The first time I heard “The Roches” album I wanted to marry all three of the singing sisters. The record proved they have almost everything I’ve dreamed of: spirit, intelligence, humor, creativity, warmth, charm and personality.
I wrote that in 1979 when “The Roches,” a brilliant and witty collection of harmony-loving originals produced by Robert Fripp, was released, and I went to New York City to meet the three sisters – and propose.
It was a sunny day in Manhattan, well, as sunny as it seems amid grey skyscrapers. The Roches had a couple of weeks off. Suzzy, the youngest sister, was vacationing in Europe. Maggie was talking about having a friend over to dinner that evening. And Terre was a bit hungerover but managed to find her way down the block to Maggie’s second-floor Greenwich Village apartment.
Coffee and tea were served. The two Roche sisters settled into opposite ends of an old couch. Maggie caressed a pillow. Terre slurped her coffee. I sipped my tea, Red Zinger, the first time I’d ever experienced that seemingly exotic herbal flavor. Why not be adventurous? After all, I was about to try something bold.
I cleared my throat. Then I popped the big one.
“I fell in love with the album and thought about marring all three of you.”
Maggie looked up at me with her expressive, big brown eyes. She seemed contemplative, as she usually does. But Terre jumped right in, as she usually does.
“How would it work?” she asked.
“You see, I have a three-bedroom house…”
“But where would you sleep?” Terre interrupted.
“In the basement, of course, with your record,” I wisecracked.
Maggie finally smiled. She suggested that we wait and consult Suzzy.
We never did connect with Suzzy.
Postscript: Maggie Roche died Saturday of breast cancer. She was 65.