When KC Dalager began writing songs again in 2018, it marked the start of what would become one of the most difficult periods of her life. She was coming to the end of two years on the road, promoting and touring with her band Now, Now in support of their critically acclaimed sophomore album, Saved, which landed them on multiple "Best Of" lists including NPR, FADER, GQ, Billboard and more, as well as sold out headline shows, festivals and support for artists like Maggie Rogers and St. Lucia. And as the cycle wound down, she began to process the last 12 years of her time in the music industry, propelling her to embark on an incredible journey of self-discovery about trauma, mental health, her own autism diagnosis and ultimately, healing and understanding.
With big discoveries, came a new sense of self. KC Rae, as she goes by now, acknowledges that writing these songs started out as an attempt to regain her power. “It felt like I was writing a response to all of the times I’d been told ‘No' in my career. And to be honest, I kind of just wanted to prove that I could do something on my own, as the sole writer, musician and producer of a thing that was just mine.” However, as time went on, the solo process became much more than that; it became the timestamp of a painful yet incredible journey of confronting her own trauma and mental health struggles. Through these revelations, KC prepares to release her most personal and stripped down body of work to date, Think I’m Gonna Die, one that was indeed never meant to see the light of day.
The album is raw and uncompromising, yet also warm with familiarity; the way a brand new pair of denim might feel— at first pinching at the soft spots— and eventually easing into a second skin. Nostalgia is visceral on “Blockbuster,” as KC sings autobiographically about the time when she was 13 years old, hanging out with just-slightly-older cousin who convinced her to take her stepfather's yellow convertible on a (very illegal) drive to Blockbuster to rent a movie. “I was terrified of breaking rules as a kid, so this experience has sunk itself into the core memory archives,” she explains. “It also captures the entire relationship with my cousin and crashing through childhood and adolescence together. I have a really intense sensory memory, so the end of the track is a tangent of every time I’ve felt a specific breeze while with her. I also wanted to highlight and display all of these little instances of growing up that you don’t realize are going to stick with you.”
A few years ago KC purchased and started learning the banjo, which you can hear as a prevalent throughline on the album. From the Springsteen-esque “Bathroom Floor,” to the haunting and somber “Hymn,” the way she uses the instrument throughout is surprising and unexpectedly diverse. The production on the album is intentionally minimal, especially when it comes to vocals. They are left gorgeously breathy and raw– so much so you can hear the pain break in her voice on the gorgeously intense concluding track “Parking Lot.”
I don’t understand it/ Why I’m still stuck in the water/ Break the fucking habit/ if it’s just all that I am.
“Parking Lot is about the feeling of being held captive by someone else’s rage,” KC explains. “Then the song concludes with the realization that I can take my power back.” The track is aptly placed as the final song on an album which, throughout, details the cycle of oppression, surrender, reflection, rebirth, and return. “I’m becoming cognizant of a greater process in motion, that we are always going to land where we were meant to land,” KC muses, “and for me, that tends to be back where I started, but with a new and deeper awareness.”
