Kim Deal Is Ready to Go Solo. It Just Took 4 Decades.

In her pink-tiled bathroom with a sky-blue tub, Kim Deal gripped a wad of cables in one hand and squatted to peer down a laundry chute.

She bought this modest Dayton, Ohio, house in 1990 when she was in two of the defining bands of the alternative era — Pixies and the Breeders — and turned its basement into a laboratory of rock. She eventually added recording gear to the main bedroom, and was demonstrating how she’d threaded its wiring up to the second floor.

“There’s a snake down there that has many inputs,” she explained, then dashed up a flight of white wooden stairs with the deftness of someone who’s done it a hundred thousand times. She grinned and pointed at the cords’ destination. Wasn’t it great?

It was a crisp October night in the unassuming Midwestern city that’s still home to the Breeders, and leaves rustled beneath Deal’s yellow-soled Hokas. The two-bedroom, like Deal herself, is low-key and designed for music-making. A collection of hard drives lay on the floor in front of a bookshelf holding paperbacks and 45s, though ironically, she’s never been good at keeping a record collection. “Supposedly I have some rare ones,” she said, thumbing through a handful. “This is El Inquilino Comunista, a Spanish band, they were good.”

Trends and names come and go, but despite living very much out of the spotlight, Deal has had a grip on the popular imagination for nearly four decades with her confounding lyrics, starry nonchalance and a distinctive singing voice that’s like cotton candy cut with paint thinner. “Cannonball,” a crunchy earworm with a slippery bass line from the Breeders’ second album, “Last Splash,” is sonic shorthand for “the ’90s.” Kurt Cobain loved her songs and took the band on tour with Nirvana in 1993; the 21-year-old pop star Olivia Rodrigo did the same in 2024.

This month, at 63, Deal is finally releasing a full album under her own name, titled “Nobody Loves You More,” that is more than a new twist on a familiar aesthetic. It’s a statement of evolution from a fiercely independent artist in maturity — a project that evolved over the tumultuous years as Deal sorted out her sobriety, pried open old band wounds and devoted herself to her aging parents. Her mother and father both passed before she turned these long-gestating songs into an album. After it was finished, the man who helped make it, her beloved co-conspirator Steve Albini, died suddenly of a heart attack. He was 61.