Old 97's

When they convened in Dallas in the early '90s, the Old 97's were looking for an excuse for hotshot guitarist Ken Bethea to sift some nifty guitar licks out of the history books and for wide-eyed Rhett Miller to perform a marathon autopsy on his broken heart. They discovered something more: rootsy, heartfelt, and oh-so-tuneful songs demonstrating that wheedling a willing lovely off the bar stool and into bed may get you through the night but rarely results in love-true-love.

After a few warm-ups, the 97's hit their stride with Too Far to Care. "My name's Stuart Ransom Miller/I'm a serial lady-killer," our hero declares to a soon-to-be one-night stand on the standout track "Barrier Reef," his achy purr undercutting the gawky bravado even as Bethea's brawny twang undercuts his romantic fatalism. On Fight Songs, the band learned to insinuate rather than muscle the hooks across. Miller sets out to charm you the way prepunk romantics used to -- with elegantly upbeat tunes, earnest come-ons, and a boatload of great melodies. There isn't a single dud on the record, but Miller really gets his star-crossed mojo working on "Lonely Holiday," "Indefinitely," "Oppenheimer" (named for the road where Miller says he fell in love, but also, not coincidentally, for one of the creators of the atomic bomb), and the acoustic tearjerker "Valentine."

Satellite Rides is as punchy and direct as premium power-pop, but it's grounded in easygoing rootsyness. A more upbeat Miller is in full flirt, admitting, "I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't have designs on you," and even offers to take you bowling on the irresistible "Rollerskate Skinny." That song ends with Miller declaring, "I believe in love, but it don't believe in me," which sums up Miller's impressive oeuvre as well as any one line ever could. Following Miller's very good solo foray, fussily groomed by producer Jon Brion, the Old 97's edged back toward country rock on Drag It Up. Despite a glut of slow tunes, the album includes its share of winners, including "The New Kid," "Won't Be Home," and "Friends Forever," where Miller starts reminiscing about his teenage years and ends up writing a cowpunk-flavored graduation anthem. (KEITH HARRIS)

From 2004's The New Rolling Stone Album Guide