Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to talk about Conjuring Kesha, a show on Discovery+ where Kesha--pop star, MeToo activist, and label-resistant bisexual--investigates reports of ghosts, demons, and other paranormal activity across the United States. The series premiere brings our heroine to Brushy State Penitentiary, a Tennessee prison and coal mine that ceased operations in 2009. The show makes the penitentiary look abandoned and derelict. In contrast, a quick Google reveals that Brushy reopened in 2018 as a full-on tourist destination replete with a moonshine distillery, gift shop, and prison-themed BBQ restaurant. Paranormal tours start at $150. If getting married in a monument to incarceration and forced labor is your thing, the Coal House is available.
Along for the ride is Kesha’s pal Whitney Cummings, a sorta funny comedian who kicks off the investigation by experiencing a ghoulish hand on her wrist. Next, she interprets a beeping EMF meter as the forlorn spirit of a trans woman. Michael, a Catholic demonologist that Kesha has rented out for the night, warns Whitney that that is exactly the kind of thing a demon would say to gain her sympathy and prime her for possession. Michael seems genuinely terrified of Brushy and wants nothing to do with demons. Understandable!! But isn’t that his whole job?? (Speaking of demonic possession, how else can I explain the hold Kesha [we knew her as Ke$ha] had on me and my friends in 2009? If you’ve never lost your mind screaming the words “wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy,“ with a bunch of drunk nerds at Bryn Mawr, then I don’t know how to explain it to you. You really had to be there.)
Although it very easily could be, Conjuring Kesha is not a bad show. It’s a lot of fun, mostly because Kesha is an excellent host. She’s flip and flirty (“Demons cause death. I don’t love it!“), a relatable mix of skeptic and believer. When an investigation gets too spooky, she has a tendency to run outside, citing “boundaries.”
In the second episode, Kesha investigates an opera house known for mysterious footsteps and a malevolent haint named Mr. Nasty. Kesha discovers that she’s standing on native land, specifically land that indigenous people were forced to cross on the Trail of Tears. She invites Marcus “Quese“ Frejo, a Pawnee and Seminole artist, to discuss the implications of this and teach her a protective song. Quese explains that the opera house, a venue for entertainment and diversions, is built on the site of human suffering and genocide. “It’ll never work. It’ll always be haunted,“ he says, describing the opera house and by extension, America. This is only time Conjuring Kesha veers into political territory, which is frustrating because it’s a show about ghosts in America and ghosts in America are nothing if not political.
In popular belief and Kesha’s personal cosmology, a ghost is the soul or residual energy of a dead person. Instead of passing into the afterlife, ghosts are stuck in a liminal state as punishment for evil deeds or because they have unfinished business with the living—some were denied justice or respect in life, others died violently or didn’t receive a proper burial. Operating under this definition, it’s no surprise that the places we think of as haunted are sites of systemic, state-sanctioned violence: prisons, plantations, insane asylums, orphanages, etc.
Horror, as a film and literary genre, has long addressed all this. Works like Candyman and Pet Sematary, to name the first two I could think of, convey how racism and historic trauma can endure and cause havoc in present day America. The entire run of American Horror Story is dedicated to witch hunts, slavery, school shootings, forced institutionalization, and other nightmares from the history books. So how come Conjuring Kesha and other ghost hunt shows, which also aim to be scary and suspenseful, refuse to say anything bad about America?
There are 22 distinct ghost hunt shows available on Discovery+. In researching this piece, I watched episodes of Ghost Hunters (men wear newsboy hats and walk around buildings at night), Ghost Adventures (men wear goatees and walk around buildings at night), and Ghost Brothers (they are Black). I also planned to watch Kindred Spirits because one of the ghost hunters is a woman, but quickly lost the will. These shows take the sickest, most universally pondered questions--are ghosts real?is death really the end? --and render them boring and lifeless. I felt like I was getting free jazz mansplained by a guy at a party, or listening to my dad enumerate everything wrong with “my generation.” (It’s phones, credit cards, and social media, in case you were wondering.)
The episodes I watched were eerily similar in tone and execution. First, the ghost hunters introduce themselves and reveal the subject of their investigation—usually a haunted house or institutional building. A local historian or community member stops by to share relevant legends and lore. This person is always cooler and more interesting than the ghost hunters. As a viewer, I found myself wishing Jim from the historical society or Lisa the custodian would stay and take over the show.
The ghost hunters wait until midnight. They enter rooms, turn off all the lights, and ask questions like: “Are you the little girl who got murdered?“ or “Did you work in this brothel? Is your name Alice?” They use gadgets that flash and beep in response to temperature and radiation. There are audio recorders, night vision cameras, and something called a ghost box. The hosts hear whispers in the most innocuous sounds. They reenact spectral movements with their own bodies and describe feeling stomach pain, cold spots, someone breathing down their neck. They try their hardest to make a ghost happen. Then they just leave.
I’ve only been to New Orleans once—eight years ago, after my friend Angie died and I was overcome with grief and galaxy brain thoughts about my own mortality. The trip took three days in the car. I was too anxious to drive, so my companions took turns without me. When we arrived, I slurped down a Hand Grenade and peered into the windows of antique shops. I took pictures of “not haunted” real estate signs and scraped the olives off a muffaletta. The hotel where we slept billed itself as haunted, but we didn’t see anything resembling a ghost—just a very drunk, very alive British lady who appeared in the courtyard each night to wade in the fountain and shout at passersby.
Like all good tourists, we went on a ghost tour of the French Quarter. The September night was warm and sultry. Our tour guide told us stories about Ursuline nuns, Marie Laveau, and Hurricane Katrina. Babies saw ghosts all the time, she said, so did homeless people. If your phone froze after taking a picture, it was because you’d papped a ghost. If you reached into a drawer for an important financial document and instead came back with a picture of your grandma, it was not by accident. She brought us to a restaurant and told us that when it first opened, it struggled mightily to turn a profit and retain staff. Doors slammed on their own. Glasses shattered and plates broke for no reason. One night, the owners set a table for the resident ghost, complete with bread and a glass of wine, and the chicanery stopped. Business flourished. Beyoncé threw a family reunion there. With the help of a good psychic, said our tour guide, you could make peace with a ghost. You could learn to live together, even be friends. There was no reason to make it weird.
The best ghost show i've ever seen was some random show on the syfy network that I forget the name of. One episode they went to a haunted old brothel and the host tried to pay a ghost to fuck him and then got mad when it didn't do anything. The other host claimed the ghost tried to go up his butt which was fun. Lol
I hope you also review whatever the heck the Kristen Stewart gay ghost hunting show is whenever it comes out