Kesha isn’t just back — she’s off the leash, galloping bareback into full camp fantasy with Boy Crazy, and she’s bringing the gays along for the rodeo.
In a pop landscape that’s often playing it safe, Kesha drops a NSFW glitter bomb of queer sensuality and chaotic pleasure that could only come from the high priestess of glitter vomit herself. This isn’t just a music video — it’s a fever dream laced with homoeroticism, satire, and some light nipple-feeding. Call it The Last Supper reimagined by John Waters in rhinestone chaps.
Directed by Kesha, Brett Loudermilk, and Zain Curtis, the Boy Crazy video opens with our beloved chaos queen presiding over a feast surrounded by shirtless men of every imaginable flavor — twinks, daddies, muscle jocks, pierced weirdos, and maybe even your type. It’s a scene that feels ripped straight from a gay bar’s wet napkin sketch of what heaven should look like.
And then, things get gloriously messy.
She rides a man like a human pony, dangles a pink panty on a fishing rod like she’s reeling in thirst traps, and flicks through scenarios that blend old-school glamour with adult cartoon debauchery. One moment she’s smoking from a cigarette holder in a classic car, and the next, she’s passively enduring a man twerking his ass in her face — as if to say, this is the kind of suffering I signed up for.
RELATED: Orville Peck Collabs with Kesha for the First Time
The visuals crescendo into what might be the most gloriously ridiculous tableau of the year: men making out under a hose, pixelated full-frontal nudity, and a haloed Kesha serenely breastfeeding a grown man in tighty-whities. Yes, you read that right. And no, it’s not symbolic — it’s just Kesha being ungovernable.
“Berlin to Bombay, New York to L.A./ Tokyo to Tahoe, boys are my cocaine,” she sings over electro-pop beats that recall her “Blow” era with a sleazier, queerer twist. “Bikers and the dumb bros, daddies and the gym hoes/ Prowling like a kitty cat, I want to get you all alone.” It’s part Drag Race runway anthem, part party manifesto, and 100% Kesha: unserious, unfiltered, and unapologetically horny.
But Boy Crazy is more than just eye candy for the chaotic good gays — it’s a flex. It marks another milestone in Kesha’s post-major label rebirth, with her album Period set to drop July 4 via Kesha Records — her independent label launched in 2024. Following years of legal battles and industry trauma, Kesha is finally making music on her terms, and it shows.
“My name has become synonymous with transparency, integrity, and safety, and I want to ensure that these values are upheld for myself and any future artists signed to my label,” Kesha said last year. “Music has the power to connect the world, and I aspire for my work to be a beacon of light and goodness. I am excited to take control of my narrative and rewrite my story in the music business.”
And she’s doing just that — with nipple clamps and a garden hose in hand.
Joining her on this wild ride are a glorious ensemble of models, dancers, porn stars, and nightlife staples including Horsegurl3000, Bonavega, Mark Daftari, Brooks Ginnan, D’Mahdnes Lavaughn, and Steffon Palmer. Their presence isn’t just background flavor; it’s a deliberate nod to the queer, DIY, anything-goes scene that helped nurture Kesha’s spirit long before she had a record deal.
Talking to Jennifer Hudson in May, Kesha shared just how personal this era has been: “It’s been all of my vision, all of my words, a lot of hard work, a lot of joy … Really coming back home to myself and feeling what freedom really looks like, feels like, sounds like.”
For longtime fans — especially queer ones — Boy Crazy is more than a bop. It’s a liberation spell. It’s a signal that the girl who once brushed her teeth with a bottle of Jack is now pouring her own damn label’s champagne. And she brought a platoon of half-naked men to help her drink it.
So if you’re looking for subtlety, look elsewhere. But if you want drag energy, Dadaist absurdity, and a soundtrack for your Pride afterparty, Kesha just served it hot. From Berlin to Bombay, baby, this is one ride you’ll want to hitch onto.
Boy Crazy isn’t here to fit into any sanitized pop narrative or please the algorithm gods. It’s messy, sexy, and aggressively unserious — exactly the kind of art queer people have always known how to make, celebrate, and survive by. Kesha didn’t just give us a banger; she gave us a glitter-drenched exorcism of shame, a chaotic communion of desire. And if the world ends tomorrow? At least we went out to the sound of a piñata swinging and a man being breastfed by a pop icon.
Now pass the hose — mama’s thirsty.
Source: RollingStone and Billboard