Freedom, Feminism, and the Quiet Radicalism of Pam Ross’s “Have A Good Time”
Pam Ross’s new single, “Have A Good Time,” isn’t just a feel-good song. It’s a quietly subversive act of resistance. Not in the overtly political sense — there are no slogans, no demands, no direct calls to action. But in the world we live in, where women are conditioned to hustle, please, perfect, and perform — the choice to opt out of all that noise and claim joy for its own sake becomes a radical gesture.
Ross doesn’t shout. She doesn’t have to. She delivers her message in the language of ease — sun-drenched, steady, unburdened. That’s what makes it powerful. “The sun’s shining down on me today / That’s something that can’t be bought,” she sings, with the self-assurance of someone who has stared down the cultural demands for relentless productivity and politely declined. The act of acknowledging beauty without commodifying it is, in itself, an act of liberation.
This is not the hyper-stylized, commercially manufactured “girl power” of pop consumerism. Ross doesn’t lean on cliché or platitude. What she offers is something more grounded — the lived-in wisdom of a woman who has carved out space for herself in a world that often doesn’t offer it freely. In doing so, she reminds other women that they have that right, too.
“People running everywhere / Their purpose never clear / Living like they’re in a race / Forgetting why they’re here.” It’s a critique as much as it is a lament. The culture of acceleration — of endlessly striving for relevance, success, validation — is exhausting, and it’s disproportionately draining for women, who are expected to sustain not just themselves, but everyone around them. Ross rejects this script, not with bitterness but with grace. She answers anxiety with intention, frenzy with stillness.
Musically, “Have A Good Time” is deceptively simple. The arrangement is unobtrusive: acoustic guitar, soft percussion, and melodies that drift rather than demand. It resists spectacle, refuses drama, and in doing so creates space for reflection. It’s music that doesn’t just ask you to listen — it encourages you to feel.
Ross’s voice is key to this. There is no artifice in her delivery — no feigned youth, no stylized detachment. She sings with the intimacy of someone confiding a personal truth, and yet with the composure of someone who no longer needs to explain herself. It’s a voice that has been through something — not in a melodramatic way, but in the sense that it belongs to someone who’s done the work of self-definition.
The most striking moment comes in the bridge: “Watching people crash and burn / I see it all the time / One foot stepping off the ledge, the other on a landmine.” It is a jarring image — and a necessary one. Ross isn’t asking us to forget what’s broken. She’s not denying the collective trauma we carry. What she’s doing is reminding us that joy, rest, and presence are not signs of privilege or weakness. They are tools of survival.
In the landscape of Americana and country rock, Ross stands apart not because she’s reinventing the genre, but because she’s reimagining its function. This isn’t the rebel swagger of male outlaws or the romanticized nostalgia of commercial radio. This is womanhood rendered in full: clear-eyed, imperfect, and absolutely determined to claim its own narrative.
As a critic and a feminist, I’m always listening for where a woman’s voice fits into the conversation — and how it expands it. “Have A Good Time” doesn’t shout to be heard. It speaks clearly, calmly, and with conviction. In a world that profits from our exhaustion, Pam Ross gives us a rare gift: permission to breathe.
This is what liberation can sound like. Not loud. Not performative. But free.
–Ellen Williamson
