while they might both be distinctly second-division these days, they’re both still rather remarkable. George Michael got famous for not being Andrew Ridgeley, and has since redefined the status of adult-oriented pop. He has also written the only Christmas song in history worth playing all year round and made the Hampstead branch of Snappy Snaps a tourist destination. I like him a lot.

Minogue, meanwhile, is cheesy, knowing and resolutely budget in the international diva stakes. As Aldi is to Waitrose, so Kylie is to Beyoncé. But she’s made some terrific records – have you given up pretending you don’t like Can’t Get You Out of My Head yet? – and while she may not be a proper, meat-dress superstar, she’s extremely likeable as a popstar. She has a certain quality that’s hard to finger… what’s it called again? Oh yes: identity.