In this That Thing You Do! inspired article series from State House Sessions,
artists talk about their life, career & where they were when they first heard themselves on the radio

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“I’m proud of what we’ve done and I love my job. I feel super grateful just to even get to do it at all.” 

It’s mid August and in a few days, Old 97s will officially have another album to their name. Owing its title to the number of records they’ve made so far, Twelfth’s arrival is a feat unto itself. Bands come and go. Others, for mysterious or obvious reasons, keep growing, becoming something immortal along the way. The 97s fit into that small space so few call home. They’ve flourished in the decades since their debut by sharpening what made them great in the first place. Capturing the power of a band brimming with life and open to inspiration, Twelfth is serious without pretension, fun as hell yet never superficial. But the sun and moon will have to dance around each other a few more times before the world knows that. And while it’s easy to imagine release week as an emotionally complicated time for artists who are about to share their blood, sweat and tears with an audience, what must sharing music feel like when a pandemic has all but stopped the world from spinning? For their leader, the beloved and renowned Rhett Miller, it has definitely never felt like this. “In the Before Times, I would go around to radio stations and we would do shows and we’d go on television shows and all the different things that we’ve been doing for 27 years, and now, I don’t know,” he tells me by phone. “I hope people hear it. I think people will, I think people are hungry for art, I know I am. So yeah. Like everything else these days, it’s terrifying and weird, but I think there are silver linings. So that’s what I’m trying to focus on: looking for those silver linings.” 

It’s crazy to think how some, maybe most, can go their whole life without truly knowing what they want to do with it. What might be crazier is that Miller knew before he was legally old enough to drive. He was about the same age when he first made it onto the radio, appearing as a guest on a segment of The Mad Doll show, hosted by Liza Richardson. “I started doing gigs when I was fifteen years old and pretty quickly I was lucky enough to be a part of the rock and roll scene in Dallas, and one of the hubs of that rock and roll scene was the KNON radio station,” he says. “I remember we did an appearance on KNON, and then, I guess they recorded it, and then as we were driving away they replayed it.” Richardson, currently a DJ at LA’s KCRW and an award winning music supervisor for film and television, was influential even then, and her Thursday night program was highly respected for its open eared, panoramic approach in covering artists from all different genres. “In my mind, millions of people were also hearing it, which is just such a staggering thought,” he says. “And I also remember thinking like, ‘Oh my God, I hate the sound of my own voice.’” Incredibly, one of his current bandmates was there to share the experience. “I was on there and I think it was even with Murray from the Old 97s. He and I, we had just met – he was like my mentor at the time. Our girlfriends were friends and that was how we met,” he says of bassist Murray Hammond, who is six years older. The two would play on and off until forming Old 97s with Ken Bethea and Philip Peeples a few years later.

But before music became a compass, Miller was gripped by a different kind of storytelling. “As a kid, I was obsessed with books and reading, and I lived in the library when I was little,” he says. “So I guess my first love was always fiction.” He grew up in Texas, but imagined a future in New York City. “I wanted to live in an apartment and smoke cigarettes, write novels. That was my first dream,” he remembers. “But then I fell in love with music and I got pretty good at doing the three minute thing, and it felt so natural to me.” 

It’s a naturalness that resonates, unfolding as some combination of joy and charisma that is inescapable and euphoric – as clear and bright as the glow from the stages they stand on. Part of the glimmer of his discography – both as a member of the Old 97s and as a solo artist – has been the genuineness the music so effortlessly projects. Although what had been key in pulling him towards songwriting, then and now, is the unmatched urgency of the form. “The idea that you can sit down and within thirty minutes, three hours, whatever, you can create something that’s finished. Maybe you’ll polish it up later, and I’ve actually gotten better at that part, I think that’s important. But you don’t have to give a year or two or five of your life to create something. You know in one sitting you could have something that’s done,” he says. “Once that became clear to me that I could do that, I thought, ‘Oh my God, I don’t know if I have the patience now to sit down and give a year of my life to something.’ Course now that I’m older, the year doesn’t seem as long.” 

Like all first loves, his never really left him completely. Over the years his words have been featured in publications including The Atlantic, McSweeneys, Sports Illustrated and Salon. In 2019, he authored a poetry collection for kids titled No More Poems! Today, the notion of writing a novel still interests him, though after honing his voice as a songwriter, laying the first stone in such a different landscape feels somewhat intimidating. “I would love to transition,” he says of a possible artistic detour. “It’s just a matter of doing it and just really committing like I did with music when I was fifteen years old. I have to really just kinda start over a little bit, which is terrifying.”    

But as different as the mediums are, the connections are strong, and his gift in and love of each have no doubt helped inform the other. “I read a lot but a lot of my reading these days is audio books,” he says. “And boy, it really drives home the point that all writing is skimmed from this oral tradition of storytelling. It all can be traced all the way back to just campfires.”  

As a lyricist, Miller’s keen eye and sharp tongue have been a cornerstone in songs that maintain a certain playfulness – even if that sense of levity is only on the surface. “My favorite thing is if something feels kind of lighthearted or a little bit funny, and then as you’re experiencing it, as it sort of sinks in, it breaks your heart,” he says. “When I’m experiencing other peoples art, my favorite thing is if its funny, its like sugarcoated, you’re laughing and then all of a sudden, you’re just welling up with emotion. You know what it is? I think it’s just the bait and switch idea. It’s the idea that I’m going to do something that’s fun, you’re having fun, you’re having fun, and then all of a sudden you’re feeling something.”    

Twelfth harbors that collective signature. Big guitars and drums erupt, keeping time for stories that are ultimately about connection – how we search for it and how we preserve it. Although for Miller, one of the biggest thrills of the creative process are the twists and turns that lie within it.

“I always go into a record thinking it’s going to be this one specific thing,” he says. “On this newest album, I had this vision that the record was going to be like Neil Young Harvest Moon.  Like it was going to be this kind of acoustic based, spacey, lots of reverb – by spacey I just mean open, not loud. And then we did it in the studio, and of course it winds up being this rock record, where it’s like big loud moments. A lot of people, and I think that this is a problem people run into, a lot of people can’t stand the idea of – you know, their first instinct has to be the thing that’s the finished product. I feel like, especially when you’re working with a band like the Old 97s, its way better to be flexible and follow the song and see how it winds up. Don’t think that you know all the answers before you even start. I love being surprised by songs and every single song on this album surprised me.”

TWELFTH IS AVAILABLE NOW

By Caitlin Phillips
10.14.20