The Beer

i talked to kimya about this once, she is extremely sweet and i was incredibly curious. the stones with holes in them- when she was recovering she used to search for little triangle stones on the beach with holes in them to keep her mind off the booze. she still has them. the pink pony was a childhood stuffed animal that she loved. she lost it. she went through such hell...peace be with her.

I saw Kimya at a small show once avec Jenny Owen Youngs, and before this song, Kimya said: "This next song is about drinking." Jenny: "YEAH!" Kimya: "...and why I haven't done it in six years." Jenny: "GOOD CALL!"

This song I first heard when I was fourteen. At the time I just thought it was a really cool indie song; very creative, but it quickly became another meaningless fad with the group of “friends” I had throughout my teens. It always made me sad when I’d hear it because despite not hearing all the lyrics, the instruments play a key role in giving one the emotional and psychological compass of this song’s meaning. I was experiencing intense trauma at the time, surrounded by people who were just as sick but were sick in that they loved to hurt themselves, yet were too oblivious to notice how bad they were. They were alcoholics, and drug addicts. I spent fourteen years with these people as my second family in a way bc my home life was filled with narcissistic abuse. I did whatever I could to get away so I’d not kill myself. I’m still battling this trauma in that it’s gotten me stuck in a place in life I never imagined I’d be, all bc of the carelessness of family who speaks only to gain and only shows me affectionate so as to use me as a means to an end in a lifelong game where I always lose. I no longer have that second family who, just like my own family, used me for whatever I did give or could be taken. Now I’m praying I make it to live the life I’d planned for myself but was intentionally dismantled by my the very ppl who put me here to live a happy life..so they said when I was young. They chose my sister as the investment; I became sick with an undiagnosed me illness at 15, went through hell alone, cured at thirty. The remission simply enraged my family to the point where all resources were and are cut off. I was taken out of college just before graduating bc my father didn’t want to waste money putting me through university. He says he owns me. He says I’m not worth equality, respect, or privacy. I mention these things only bc I empathize with Konya, feel she is brave to shed herself as she has, and I empathize with everyone who has been thrown in the scrap heap of life for no reason other than being born to people who refuse to see one’s good traits or potential. I also bring this up because I was too stupid to realize my chance to escape this dynamic when I could, bc I was too busy trying to make sure I went to sleep each night and woke up each morning…I kept moving forward and I don’t know why. I keep moving forward and I still don’t know why. The love I have for my family clouded my perception of realizing reality was my worst fear: it was all lies. The love the respect, the once every few years compliment. My remission was going to be beautiful and I worked hard to get there but I had no idea I was trying to heal and start my life with the help of the two ppl in the world who literally hate me the most and what do I do with that. I fought alcoholism, drug addiction; my unbroken home was unbroken but with a father who I knew only from punishment for things I never did. So my boyfriends were all physically, psychologically, and emotionally abusive. I didn’t think I deserved better and now, I’m out of time. The abuse here will kill me no doubt within a couple years. Kimya is a true phoenix. I hoped to join her in the sky too, but my unconditional love and inability to hurt others for self gain put me where I’ll never escape. Never live my own adult life, being happy. Remission came with one response from my parents which was pure fury. Anyone wants to take a crack at why this was their response, I’d love to hear it. I have yet to understand what I did or what went wrong; why I’m the one who fought and fought and fought for a happy life I’ll never have. Kimya, keep being a warrior. You made it out. Live life for yourself and the rest of us who aren’t allowed to. Bless you, Kimya. You are beautiful!❤️❤️❤️

This simple little song is one of Kimya Dawson’s finest because of how well it explores two of her favorite themes: the grotesque vulgarity of everyday American life and the pain of growing up. What’s more, Dawson skillfully combines rap-like wordplay with listener-dependent “insider” references to popular culture in a way that succeeds the way few other songs in the anti-folk movement have done.

