Old 97’s: Play A Train Song

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It’s been a quarter century since Hammond first met the 16-year-old Miller at a folk show in Dallas, and nearly 20 years since the pair launched The Old 97’s. That’s a long time for any band to exist, especially a band whose biggest strengths – writing restless songs about long nights, empty beds, and fully-drained beer bottles – run the risk of becoming diluted (or wiped out entirely) by a happy adulthood involving children, wives, and general contentment. Hammond is married to a voice actress and living in Pasadena, California. Miller owns a three-acre spread at the base of the Mohonk Mountains, which he bought several years ago with his wife, model Erica Iahn. Peeples and Bethea are both gladly holding down the fort in Texas. Generally speaking, these are not the angtsy, aimless lives that Miller memorialized on 1997’s Too Far To Care.

“There are moments in my songwriting now where I’m time-traveling a bit,” he admits, “just to put myself in the mindset of where I was 20 years ago. But even then, there’s such a strong line between that guy and where I am now. The problems change, but the way you feel about them is the same. And really, hearing ‘I’m happy’ music tends to get on my nerves, unless it’s that awesome Paul Simon song about sunny days.”

That being said, this is one noticeably happy band. Onstage, they work themselves into a sweaty froth, each member comfortable with the task at hand: Peeples pounding out the locomotive backbeat, Hammond singing high-lonesome harmonies, Bethea playing fat, single-line cowpunk riffs, and Miller – the subject of frequent hoots from the band’s female fans, who’ve revered him as an alt-country pin-up since the days he desperately tried, and failed, to hide his good looks behind Clark Kent bifocals – leading the pack like a mad train conductor. The Old 97’s go off the rails during some songs, but purposely so, and they never fail to reach wherever it is they’re headed.

“We don’t hide things,” Miller says. “Back when Murry’s son was younger, he used to get so eaten up by Tex that he’d tell everyone about it. He’d be onstage and say, ‘I’d like to dedicate this song to a 2-year-old boy I’m in love with.’ And we’d have to say, ‘Uh, Murry, that sounds weird. Maybe we should rework your banter a bit.’”

When the touring cycle for Vol. 2 comes to a close, Miller is considering diving right back into another solo album. Hammond, too, says he’s almost ready to reenter “songwriting mode,” a process that involves “getting off that Facebook crap so I can get my head in the game.” Neither musician has made any concrete plans, but they know they’d rather keep the train rolling than take a break. Besides, what’s another tour, another studio album, another 20 years playing this hazily defined “alt-country” music to crowds that generally sing along with every word?

Too many is just enough.