Old 97s
What is it? : An anthemic ode to love, loss, heartache, belief, and the fading memory of what once was filtered through the lens of a twentysomething band who established themselves by causing a stir in nightclubs, honky-tonks, and mid-size concert venues throughout the U.S. from their base of operations in North Texas.
Why isn’t it on vinyl? : To quote another band that mined 70’s A.M. stomp and roots rock almost exclusively, it was basically “because of the times”. 2001 fell almost perfectly within the “dead zone” of vinyl production in America. Streaming seemed like it would bury everything else when it came to music production and distro methodology, so most labels—especially the majors, like Elektra who released this effort—had all but given up on spending time and money on making (actual) records. This same set of circumstances has been discussed and hinted at all over the entries on this page, so no need to go on about it even more here.
Why should it be? : Satellite Rides was a stepping stone for rock fans to find other avenues they could enjoy. I remember seeing the cover of this album for the first time in the CD book of a friend in high school from whom I took many cues about what music was “cool”. For some reason that I don’t recall and will probably never understand, I latched onto its old-school design and innocent presentation as some sort of entry point into worlds and genres that I hadn’t explored. At that time I was diving deep into the worlds of hip-hop and electronic music, while my friend was working his way through the encyclopedia of classic punk and letting it lead him to underground hardcore and other types of loud/fast rock-n-roll.
But Old 97’s were an outlier to both of these camps. Their music drew from rural wells of influence on the outskirts of panhandles in states that existed on an alternate-timeline map of the world. The earnest of pleas of “What I Wouldn’t Do” butted up against the headstrong and unapologetic cynicism of “Book of Poems”; the witty after-dinner wordplay of “Designs on You” served as antidote when things got a little too emotional like within the genuflecting prayer tone of “Weightless” or the committing-to-you declaration of “Question”. But even with all those tones and themes the songs never fail to sound like what they are, the products of a hungry band coloring outside several lines while at the height of their technical prowess. It’s difficult to find a bad song here, and I would challenge someone to even find one that sounds like it’s filler - this is a song cycle that floors the pedal from it’s opening notes and never lets up, offering a few opportunities to catch a breath but never allowing for a loss of focus on the part of the listener.
So it was that when I bought the album for myself some years later (on CD, natch), it turned out to be exactly what I thought it was: a way to get into several other ways of making guitar-led music that was a little bit country and a little bit rockabilly, and a collection of songs that was nothing short of masterful. But instead of opening the door wide for everyone, it was a window around the side that needed to be pried up so one could squeeze through.
