First impression: Kesha feels black this morning. Read what you want into that, but that’s just how she feels. She has poor eyesight, poor dental hygiene, and has a memory disorder because she can never make it back home. Maybe this song is about the guy from Memento. Let’s listen more and find out.
She clearly has some messed up priorities. She gets pedicures on her feet, which no one will most likely see, but she doesn’t brush her teeth, so she has Jack breath all day long. I hope she doesn’t have an office job, because nothing kills a meeting like someone who reeks of whiskey (so my coworkers have told me). She meets up with her pyromaniac friends, who proceed to blowup her phone. At this point, she has no phone, and just wants to get a little tipsy. Understandable, whenever my friends blow mys hit up I just wanna get blackout drunk and destroy their stuff, too
She has apparanelty brought her own speakers to the party, and the DJ blows them up, at her command. We are now left wondering if she was in fact the victim of the earlier phone explosion, or if she blew it up herself, perhaps to avoid calls from debtors. She plans on fighting tonight until sunlight (or about 10 more hours, depending on the time of year). The tick tock on the clock clearly refers to a timer for a fight of some sort. This piece of information tells us that it is in fact an organized fight, so we can assume for now it’s some sort of UFC fight club with a penchant for order. She has plenty of beer and no money. Those two facts probably have a cause-and-result relationship. Many men are lining up, presumably to fight in the aforementioned fight club. But in order to keep her record good, she doesn’t fight them unless they look like Mick Jagger: frail, old, and likely to pass out by 11 pm. She is, to be cliché, fighting smarter, not harder.
They fight all night until they lose, or get kicked out by the 5-0. This will most likely preclude her from being able to fight until the sunlight. The police most likely would not come to an underground fight club unless there was a noise complaint. This would only happen if there were many people in the club. Thus we can assume that Kesha is part of a massive underground fight club. It’s hard to determine which one, as no one ever talks about them. The last half of the song is just a recap of what happened previously.
Her heart pounds (due to the beer, adrenaline, and steroids necessary to fight for 10 hours). We do learn, though, that DJ is not a disc jockey. It is in fact the name of the police officer. She puts her hands up, then jokingly tells him to put his hands up. Even when she’s getting arrested by her good friend DJ, she can at least keep her sense of humor.
In the end, this anthem of the underground fighter is masterfully told by the smart, funny, and always coherent narrator. We get a glimpse into a relatively unknown segment of society, and only through deep analysis can we piece the puzzle of this song back together. The documentary "Fight Club" shed some light into the perils of an underground fighter, but it simply wasn't enough. By bringing this issue to the forefront again, Kesha has ensured that someone will listen to the pleas of the millions of families affected by underground fight clubs every year. I await the congressional hearing.
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