After the release of faster-paced singles, “Raising Hell” and “My Own Dance,” Kesha has offered the requisite slow jam in her arsenal from the forthcoming High Road. A simple yet effective ditty about, well, what else, resentment, the song of the same name showcases Kesha’s twangier abilities stemming from her Nashville roots (and also appears to be a nod to Beyoncé, also known for having a song called “Resentment” and whom Kesha has expressed a strong desire to work with). While some might assume the inspiration for the lyrics was once again Dr. Luke, Kesha seems to be speaking from the place of any woman who has ever been taken for granted by the object of her affection. That affection increasingly waning as it transforms into something more closely resembling hate, or at least vitriol.
Singing in unison with Brian Wilson, Sturgill Simpson (recently played up in Jim Jarmusch’s The Dead Don’t Die) and the writer of the song (as well as Kesha’s friend), Wrabel, the agony of the dilemma Kesha faces is manifest in: “Nobody makes me feel the way that you do/And sometimes I just can’t stand it/Isn’t that just the thing about us?/I’m still thinking you could be the one/But you’re always, you’re always, you’re always taking me for granted.” To match the mood of the track, Kesha appears in what looks like a hotel bedroom (later briefly corroborated by her riffling through a duffel bag) but could very well be her own for all we know. The minimalist decor and generic curtains seem to suggest an emptiness in Kesha’s life since she’s been forced to go without love. Or rather, finally decided that this kind of love is no good for her, protesting against it in a manner of “bed peace” form the way John and Yoko might have (if they were protesting against tainted love instead of war, that is). Running her hands through her hair in frustration and lightly rocking back and forth, it’s as though she is coming off a heroin addiction, sequestering herself in a room to do so. For that’s how love that’s wrong can be sometimes–necessitating a clean break of this nature, even if it feels more excruciating in the short-term.
Eventually, Kesha segues into feeling like shit in the bathroom to stare ruefully in the mirror and tug at her long sleeves as a means to stave off the craving for a person who doesn’t crave her quite so much. Describing a feeling many women in particular have known all too well, she croons, “I don’t hate you, babe, it’s worse than that/’Cause you hurt me and I don’t react/I’ve been building up this thing for months/Oh, resentment.” The bittersweet narrative indeed makes it an instant country classic that Dolly Parton would be proud of.
Self-directed and filtered with a grainy VHS effect, Kesha’s intent appears to be to document her own unraveling and subsequent piecing back together. As the video comes to a close, she opens the curtains to let the light in, but they ultimately close again as Kesha leans against them in defeat. Will she go back to bed to surrender to her depression k-hole? It appears likely in her lament to the one she can’t really have, “It’s a shame knowing we could be good/That you could treat me better if you really wanted to.” But he don’t, and they rarely ever do–want to, that is.
