By Tina Houser (Press Play / FM 2.0)
When Kristopher Roe, frontman of the Ataris, sat down with The Don and Tina of Press Play Radio / FM 2.0, what unfolded wasn’t just an interview — it was a winding ride through memory, loss, rebirth, and rock ‘n’ roll.
Roe, now in his 40s and still as heart-on-sleeve as ever, has returned with The Car Song, a single that feels both cinematic and intimate, nostalgic and fresh. It’s the lead whisper of a long-awaited album — a decade in the making — from a band that once defined a generation’s bittersweet summers.
“The first new car I ever bought was a 2003 Dodge Neon,” Roe recalls. “Not very sexy, but that car carried me through tours, breakups, late-night escapes. That’s what The Car Song is about — not a person, but a love letter to the journeys we take in the vehicles that become part of us.”
The Midwest is still in his veins — Anderson, Indiana, specifically — where Roe was raised and first dreamt up the band name while surrounded by a thrift-store collection of Atari cartridges. “700 games, mostly for the 2600,” he says, with a wistful smile. “Then my house burned down, and they all melted together in a black blob. That was crushing.”
But that sense of loss has always fueled Roe’s writing. On Summer Wind Was Always Our Song, inspired by Frank Sinatra and the Santa Barbara bar jukebox where Roe used to leave secret dedications to a soon-to-be love, the lyrics ache with bittersweet memory. “Even if I don’t have those feelings for that person anymore, the song takes on a new life because it becomes someone else’s,” he says. “And that’s beautiful.”
For Roe, the personal is always public — but never in a performative way. His father’s passing led to one of the most touching tributes in recent memory: a limited vinyl pressing of The Car Song infused with his father’s ashes. “He was the biggest supporter of the band,” Roe says, eyes glinting. “Now he’s physically part of the music. He gets to live out in the world forever.” All proceeds benefit Shatterproof, a nonprofit aiding families affected by addiction — a cause close to Roe’s heart.
Roe is no stranger to duality — Midwest grit with California dreams, punk ethos wrapped in poetic introspection, sobriety offset by the therapeutic benefits of psychedelics. He openly discusses microdosing mushrooms to manage grief and anxiety, sharing how “Moms on Microdosing Mushrooms,” a Denver-based group, opened his eyes to a new kind of healing.
Tina and The Don, both longtime fans, navigated the conversation from light-hearted Atari memories to Roe’s brush with Breaking Bad — including buying and using one of the show’s actual cars in his music video — and then to deep dives on songwriting and legacy. Tina, particularly moved by The Car Song, praised its storytelling and emotional pull. “I wish I was in that car with you heading west,” she said, representing countless fans who find their own reflections in Roe’s lyrics.
Still proudly analog in a digital world, Roe records straight to tape — no auto-tune, no slick overproduction — just heart, grit, and melody. “I wanted it to feel like windows down, radio up,” he says. “The way music used to feel.”
The new record, due out March 2026, is expected to hit like So Long, Astoria did years ago — with its raw honesty, anthemic power, and, yes, some surprises. Including an official cover of Summer of ‘69, personally blessed by co-writer Jim Vallance.
Roe knows not everyone will understand every choice he makes — whether it’s putting ashes in vinyl or turning down a Sphere show to finish an album — but for him, it’s all about intent. “I just want to create something real,” he says. “And if it resonates, then it was worth it.”
After nearly 30 years in music, Roe still feels like that same outsider kid with a console full of dreams. And maybe that’s why his songs still land — because they’re not just about heartbreak or nostalgia. They’re about surviving both, and coming back with the stereo louder.
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