Kim Deal has always had an unorthodox relationship with genre. Though not a middle-of-the-road rock tune by any means, the Breeders’ hit ‘Cannonball’ spuriously referred to itself as “this reggae song” and the demo was given the tortuous descriptor “Grunggae”, a portmanteau of grunge and reggae. ‘Flip Side’ from the same album (1993’s Last Splash) was a manic, distortion-addled impression of Dick Dale’s surf guitar school. And with its second-to-last splash, ‘Drivin’ on 9’, the album pivoted to twee country, inviting echoes of Dolly Parton and Loretta Lynn to join the bro-y world of nineties alternarock.
So it’s natural that on her first proper solo album – the most unfiltered, uncompromising iteration of Kim Deal – the restless songwriter flicks through genres as though spamming the TV remote, no brothers or sisters or bands (or bands with her sister!) with which she must compromise. Indeed, barring the revolving door of cameos from friends – Josh Klinghoffer of the RHCP, Raymond McGinley of Teenage Fanclub, and Britt Walford of Slint are among those who hang out for a song or two and then duck out – Deal’s primary confidant during the production of Nobody Loves You More was the late Steve Albini.
The curmudgeonly producer supported Deal in an engineering capacity, but not as (typically for Albini) a producer, meaning he takes a more hands-off role and, crucially, Deal has free rein over some dodgy choices that a committee might have vetoed. ‘Crystal Breath’, for one, doesn’t know what it wants to be – if the eye-roll title didn’t already tell you that – with its electronic loops and trigger-happy effects giving off boomer-with-a-new-toy energy. It’s one of those that’s clearly more fun for the creator than the consumer. (I’m going to hell for that; sorry, Kim.)
But these aren’t warranted complaints. Not really. If they are, we’re missing the point. Nobody Loves You More is for Kim, first and foremost, its impetus far from a cash- or glory-grab; rather, a mental escape from the death of her mother and the horrors of lockdown trapped among Florida’s Trump flags, as she told the Guardian.
Deal’s never really been one to crave the spotlight either. As an ironic feminist gag, she went by “Mrs. John Murphy” in the liner notes of the Pixies debut. And curiously, when asked in 2008 why she hadn’t ever made a solo record, Deal said, “It makes me nauseous thinking about it… I like bands.” That position softened by 2013 when she self-released a series of 7-inch solo singles, mailing them out by hand, and it has ostensibly vanished by 2024. In fact, her debut album gives a glow up to a couple of those earlier compositions.
‘Wish I Was’, whose 2013 instrumental version appeared in The Bear, awakens to find itself with a new vocal track to accompany its dribbles of surf guitar and smiley, tambourine-heavy drum shuffle. With the new vocals – without that space to colour in with our own meaning – the piece does lose a little of its magic and lo-fi intimacy, though it still remains one of the album’s finest. Deal once said, “Would I sit down and play my own records to relax to hear my voice? No, I wouldn’t do that either. But I would play our instrumentals” – another way her relationship with the songwriting process has developed over the years, even if I might rather sit down with the instrumental…
The ‘Mr. Sandman’-adjacent doo-wop of ‘Are You Mine’ is the other repurposed oldie, reorchestrated so that luscious strings and woozy pedal steel dovetail with lyrics about Deal’s mother. “Let me go where there’s no memory of you / Where everything is safe,” she murmurs in a jarringly poignant gear-change from ‘Crystal Breath’ and its “beat [that’s] gonna lead us / Beat on.” The enveloping instrumentation transports us there with her – to, judging from the music, some utopian dreamworld “where everything is new and nothing is true.” It’s a delightful piece of escapism.
Besides the Pro Tools-core and reimagined girl group-esque cuts, there are – thank goodness – a handful of tracks that will sate those who’ve rocked up for something more like ‘Gigantic’ or the guitar-centric tracks from Pod and Last Splash. “I’ll go where I want while I’m still on the planet,” Deal huffs on ‘Disobedience’, as if getting a jump on any criticism aimed at her nonchalant approach to cohesion. Her effortless marrying of anthemic, fist-in-the-air melodies and gritty guitars is stronger than ever here. And with the live-room production and the album’s most convincing (aka angriest) vocal performance, it may be one of the best things Deal’s ever given us.
Still not enough genre-busting to get you on side? Deal also enlists Chicago marching band Mucca Pazza to lend ‘Coast’ some merry oom-pah-pahs; and then whips out the ukulele Albini gifted to her after she sang at his wedding to join the orchestra during the silky smooth ‘Summerland’. And yes, with all of this going on, it’s like you’ve got three or more albums on shuffle, and no, there isn’t much attempt to bridge the gap between each disparate world – Kim Sinatra, Kim Ronette, Kim Deal of the Breeders, etc. Without a concrete throughline, it’s like another collection of 7 inches rather than an album.
Still, “We’re having a good time,” as Deal confirms (urges?) on the closing track. Maybe that’s our throughline: self-assurance and openness, sharing this indulgent “why not?” process with the world rather than keeping it to herself. The album cover might provide some further evidence for this argument. It pictures Deal adrift at sea with a flamingo and her guitar in an homage to the late performance artist Bas Jan Ader. The Dutch eccentric curated an installation titled “Thoughts unsaid then forgotten” and tragically died at sea in 1975 while in search of the miraculous. Though Kim Deal may not have found it on Nobody Loves You More, the main thing is that these thoughts have been said – that she’s alive, keeping us in the loop, and remains disobedient as ever.
