times you write songs about what it might
have been like if you grew up with a father,
because you have absolutely no clue. And
hopefully, by now, the world has realized that
you can be multidimensional.”
ATELY, KESHA HAS TAKEN
to walking around her house
in a bathrobe, carrying one of
her four cats. “Have you seen
The Big Lebowski?” she asks.
“I kind of feel like the female
incarnation.”
“You’re The Dude,” I say.
“I’m The Bitch!” she decides. “It feels really
good to feel good. I went through the shit, you
know? There was a time where it was really
dark, and now I really am so happy, and that’s
why I want to make happy songs — and as a
distraction from the bullshit that’s going on,
either in someone’s personal life or in the
world. I want to inspire joy.”
She pauses, tilting her head. “Isn’t that Ma-
rie Kondo’s line? I love her. She inspired me to
get rid of a bunch of shit.”
Even so, Kesha has a lot left to confront.
While she does seem genuinely happy, the
degree to which she repeats the word also
feels like a reminder to herself: to focus on the
present, even as threatening shadows from the
past still loom. Her protracted legal battle with
Gottwald — which led to five separate suits in
three states and more than 2,865 court filings
— is far from over.
While Gottwald’s defamation and breach-
of-contract case against Kesha is pending in
New York, in 2016, Kesha voluntarily dis-
missed her 2014 California case against him,
saying at the time that she wanted to focus on
her career. Gottwald’s lawyer, Christine Lep-
era, says that since then, Kesha “has contin-
ued to use the baseless accusations that were
the subject of her failed lawsuit as a platform
for publicity,” and adds that Gottwald “looks
forward to the trial” of his suit against her,
which has yet to be scheduled. (Kesha’s legal
team declined to comment.)
Though Prescription Songs, where Gott-
wald is owner and principal, just reached its
10th anniversary, he has been largely absent
from the music world. Rising pop singer
Kim Petras is the most high-profile artist to
acknowledge collaborating with him recently
— and she has faced criticism online both for
working with him and for calling it a positive
experience. In August, he appeared on the
Hot 100 as a writer for the first time since
2016, on Doja Cat and Tyga’s No. 83-peaking
“Juicy.” (He also last charted as a producer in
2016.) Throughout the lengthy litigation, his
legal team has questioned Kesha’s motives
both in court and in the media, claiming she
and her team orchestrated a smear campaign
to hurt his career and get out of her recording
contract. Discovery later revealed that her
team at the time had, even before her lawsuit,
laid out a coordinated media blitz to turn
public opinion against Gottwald. But Kesha
maintained in court filings that she knew
nothing about it.
In some respects, she has already won out-
side of court. When she performed “Praying”
at the 2018 Grammys — introduced by Janelle
Monáe and backed by a chorus of women clad
in all white, including Cyndi Lauper, Camila
Cabello and Andra Day — it became the most-
tweeted-about moment of the evening and
one of the most powerful in Grammy history.
“It was one of the most gratifying experiences
of my career to see her release Rainbow and
for it to culminate with that performance, and
to see the respect that she had,” says Rovner.
“Her stature in the business reached a level
that had never been there before.”
“It was so foreign to me to get good press,
and about my voice and about my music,”
recalls Kesha. “I felt more seen as an artist
and as a person than ever.” Even so, she still
hasn’t watched the performance and says she
never will. (Sometimes, she has nightmares
of accidentally Googling herself.) “It makes
me nauseous thinking about it,” she says. “It
was kind of like jumping out of an airplane.
I’m really happy I did it — and happy I lived
through it.” Today, she has an open-door poli-
cy at her home for the friends, band members
and dancers who “all weathered the storm
with me. It’s not something I’m ever going
to forget.”
Ten years ago, she says, things were dras-
tically different: Just starting her career, she
was “under the impression that to do this job,
you don’t eat, you don’t sleep, you don’t have
privacy, and you don’t have time for yourself.”
No milestone felt important enough. “I would
talk to myself in a way I would never talk to
another human being in a million fucking
years,” she says.
But eventually, “I just got sick of being mean
to myself.” And once it clicked that she was in
this “for the forever,” she realized her way of
life wasn’t exactly sustainable. “I’m not starv-
ing myself for shit anymore. I’m too old for
that. Been there, done that, it sucked, almost
killed me, no thank you,” says Kesha. “I turned
30, I got an ass, and I’m OK with it!”
We order PBRs at the bar, which she ap-
preciates for having a jukebox, a pool table
and great burgers. “My man loves the veggie
burger,” she says. The bartender compliments
Kesha on the eye tattoo on her right palm,
seemingly indifferent to who the owner of
the tattoo is. Kesha, pleased that she blends
in, leans in close to note that she’s wearing a
Hawaiian shirt similar to one an older patron
wears a few stools down.
Soon after, she leaves the dimly lit bar on a
mission: Her friend recently spotted a sea lion
around the pier, and she’s determined to find
the little guy. When I run into her a bit later
nearby, she tells me she couldn’t find him. But
her hair is dripping wet.
“We just jumped in!” she says, flinging her
arms in the air.
Additional reporting by Claudia Rosenbaum.
Versace shirt from Neiman Marcus
Beverly Hills, Rinaldy Yunardi
crown, Dalmata and Amy Shehab
necklaces, Freak City necklace
and bracelet, XIV Karats earrings,
Queenie Cao and Swati Dhanak
bracelets, Nora Kogan bracelet
and ring, IO Collective ring.
“I, of course, stand for so many things.
But sometimes you just want to escape
into a happy motherfucking song.”
Find out which of Kesha’s tattoos is her favorite at billboard.com/videos. SEPTEMBER 28, 2019, 2019 • WWW.BILLBOARD.COM 53