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“I try to chase after the sounds in my head,” says Annie Clark, who records and performs as St. Vincent. “But by the time you put it through your body, it comes out different than what you intended. It's striving for A and coming out Z—which sometimes is better.”

It's been a 10-year ascent for the artistic, mysterious singer-songwriter and guitarist. Influenced equally by bands like Sleater-Kinney and Bikini Kill and jazz greats John Coltrane and Sarah Vaughan, Clark named her music project after a Nick Drake song about the poet Dylan Thomas dying in New York City's St. Vincent's Hospital.

Clark's inventive, intricate music is featured most notably on her recent, self-titled fourth solo album and on her current concert tour. Here, she talks with Lisa Robinson about life on the road and her background, clothes, and music.

Vanity Fair: You've been on the road so much, and yet when you took some time off you said you didn't really take time off.

I've basically lived on the road since I put out my first solo record [2007's Marry Me]. That dovetailed into touring with David Byrne and releasing our mutual record [2012's Love This Giant]. I had a year and a half of an audio scrapbook of where I'd been. So when I had a little break, I lay on the couch for a day, and the next day I was excited to sift through all of my notes and pictures and melodies. And that turned into another record.

In an age of reality TV and Instagram, are you determined to maintain a strong sense of personal privacy?

I write my personal life into my songs, and they're details so personal I wouldn't be able to say them without blushing or hedging in regular conversation. My duty as an artist is to give everything I have to the record or the show—but I prefer that transaction to be one of artistic merit rather than the mundane or the minutiae of daily life … or who I'm dating.

Are you more suited to life in the studio or on the road than any sort of domesticity?

I have fully accepted the fact that I may never learn how to make a decent cup of coffee.

You grew up in Texas and Oklahoma, and you described that environment asFriday Night Lights. How were you different?

In high school my nickname was “Missing in Action,” because instead of going out on Friday or Saturday and getting drunk and high—although I did like to do that on occasion—I would stay in my room, write, light candles, and wait for some magic to happen musically. And I always knew there was a world outside; I'd read the New York Times Arts section in high school, and I'd think, I need to be there.

When did you move to New York City?

[When I first moved to New York] I ended up selling the guitars I was trying to play in order to pay rent in a shared bedroom in Brooklyn. I've been in New York for almost 10 years now, but a lot of that time I was on tour. Manhattan is home base now and I've certainly seen the changes. It's the curse of money. You don't want to see percolating culture bulldozed over by Russians who just want an apartment for two months a year.

How much are you involved with your look and your clothes?

I've definitely been more proactive on the style front of late and I'm having a lot of fun with it. At its best, the visual side can add a whole new dimension to the music—be it whimsy or danger.

What were the musical goals for your latest album?

I'd been excited by the tour I did with David Byrne, where audiences would get up and dance. It was so joyful and communal. So, I wanted this album to have groove. I made a party record you could play at a funeral.