In her own words
Issue #27
Kimya Dawson tells us why she poured her heart out on her latest release, Remember That I Love You
By Kimya Dawson
Published: March 1st, 2006 | 12:00am
In less than two years, a seemingly unbearable amount of fucked-up stuff happened, and I recorded an album called Hidden Vagenda. It was about how bad shit was happening and I was getting through it. It was my first studio album — my first album that wasn't recorded on a 4-track, in bed, alone, with a blanket over my head. I went to San Francisco, New York, France, and England and recorded with lots of friends and fancy arrangements. I knew that to emotionally survive what was going on around me, I had to stay busy and stay surrounded by people I cared about, who cared about me. No more wallowing in the sadness. No more self-medicating. No more depression. I would redirect the pain and use it to empower myself. Yes, that was it. I was sure.
I was doing a good job too. I was having fun. I was happy. I was in the first relationship of my life that was with someone who wasn't an addict and had never been to jail. It was a big deal to let myself be loved. I had never done that before. I had conquered some big-ass demons and I felt strong! I went out into the world with my chin up and my arms spread. I became comfortable doing that alone. Walking into a room full of strangers and feeling pretty OK about me was a big deal too. I started to feel invincible. The album was released October 2004.
A month later Bush was re-elected. A little less than two months after, earthquakes and tsunamis. Less than two months after that, my mom collapsed and lost the ability to walk. Then my family decided to sell our home in New York — the house my great grandpa built — and move to the West Coast. All with a fucked-up war as the backdrop. These were a whole new brand of troubles. I really thought my mom might die. I really felt displaced. I became frightened for our world, frightened for our country, frightened for my family, and frightened for myself. I thought I had learned how to cope, but this darkness got me with a sneak attack. Home is important to me. Family is important to me. I felt like I was losing both of these things. So I decided to take a few steps backward, and take a deep breath, and figure out what had gone wrong.
I realized that I had forgotten to remember that as long as I live, sad things will happen, and things will happen that make me mad as all hell. Things get good and then they get bad and then they get better and then they get worse before they get OK again. 2004 was the best summer ever, and I had assumed that 2005 would be the new best summer ever. But it wasn't. In some ways, it was the worst summer I have ever known. So I went to my friend Jake's house in Portland and recorded some songs in his living room. And I went to my friend Matt's apartment in New York and recorded some songs there. I was with a few friends. I wasn't alone. There are some flutes, violins, bells, and good buddies singing along. There are no drums, no bass lines, no gongs. The end result is a little album called Remember That I Love You. This album is my few steps backward and my deep breaths. It is my way of saying, “Oh shit. I am not invincible.” It is me crying, “I want my mommy! I want my house!” It is me begging people to stop fighting each other and me begging people to stop disrespecting themselves. And it is me recognizing and acknowledging what is important to me.
What saved me this time around wasn't personal strength or courage. When I sat back and closed my eyes and recorded these songs, I saw myself as a part of this big thing and I felt better. There is this big thing happening. It is made up of the nerds and the punx and everyone else setting up all-ages shows, people who love their bodies (whatever shapes and sizes they may be), the families of dead kids fighting to do good in the memory of the ones they lost, the people singing songs on stages and in basements and under the covers in their rooms, people who keep on protesting even when it seems like they stopped being acknowledged a long time ago, parents who let their little kids pick out their own clothes and take them to shows, actual diverse neighborhood communities, people planting gardens, kids who leave nice comments about each other on Web sites, daddies who wipe sick mommies’ asses, brave mommies, and people who — all crap considered — still believe in kindness and goodness and love. So I made a little album to say thanks for hanging in there. And thanks for telling me to hang in there. And keep on hanging in there. Seriously. The little differences we make in the world are huge to me. Fuck being one badass lady. Hurrah for our badass team.
I love us.
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