She Sings Songs from the Toaster 

Q: “I Desire You” was originally written for the debut Recorded Songs album. What didn’t work with the male vocal tracks, and what did Tim’s wife change when she took over the microphone?
David Kitzmiller: "'I Desire You' is often mistaken for being purely sexual, but that’s really only one layer of it. At its core, it’s about a kind of love where the desire survives circumstances. 'Clothed or naked, happy or sad, rested or tired,' carrying secrets or telling the truth—the desire remains. The song is saying, essentially, I still want you no matter what.

I originally wrote it for the first Recorded Songs album, but I could never make it work with the male vocal tracks. The problem wasn't really the song. It was the emotional distance between the words and the way it was delivering them. There’s something very vulnerable about admitting that you want someone that completely, and the male voice wasn't exposing that vulnerability.

When Some Guy Named Tim’s Wife stepped up to the microphone, that changed immediately. Her breathy, almost whispered delivery brought the intimacy forward without having to force it. Suddenly the sensuality was there, but so was the tenderness. She made it feel less like someone declaring desire and more like someone confessing it. That was one of the moments where I realized the right voice doesn't simply perform a song. Sometimes it reveals what the song was trying to be all along."

Q: “Smokes” has a completely different stylistic history, tracing all the way back to your work with Nameless Cowfish. How did the song transition from a smoky lounge experiment to its final dream-pop identity?
David Kitzmiller: "'Smokes' has probably traveled farther than any other song on this album. I originally wrote it sitting on the couch in Jay’s living room while Erik was tapping away on what was, at the time, basically just a snare drum. We were still figuring out what Nameless Cowfish was supposed to sound like, and I was bringing in new material.

I had just gone through another breakup, so naturally I wrote a breakup song. The original idea was that this would be our ballad—the slower, more emotional song in a band that was otherwise aiming somewhere between Danzig, GWAR, The Circle Jerks, and grunge alternative. The problem was that I already suspected I didn't have the vocal range to make that version work. So instead of trying to sing it, I approached it more like spoken word. With Erik’s snare and Jay’s bass, it unexpectedly became this strange little jazz song. And, as far as I remember, that was probably the last time Nameless Cowfish played together as the 'official band.'

When I brought it back for The Bedroom Sessions, I didn't want to rewrite its history. The lyrics stayed largely intact. What changed was the atmosphere. Some Guy Named Tim’s Wife stepped into it like a lounge singer, and suddenly that old experiment had a completely different life. I like that the song didn't lose where it came from, the original lyrics remained largely unedited. It just finally found the version of itself that had been hiding in there."

Q: “One Breath at a Time” deals with the delicate intersection of recovery and new romance. How does the song mirror that internal process of rebuilding?
David Kitzmiller: "What is defferent about 'One Breath at a Time' is it came from one of those rare periods when I found myself genuinely at peace. That was unusual enough that I noticed it. The song originally had the ridiculous working title 'You Overcooked the Mac and Cheese,' because that's what was happening during the dinner that triggered the thought. But underneath that ordinary moment, I suddenly realized how much had changed. I was looking backward and noticing that some of the memories that had once controlled me didn't have the same power anymore.

The song became a way of recognizing that recovery isn't always some dramatic victory. Sometimes you only notice that you're getting better because something that used to hurt doesn't hurt quite as much. You keep counting the days, and then eventually you realize you're not just surviving them anymore.

That's where the new relationship enters the song. Love wasn't replacing recovery, and it wasn't magically erasing the past. It was giving me a reason to believe that there could be something beyond it. The line about being here 'one breath at a time' is really the whole idea: I had spent years learning how to survive, and suddenly I was learning how to live. The final version makes that even more explicit. The memories are still there, but they no longer get to decide what happens next."

Q: The track “and Protect” addresses a very profound question regarding acceptance and looking back at past trauma. What is the emotional breakthrough at the core of this song?
David Kitzmiller: I think 'and Protect' is probably the most complicated song on the album for me because it asks a question I don't think has a clean answer: Who would I be if none of the terrible things had happened?

I've written so much of my life into A Step Away from Bathing with a Toaster and Born with a Toaster in the Bathroom that I can sometimes overanalyze my own history. I started wondering what would happen if I could remove all of it—the grief, the trauma, the fear, the scars. Would there be some healthier, happier version of me underneath it all? Maybe. But I also realized I might not recognize that person.

The song isn't saying that suffering is good or that trauma is something we should be grateful for. I wouldn't want to make that argument. What it recognizes is that those experiences shaped the person who exists now. They affected how I write, how I see people, how I recognize pain in someone else, and ultimately how I try to help. That's the breakthrough for me. I can wish that some things had never happened without wishing that I had never become the person who survived them. The revised song pushes that question even harder: 'Who would I be / If I hadn’t bled?'"

Q: “Suicidal Vampire” closes the album as a standout bonus track. You have mentioned this is expanding into a full rock opera—what are the specific thematic elements of grief that she unlocked in this performance?
David Kitzmiller: "'Suicidal Vampire' is another one that started as part of the Spooktober series, and on paper it sounds like a completely different creature from the rest of the album. But underneath the supernatural setup, it's really a song about grief and what happens when you have forever but no one to share it with. I imagined a vampire who has lived for centuries but is still completely trapped in the memory of the person he loved. Immortality sounds like a gift until you realize you have to carry your loss indefinitely. Six hundred years later, she's still remembering the same person as if she saw her yesterday.

There are also little pieces of humor scattered throughout it—the ridiculous age difference, her parents trading her heart for a farmer's cow, the vampire complaining about modern technology and 'sparkling vampires.' Those jokes are intentional. I like putting humor into darker material because grief isn't always solemn. Sometimes absurdity is part of how you survive it.

But what happened with the recording was bigger than anything I specifically asked for from Some Guy Named Tim’s Wife. The performance as a whole gave everyone goosebumps. Afterward, someone—I think it was Hector LaNona—said it sounded like an opera song. I tried to forget that comment on the drive from Nashville to Indianapolis. I couldn't. By the time I got home, I was researching how to write an opera. The idea wouldn't leave me alone, and now I'm actually writing the opera.