About 4 years ago I knew some of The Beastie Boys were up in the balcony at a benefit I played for Willie Mae Rock Camp for Girls. There was a mini bass they had signed up for auction that night. I stood under the balcony with my paddle and battled until I won the bass. I have friends in common with those guys and was a little shy about fanning out so hard. The host that night totally called me out though from the stage.
“Kimya Dawson must LOVE the Beastie Boys! She really wants this one!”
I did. I really wanted it.
See, when I was 14 there were no Rock Camps. I felt alone in my weirdness a lot of the time. And I would pretend I was a musician alone. My self esteem was low. My love of words was huge, but my teachers kept telling me to stop making my poems rhyme.
Then my older brother came home with the Licensed To Ill record.
Paul Revere was the first song that I listened to over and over and over and over and over with the intention of memorizing and being able to recite it. And I would wear a derby hat and sunglasses and bust this one out in my room, when no one was home, in front of the full length mirror. Seriously.
And, alone in those moments, I became this very secret version of myself that felt like maybe just maybe I was a little bit of badass.