“This album to me sounds like what freedom feels like. Raw. Unfiltered. And quintessentially me. Period,” are the words party pop veteran Kesha says of her latest album . (Period). Freedom is a concept that the Los Angeles-born singer has been toying with for a long time — particularly in the branding of her last few records. Regardless of how many times she’s flashed the freedom label onto her work in recent years, Period does represent a change in tide for her.
For Kesha, this new period (no pun intended) of her career could be considered a comeback of sorts. This is the first album she’s released since settling her nearly decade-long legal battle against producer Dr. Luke (who she accused of sexual assault in 2014), and the first full-length release on her very own Kesha Records. Granted the legitimate freedom she has gained since finishing her time in court and turning the page, Period has been anticipated as a return to form of sorts to the electronic party girl pop days of yore which she’d understandably moved away from. But, unfortunately, Period struggles to stay afloat. Across 11 tracks that hit more dull lulls than bright spots, Kesha does her best at mimicking the sounds of today’s pop landscape but instead sounds overly eager to provoke the listener and recapture the highs of her early career that ultimately sound stuck in the past.
Six minute album opener “FREEDOM.” begins with a cinematic-sounding piano-led intro that sets the record up for a grandiose kickoff, but at once flips into quasi-funk territory while Kesha doles out lines like “I only drink when I’m happy/And I’m drunk right now,” which only rival others like, “They said crazy girls are better in bed/Well I can do one better instead/Take me to the sex shop, bitch,” for their unfortunate memorability. The six minute track chugs along with Kesha taking the time to admonish her listener on just how overdue this sense of freedom is. The song, which twists and turns clunkily (house-ish piano plucks, funk lines and that echoing opener), sets the tone for the remaining 10 tracks: which is that of an at-times fun, but mostly disheveled listening experience.
It’s no secret that the Kesha everyone still plays at house parties and uses to evoke some early 2010s nostalgia was not exactly a razor-sharp lyricist. While she may have been spitting out quirky lines about pulling a Jeffrey Dahmer with brash self-confidence, her rhymes were tight-knit and flowed out with the ease of a tenured emcee. Here, her lines (like the aforementioned “Take me to the sex shop, bitch”) land less than perfect. Perhaps it’s that millennial crisp she adds to her words that sharpen their edges and scrape their way down the ear canal.
Upon its release, lead single “JOYRIDE.” seemed like a confusing circus-hued choice. But among the rest of the album (and enough inundation over frozen margaritas at Sidetrack in Chicago) it stands out as one of (if not) the strongest cuts. “RED FLAG.” is another instance of Kesha’s neon synth pulse coming back into its sweet spot, next to the puttering, if not slightly lazy, “BOY CRAZY.” But other moments, like the oddly Daft Punk-esque “LOVE FOREVER.” and the unmentionable “YIPPEE-KI-YAY.” drag things down with concerning ease.
For collaborators, Zhone’s (Troye Sivan, Kylie Minogue) fingerprints are scattered across the record as one of Kesha’s main writers and producers, with Drew Erickson (Lana Del Rey) and the singer’s own mother Pebe Sebert joining the team as supporting writers. While Kesha’s early work was also a kaleidoscopic take on electronic pop, things here come across in a messy way different from the dirty-girl chic of Animal and Cannibal.
The moments that should be liberating — which are plentiful — sound more vapid than resounding. Kesha’s talent for delivering both pure pop ecstasy and also thudding, emotional anthems is undeniable, but rather than recapturing the best parts of her abilities, the LP seems content with playing it relatively safe by delivering middle-of-the-road cuts that sound plucked from 2014’s Top 40 (“THE ONE.,” “DELUSIONAL.” and “YIPPIE-KI-YAY.”).
Missing from the record is the recent standalone single “ATTENTION.” with tourmates Slayyyter and Rose Gray. Had the single found its way onto the album, there’d be even more salvageable moments worthy of windows-down drives or dancing in dark bars this summer.
As she sings in “JOYRIDE.,” “Don’t even try to gi-give me shit/I’ve earned the right to b-be like this.” It’s true that Kesha has earned the right to make whatever kind of music she wants, but couldn’t we have at least gotten a sonic high like “ATTENTION.” on the LP?
