Send "Old 97s " Ringtones to your Cell 
| Popmatters |
 The Old 97s popped up in the mid-‘90s alongside other alt-country acts, including some long gone (Whiskeytown, Uncle Tupelo) and the still-toughing-it-out (Drive By Truckers, Bottle Rockets). Here in 2011, the Dallas natives undoubtedly belong with the former. Despite being nearly 20 years deep into twangy, alternative rock-based careers, Rhett Miller and company have clearly been wracking their brains, challenging the traditional LP format, which they’ve tackled eight times prior. Last year, the quartet test ran over an album’s worth of new material during a week-long slew of shows at hometown stomping ground the Grand Theatre. The songs receiving the warmest reception were selected for 2010’s appropriately titled Grand Theatre, Volume One. This included the rootsy rabble rouser “A State of Texas”, odes to vices (“Let the Whiskey Take the Wheel”, “You Smoke Too Much”), and more mature, alternative-leaning tracks like “The Grand Theatre” and “Love Is What You Are”. The Old 97s are a band most can agree never released a bad record. However, the 2000s have brought warning signs as to the group’s creative future: Miller embarked on a part-time solo project, re-issue connoisseurs Rhino released a 2006 best-of retrospective (often a sign the end is near), and their collective songwriting slowly drifted from the beer-soaked cowpunk of their rowdier mid-‘90s phase. Given the implosion of aforementioned alt-country torchbearers Uncle Tupelo and Whiskeytown, perhaps it’s no small wonder the Old 97s have trudged on as long as they have with their original lineup intact....full text |
| Pastemagazine |
| Last year the Old 97’s released what amounted to a comeback album. The band workshopped the songs on The Grand Theatre Vol. 1 at the titular venue in Dallas and recorded in Austin. Perhaps due to the luxuries of the setting or the renewed vigor of the band, that album captured the raw energy of their ‘90s output and re-emphasized the power-quartet democracy between the musicians, placing Murry Hammon’s shambling sideman charisma and Ken Bethea’s elegant guitar licks on equal footing as Rhett Miller’s witty lyrics and exasperated vocals. It was the best thing the Olds had done in a decade, which sounds like high praise until you realize that Vol. 1 never matched the frantic, nervous, rambunctious vitality of their epic ‘90s albums. Less than a year later, the band delivers on the implicit promise of Vol. 1 with Vol. 2, a collection of tracks recorded during the same sessions. There’s a slight drop in quality from the first-tier songs to the second-, and it works better as an odds-and-sods collection than as sovereign album, but the same spark that revitalized them in 2010 enlivens these songs. The Olds are still finding new ways to mix the country they love with the pop they love even more, and the result is a dusty sound that’s nervous and coiled, never laconic or casual like so many other Lone Star acts. The instrumental “Marquita” showcases Bethea’s jittery guitar work, and Hammond’s “White Port” rollicks along heartily, throwing disparate elements together—sea-shanty sing-alongs, yodeling, pop-song handclaps, Bakersfield guitar—until it all makes perfect sense....full text |
| Cokemachineglow |
| On last fall’s The Grand Theatre Volume 1, the Old 97’s branched out into grislier territory, telling stories of jilted drunks, agoraphobics, and misanthropes with a guttural, nervous sound relatively new to the band. It was a surprising record: a sign of a band evolving into middle age, into something jaded and shifty-eyed, into a group of guys who once trusted in the simple beauty of the world but who seemed unsure of what to trust anymore. I should’ve known that was just an experiment. The Grand Theatre Volume 2, recorded alongside the first but released just last week, is its predecessor’s antidote. Though still concerned with dark undercurrents of love and loss, this time around Rhett Miller and co. can’t stay too mad about much of anything for long, choosing instead to shrug off the bitter in favor of the sweet. The Grand Theatre Volume 2 is another take on middle age: a band that can’t believe their good luck to still be together, making great music, after almost 20 years. In “Manhattan (I’m Done),” one of Rhett Miller’s strongest compositions of late, he sums up his worldview nicely, stating, “I believe in white tuxedos / Blue moons and early Beatles.” It’s ostensibly about breaking up, not with a girl but with a city, one with which, try as he might, Miller just can’t find common ground. With childlike allegiance to the ideals of yesteryear, he can’t truly embrace a city that prides itself on its cynicism. Appropriately, it’s an old-fashioned ballad perfectly built to hit all the sweet spots one could expect, as do similar highlights “I’m a Trainwreck” and “Perfume.” In fact, Miller’s pop-standard style dominates the album—which isn’t a terrible thing by any means, mind you—though guitarist Ken Bethea sneaks some rockabilly back in with the Ventures-on-speed instrumental “Marquita.” Of course there are but a few not-so-bright spots within—given a double album’s worth of material, there’s bound to be some surplus. Where the character studies on _ Vol. 1_ were some of the band’s most fully realized (and creepiest), “The Actor,” Vol. 2’s contribution to that canon, doesn’t stand up quite as well. I admire Miller’s attempt to step out of his comfort zone care of an over-emotive vocal take, but the most pervasive feeling it conjures is just that: discomfort. Similarly, “White Port,” bassist/co-songwriter Murry Hammond’s outside-the-box venture, veers into unfortunate Irish drinking song territory—which is something I just can’t abide on such a straightforward rock album. Perhaps the Dropkick Murphys have ruined all good-natured attempts in this vein for pretty much the whole human race, but nine times out of ten I’ll skip “White Port,” which is notable only for the rare opportunity to hear Hammond’s impressive yodel....full text |
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