Kim Deal Continues to Chase Her Singular Sound on Nobody Loves You More
On the Breeders bandleader’s first-ever solo album, produced by the late Steve Albini, a thread of loss and grief gets tucked into a body of work that’s ageless and ever-evolving.

Almost halfway through Life Of The Record’s 2023 podcast on the making of Pixies’ 1988 album Surfer Rosa, the late, great recording engineer Steve Albini heaps an extended bit of praise on the band’s bassist Kim Deal—who, of course, formed her own project, the Breeders, in 1989:
“There’s nobody I admire in music more than Kim. The records that she’s made with The Breeders, I think … each one is distinctive and unique and absolutely masterful at executing the sound in her head. She is the most relentless in pursuit of a very specific sound or idea of anyone I’ve ever worked with. She does not care if it takes years and tens of thousands of dollars to exorcise the demon of this sound in her head, but once she’s got it, she recognizes it instantly and the case is closed.”
Albini worked with Deal many times over the past three decades, but you don’t have to have spent hours and hours with her inside a recording studio to hear exactly what he’s talking about. It radiates from everything she has released, from the Breeders’ seminal 1990 debut, Pod, to her brilliant one-off album as the Amps in 1995, to the series of singles she put out under her own name in 2013. These works aren’t all perfect, but they’re something better: utterly distinctive music made by a reliably unorthodox songwriter seemingly implacable in her pursuit of a singular sound.
It should surprise no one, then, that her first-ever solo full-length Nobody Loves You More is both unmistakably Kim Deal and also a fresh evolution of Kim Deal’s sound. All of her integral elements are here: tenderness intertwined with tartness; spacious room tone; thumps and whooshes and bug-zapper guitars; familiar feelings conveyed through strange combinations of words. And then there is her voice—still a fusion of charm, attitude, a choir of angels and fine-grit sandpaper, just as it has been all along.