Comes on 2LP pink dream vinyl.
On Rainbow, Kesha doesn’t just reintroduce herself—she reclaims her voice in real time, scars and all. This is a comeback record in the truest sense, but not the glossy, triumphant kind. Rainbow is messy, spiritual, defiant, and deeply human, an album that treats survival itself as a creative act. The opening stretch sets the emotional stakes immediately. “Bastards” arrives like a mission statement, raw and confrontational, clearing the air before the real reckoning begins. Then comes “Praying,” the album’s emotional centerpiece and one of the most powerful pop statements of the decade. Built on a slow-burn piano progression, the song moves from wounded restraint to full-throated release, climaxing in a vocal note that feels less sung than survived. It’s not revenge—it’s transcendence.
Where Rainbow could have sunk into solemnity, Kesha refuses to stay in one emotional lane. “Learn to Let Go” and “Woman” reintroduce swagger and humor, reminding listeners that joy can be an act of resistance. “Woman,” powered by the legendary The Dap-Kings, is all muscle and brass, a funk-fueled declaration of independence that sounds like it was cut live on the floor, sweat still on the tape.
Kesha’s love of American roots music pulses throughout the record. “Let ’Em Talk,” recorded with Eagles of Death Metal, leans into loose-limbed boogie and vintage grit, while “Hymn” blends gospel spirit with outsider-pop devotion, turning belief into something self-defined rather than inherited. The album’s soul reaches its deepest point on “Spaceship,” a tender, country-leaning meditation on alienation and hope, before closing with the title track “Rainbow,” a soft-focus benediction that feels earned rather than sentimental. And then there’s “Old Flames (Can’t Hold a Candle to You),” a duet with Dolly Parton that bridges generations of resilience, pairing Kesha’s weathered vulnerability with Dolly’s timeless grace.
Rainbow isn’t about returning to pop stardom. It’s about standing upright after being flattened and deciding, deliberately, to sing anyway. In doing so, Kesha made an album that doesn’t just mark a chapter—it redraws the map.
