Praise the goddess: Kesha is back. And on her new album Period, she is more Kesha than ever. (Let’s adjust for inflation and make that “Ke$$$ha.”) The high priestess of party rockers has cast off the shackles of a bullshit work situation, in which her album revenue would still benefit alleged abuser Dr. Luke, and started her own label. Period revels in the singer-songwriter and producer having no one to tell her to tone it down. Tits Out isn’t just the name of her doubleheader tour with Scissor Sisters, which comes to Ascend Amphitheater on July 15 — it is also a declaration of purpose and a spiritual manifesto. Period.
The record is horny, hilarious and built entirely from hooks that will move into your head and stay there for the rest of the summer. But Period also contains clever, mature self-analysis that plays against Kesha’s knack for quippy character development and cutting commentary to create songs with a lot of emotional layers, as well as karaoke potential. It is a lot of Kesha doing what she does best, and she does it better because she is doing it for herself.
It’s clear from the very start: Opener “Freedom.” features a noisy synth-and-vocal meditation — the sort of thing you might have heard at longtime local dive Betty’s monthly Noise Nights — that makes a sudden and glorious turn to Jersey vocal house. Kesha is clearly reveling in the joy of making cool sounds for the benefit of her community instead of corporate revenue reports. Her love of super-gluing disparate sounds together and covering them in glitter to create unpredictable pop art is center stage here, confident and masterful. Period feels as vital as her 2010 debut Animal and as cathartic as her 2017 comeback Rainbow with enough hands-in-the-air moments — all with different textures, from the Lower Broadway-ready boom-clap joint “Yippie-Ki-Yay.” to the high-octane workout “Boy Crazy.” — to fill any dance floor.
Album art: Kesha, 'Period'
What Period isn’t, though, is a surprise. Back in July 2011, Kesha headlined Municipal Auditorium on a night so sweaty our drawers still haven’t quite dried out. It was her first hometown show as a pop star, on her first big tour after her hit “Tik Tok” staked its claim as an unavoidable thread in our cultural fabric. Midshow there was a break where the newly crowned pop queen interrupted the song-and-dance routine and started to play a bunch of instruments: some synths, a guitar or two, some percussion. It was like watching Karen Carpenter — one of the greatest drummers and all-around entertainers of the 20th century — on a ’70s variety show.
This was a weird gimmick at the height of the cupcake-bra era, but it gave a glimpse into the future. Kesha seemed happier in those moments than at any other point in the show, giddy with the power of a big ol’ P.A. at her fingertips. She was showing us who she really was in a way that not a lot of her contemporaries were doing. Tits out, as it were, even if there was nary a nipple to be seen.
Period feels like that moment stretched to album length, because it’s the only way Kesha is going to get her musical ideas out. Without guardrails — and without creeps over her shoulder — Kesha goes into some wild territory that feels familiar without reheating the proverbial nachos. Some moments feel like fan service, but those are the same moments that will feel fucking awesome when surrounded by Kesha fans, one of pop music’s most eclectic and ecumenical groups of freaks. And now, more than ever, we need that ecumenical freakdom. The forces of bullshit are hard at work trying to ruin the fun for everyone, and we need to push back. Unabashedly messy disco and unmistakably outlandish behavior are a perfect way to keep the maniacal dullards at bay.
