Lyrically speaking: Tackling climate change realities in ‘Kim’s Caravan’ by Courtney Barnett
Even the greatest musicians get stuck on certain songs, and Aussie singer-songwriter Courtney Barnett is no exception. Through her rambled rumination on everyday life, usually delivered over Sydney-born slacker strums, Barnett has proven herself to be one of the most adept lyricists of her time, but she’s still not immune to a bout of writer’s block.
During the making of her 2015 debut album, Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit, she found herself in a songwriting rut. Her solution? Borrow a pal’s caravan and take a solo trip to the seaside. But if you’re picturing Barnett lounging on a sunbed while the tide laps at her toes, hoping to rediscover her zest for songwriting while breathing in the healing sea air, you might be mistaken.
Instead of finding inspiration in the natural beauty of the coastline, Barnett was spurred on to write when she stumbled upon a dead seal on the beach, and ‘Kim’s Caravan’ was born. Appearing as the penultimate track on Sometimes I Sit and Think, the sprawling track delves into the way we mistreat the earth we live on, tackling our collective complicity in its destruction through her distinctive run-on sentences.
Jesus frowns on as Barnett describes the scene. A dead seal on the beach. A conversation with a man who claims to have already saved it three times this week. “Guess it just wants to die,” she shrugs. This real-life encounter with a dead seal forms the central image for Barnett’s wonderings about the world on ‘Kim’s Caravan’.
Her phrasing is straightforward and to the point, but it thrives in its simplicity. As she charts the suicidal feelings of this seal whose home has been destroyed, its desperation to die, the ways she relates to it, her words cut like conversations about climate change should. “I would wanna die too,” she concurs in the first of many run-on ramblings, “with people putting oil into my air but to be fair I’ve done my share guess everybody’s got their different point of view.”
The way she sings sounds almost improvised, as if we’re strolling the beach with her while she lets her thoughts tumble out of her mouth, but there’s real intention in them, too. Though Barnett sympathises with the seal, she admits to her own contributions to climate change, shrugging the responsibility off as the majority of us do.
Denying us the respite of a chorus just yet, Barnett guides us along Phillip Island’s Sunset Strip as she continues to chart the mistreatment of the Great Barrier Reef. A headache-inducing paper she stumbles upon reads, “The Great Barrier Reef, it ain’t so great anymore, it’s been raped beyond belief, the dredgers treat it like a whore.”
She turns the destruction of the coast into vivid and violent poetry, pulling in misogynistic language and questioning how we can proclaim our love for something we treat so poorly. Her words flow into one another effortlessly, as she weaves together damning commentary on our attitudes toward the environment, but her harsher words ensure that they still maintain an impact.
In her disdain, Barnett opts to drown her sorrows. “I drank til I was sinking, sank til I was thinking that I’m thankful for this view,” she repeats, in yet another example of her lyrical flow. It feels as if there’s nothing else for her to do but to enjoy a drink and a view, to take it all in while she still can. Even those of us who do take the time to appreciate the natural beauty of the world around us can feel helpless in attempts to save it, left only with gratitude.
Barnett continues this theme into the lines that follow, which suggest that people either think of themselves as “invincible” or “invisible.” They’re two words that sound particularly pleasing to the ear in tandem, but they also illustrate Barnett’s point perfectly. While some people hold onto invincibility, denying climate change or assuming that they won’t live to see the effects of it, others believe themselves to be invisible, unable to make a change that will really impact upon such a huge issue.
Really, Barnett suggests, “we’re somewhere in between.” We’re certainly not invincible — we are already feeling the effects of climate change — but we’re not invisible either. We can make a choice to use our voices, to rally for change, to do our part. Individual actions might not make huge differences, unless they’re made by those in power, but they still count.
Despite her declarative words in the verses, Barnett turns the tables back on her listener for a lengthy, repetition-heavy chorus. “Don’t ask me what I really mean,” she pleads, “I am just a reflection of what you really wanna see, so take what you want from me.” The final part of her statement becomes a refrain as she reiterates it over haunting harmonies and driving guitars.
These final lines aren’t quite as clear or straightforward as much of the more descriptive or declarative parts of ‘Kim’s Caravan’. It’s as if Barnett has reverted back to indecision, pushing us away, but it also seems as if she might have taken on the voice of the environment itself. As she urges us to “take what [we] want from [her],” it certainly feels as if she’s daring us to continue on our destructive path.
As the track comes to a close, Barnett returns to her opening image. “Satellites on the ceiling,” she sings, “I can see Jesus and she’s smiling at me, all I wanna say is.” The intensity of the instrumentation surrounding her has quelled, as if the tide has settled during the duration of the song. Her words trail off, as if she still isn’t quite sure of what to say.
With poignant imagery, violent lyrics, and indecisive vulnerabilities, Barnett perfectly captures contemporary feelings around climate change on ‘Kim’s Caravan’, as well as our collective responsibility. It’s a stellar example of her ability to turn monotonous experiences and apparent ramblings into intentional poetry and purposeful commentary.
