A Conversation with Missy Roback
By John L. Micek


It’s not a bad time to be Missy Roback.

Consider the following: Her debut solo CD Just Like Breathing was the subject of a glowing review in the alt.country bible No Depression, she snagged a spot on the 2002 year-end, best-of-list compiled by Chicago Sun-Times pop scribe Jim DeRogatis, and she counts among her pals the venerable Connecticut rockers The Reducers.

The disc has been doing well “from all angles,” Roback, 40, says over the line from the San Francisco home she shares with her husband of ten years, the former Rain Parade bassist and Viva Saturn frontman Steven Roback (who also contributed guitars and produced the record).

“I’ve been doing best in the Midwest and the southern seaboard,” she says with a bemused laugh. On the phone, Roback’s voice has the same whispery softness and carefully considered enunciation that makes her 11-song disc the reassuring and meditative collection of folk-pop that it is.

She gropes around for a while for an answer to why her record seems to have resonated most with the people of the plains and denizens of the Bible Belt. Then she gets it: Because of their relative isolation from the rest of the nation, she speculates, listeners from the great middle of the country just might not be as jaded as their more world-weary compatriots of the right and left coasts.

“I think people (there) are more appreciative of music when it comes through town,” she said. “Out here (in San Francisco), you have an embarrassment of riches.”

Whatever it is, she’ll take it.

Released late last year on Roback’s own Hear Kitty label, Just Like Breathing traces its genesis to 1998 when Steven Roback began encouraging his wife — who had hitherto been content to harmonize while her husband played the guitar — to begin writing songs of her own.

“I’d been singing all my life,” she recalled. “It had always been my fantasy to make a record. But I’ve always been very shy about my voice.” After playing for a while in a cover band and then quitting because “I wasn’t into it,” Roback threw herself into her music. Then, in 1999, proving that fate has a backhanded way of telling you what you need to know, she received the confirmation that she was headed in the right direction.

“I was the editor of MacWeek, and we went out of business,” she said. “I’d always wanted to lose my job. I took it as a sign to reevaluate what I was doing with my life. I cranked out a lot of songs.”

For the unfamiliar, the tunes that make up the disc recall Aimee Mann’s better moments, and they share Mann’s literate eye for detail — perhaps only natural since Roback remains a writer by trade.

That literary bent is nowhere more apparent than on “New Britain,” a bittersweet ode to Roback’s hometown in Connecticut (In the interests of full disclosure, your author is also a Nutmeg State native and was amused to find that he and Roback often shared the same stomping grounds.).

Accompanied by gentle guitar and organ, Roback confirms what most of us already know: No matter how far you travel, you never really shake off where you’ve come from.

“You can physically leave a place, but you never really leave,” she said. “When you’re growing up, you’re not really thrilled with your hometown. It’s not until afterward that you start to appreciate it … It’s like leaving your mother or something. It’s really intense." But, she adds with the voice of experience, “I might be romanticizing it too. I don’t think I could ever live there full-time again.”

When she was asked to describe the writing process for the record, Roback admitted to a method that some might unorthodox. “I haven’t had a radio in my car since 1995, and I realized that I didn’t miss it,” she said. “I would write in the car, and sing. Every morning, I go into work, and go into the ladies room and sing the line.”
Recording the album, she said, was an education. But it was not totally unfamiliar territory. She had

already seen her husband through the Viva Saturn discs. “I’ve lived through the making of a couple of his records. It just takes over your life,” she said. “There’s nothing like doing it yourself. I would never have though that there was so much to recording a vocal. It was such a valued experience.”

Adult experiences shoot through the record, and Roback wondered aloud where music for those of her generation, the ones who grew up with The Rain Parade and the first wave of American college radio, fits into the contemporary pop marketplace. “If those people are making it, no one knows how to market it,” she said. The music industry is “so focused on youth, they wouldn’t know what to do with good music for adults if it bit them on the ass.”

Future plans to promote the record include a possible tour. “I really want to tour,” Roback said. “I’m a free-lancer, so I have the schedule. It just comes down to how much time I can spend. A couple of weeks I can do. A couple of months, probably not.”

In the meantime, Roback remains convinced that she has begun this chapter of her life at the right time, that the experience of age enabled her to make a better record. “I’m probably writing better,” she said. “If I were 25, it would be easier to go on the road for three months and live in a van … It takes such a belief in yourself.”

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