IN THE MAG: KESHA
It takes Kesha about five mintues to start talking about boys. Seriously, she’s mid-sentence when her gaze pans off to the right. “What is that…thing?” she asks, peering out the window. It’s not an object or even an animal out on the sidewalk. It’s a human being, a young male specimen, hair tousled, clad in slim black pants and jacket, with a tailored shirt open at the chest. Probably European, definitely sexy. “I’d like to take a bite out of that,” Kesha says, narrowing her glitter-spangled eyes on her prey.
We’re actually here, at a cafe in New York City, to talk about Kesha’s new album, Animal. It’s number one, it’s breaking records, it’s making her a Lady Gaga-level star, blah blah blah. That stuff is clearly secondary to her well-honed interest in hot male ass. And when you think about it, the record itself, led off by the stupidly catchy smash single “Tik Tok,” is mostly about men and the pursuit thereof. Also: booze.
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