Beginning in lines 3 and 4 (he … punched me / I lit his house on fire), Dawson introduces the trope of senseless, even absurdist, alcohol-fueled violence that runs throughout the song. The violence becomes grosser, in both senses of the word, in lines 8 and 9 before becoming truly revolting at the end of the first stanza. Like Kafka or Dalí before her, Dawson is interested in our own revulsion at the idea of our own bodies’ imminent destruction and at our own wastes. But Dawson links that revulsion directly to another nausea: the emptiness of suburban America and its citizens, who exist only as consumers and as surgically-enhanced robo-humans. Notably, the Mazda-driving, silicone-titted bimbo in the song is not a “you” but an “I.” Dawson is unafraid to engage in self-parody or self-accusation by making her first-person narrator the target of her own vitriol. In the next verse, the narrator’s persona is expanded to include not only the mall-visiting suburbanite but also the tattooed hipster who mistakes her own crassness for integrity: You said “You’re gross, my darling / I said “No, I’m rock ‘n’ roll.”

Like many other pop-culture purveyors who came of age in the post-modern 1980s (the Beastie Boys or Quentin Tarantino, for example), Dawson loads her best work with a steady stream of references to cultural artifacts whose capital comes from a nostalgic appreciation that she hopes her audience will share with her. "Beyond Thunderdome," Big Johnson shirts, "Sirens," Sunny D, and My Little Pony are cultural detritus, to be sure — no one would dare call them lasting or important phenomena. But Dawson finds value in her generation’s shared remembrance of these cast-off fads.

The third verse introduces another common device of Dawson’s: the in-joke. She performs songs like “The Beer” for audiences made up mainly of strangers; most people who buy her albums or attend her shows have never met her personally, and yet through the anecdotes she includes in her songs, her listeners are made to feel like her most intimate confessors. In the same way Dawson finds solidarity in an alienated generation’s pop-culture fetishes, she creates a bond with her listeners by inviting them to be a part of her own in-jokes. By obliquely referencing past events (whether real or fictitious), Dawson leaves our imaginations free to fill in the details. Why did she pee her pants — was she laughing too hard? Why did the guy she’s addressing “steal the groom’s cigar”? — was he a guest at the wedding of a man he despised? Dawson’s incomplete anecdotes have the feel of a conversation between friends so close that they need only mention one or two details of an incident to send each other into hysterics (the stolen cigar) or solemn silence (the sexual abuse mentioned in the next line).

In the song’s long final verse, Dawson’s subject matter veers from the grotesque and the comic to the dramatic and the tragic; shared laughter gives way to private tears. First the booze-fueled binge that runs throughout the song finally gives way to unconsciousness. Then, as cryptic as the accusations the narrator makes in lines 33 and 34 are, it’s clear that her bile has been redirected from herself to her addressee. The emotional climax of the song occurs in the next two lines, when the storyteller finally acknowledges her own childishness, distancing herself from it by calling him out as a life-long “teenager”; her only-half-ironic suggestion that he should “find some pretty sucker / And make that bitch your wife” is the ultimate indictment on the charge of irresponsibility. That accusation frees the singer to focus on the real pain and stupidity that come with growing up. Finally she breaks down in tears as she realizes she’s no longer “the girl [she] used to be.” It is that realization that frees her to speak encouragingly to herself through the voice of the silver-pink pony: “You’ve come a long, long way and you deserve to be really happy.” And in the end it seems like happiness is all she’s really been asking for.

Yeah this reminds me of some messy nights out on the old booze! When will i ever learn? Such a good lyrics. Kimya is an amazing song writter!

this song sounds like a crazy dream i love it.grrrrrrrrr

i really want to be her friend...

This song really makes you think... Not a "Warm Fuzzy feeling" sort of song.

fucking chilling. i shiver when i hear "i tried to scream fuck you but blood was pouring out my mouth"

=] I love this song... It's so crazy! My boyfriend found it while searching up random words... My favorite part is, "and the christians gave me comic books as if i would be scared of burning in hell well i was already there"