Metro Pulse/Music/Old 97's

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What:
Old 97's with Apelife and Tim Easton

When:
Thursday, June 27, 5:30 PM

Where:
Market Square, downtown

Cost:
FREE

With Satellite Rides, the Old 97's find a lighter, smarter sound

by Adrienne Martini

Scratch beneath the surface of most music writers (or even those who only write about music on the side) and you'll find an Old 97's fan. Even the Village Voice's Robert Christgau raves about these four guys from Texas and he hates virtually everyone, although with his obtuse writing persona, it's sometimes hard to tell.

You don't have to be immersed in the music industry's pool to love this band. Their infectious live show—with its punk-like raw energy distilled by skillful musicians—never fails to win die-hard converts. But the 97's aren't like some later-day Dead-esque outfit gathering fans with the experience that surrounds the show rather than the actual music itself. No, the Old 97's are all about the songs.

Eight years ago, Rhett Miller and Murry Hammond met up in the Dallas music scene and wrote songs full of heartbreak and twang. Ken Bethea (guitar) and Philip Peeples (drums) joined the mix, adding musical complexity to these earnest songs. The Old 97's—named after an old Vernon Dalhart tune—became one of the leading lights in the whole y'alternative scene. Now with the release of Satellite Rides the band has dug a little deeper, producing a disc full of smart, concise, heartfelt pop songs (think Beatles-pop rather than N'Sync-pop) that are both miles away from their Texas roots and still securely tied to them.

"I think that our sound is still evolving because we get enough righteous indignation from old time fans to where I know we must be doing something right," Miller says, with a laugh, from a bench near a pond in Eugene, Oregon. "We're not serving up the same 12 songs each record. I feel like this is our best record ever and I'm usually a pretty tortured artist. To feel the kind of positive feelings I do about this record, I think it says a lot."

Of course, with the release of a new record and a tour comes the standard barrage of people wanting to ask questions about the band and its music. And the question most asked of Miller is "the one about are you guys alternative country, and, if not, does it piss you off when people say that? It's funny. I remember the first time we did a TV show and I got back to Dallas and somebody goes, 'What does it feel like to be on TV?' There's no feeling connected to something that happens outside of you...and that's kind of like what it feels like with the whole 'are you alternative country?' question.

"I don't have anything to do with that, with making up those terms. That all happens so outside of my world—other than being asked to comment on it I have no interaction with it. So when I'm asked to comment on it I don't even know what to say. I guess it's good that people are talking about us."

Old time fans may be disappointed by the lack of alt.country-ish stylings on Satellite Rides—and what is on there, like Hammond's haunting "Up the Devil's Pay," still sparkles with Brit-pop inspired nuggets. To use a well-worn trope, it sounds like what would have happened if Willie Nelson had had the Kinks' baby.

"'Waterloo Sunset' by Ray Davies," Miller replies when asked what a perfect pop song is. "Ray Davies is in my opinion the ultimate progenitor of that kind of form—the three-minute, perfect thing, where there is something of a story and there's some heartfelt thing going on, but its also hooky, and catchy and beautiful and hummable and light.

"I try to write them. This record is probably closest and I would say with 'Rollerskate Skinny' we're getting closer. I don't know if it's the perfect pop song, but it's short and it's got a lot going on. I think it's got some catchy stuff."

Despite these catchy songs, the band itself still hovers outside the listening public-at-large's consciousness. While the Old 97's have buckets of industry cred, they've never really had a true hit, one that reaches out of the underground and snares the mind of a radio listener. And Miller, who just turned 30, seems to be making some sort of peace with it.

"All the career models that you hold out—like I always thought The Police are good, they weren't exactly a straight-up pop music band, they were kind of like a sub-genre when they began, but they crossed over and had success. They had a hit on their second record.

"All these career models, we keep passing them up," he says. "We're on our fifth record now, we still haven't had any kind of a big hit. So it would be easier if our success was more obvious. But maybe this is a better way to make a career.

"I saw Tom Waits speak the other night. He's been writing songs forever and he's never had a hit, but he's always been respected and people cover his songs and he'll always be Tom Waits. He'll always command a lot of respect because of the way he's done it. I'm by no means Tom Waits, but maybe I'll get to grow old gracefully.

"I guess that would be ideal. I wouldn't mind if we became the flavor of a week because at least we have a catalog under our belts to point to in terms of credibility and longevity, but in lieu of that, I feel good about it. I feel like we're on the right path. Eventually quality prevails, hopefully."