A double dose of Rhett Miller

(Credit: Mark Seliger)

Few figures are bigger in the alt-country world than Rhett Miller. For the past 15 years, the singer-songwriter with the movie-star looks has fronted twang-rock renegades the Old 97’s. The Texas native has also released four solo discs, including his latest, self-titled album, out June 9. Miller will support it with a summer tour that features him performing solo and then with the Old 97’s in the same evening.

Miller took Metromix’s phone call from his home in the Hudson Valley area of New York. The 38-year-old husband and father of two had just celebrated the Memorial Day weekend with a family barbeque and hours spent lounging in their swimming pool.

Miller spoke candidly about coping with the suicide of his favorite author and how it influenced his new album. He also said Old 97’s fans could expect an EP of covers to be available via iTunes June 19. He offered the following track list: the Rolling Stones’ “Rocks Off,” The Fratellis’ “For the Girl,” The Kinks’ “She’s Got Everything,” R.E.M’s “Driver 8” and David Bowie’s “Five Years.”

After three previous solo albums, what prompted you to make this one self-titled?
I decided that I really wanted it to not be a character [album]. I really wanted it to be more a personal record. I was really trying to convey something that came from the heart and let it be just that—instead of being scared of seeming vulnerable.

It seems that with many artists, like yourself, it just takes longer to reach that point of opening up.
It does. I think it’s just overcoming the voices in your head. The voices that say, “Who cares what you have to say?” or “Wouldn’t it be better if [the listener] was imagining some larger than life character, some king of the barroom or some lothario or maybe someone that has elements of you, but is blown out of proportion?” On this record, I didn’t blow it out of proportion. It takes a long time to say, “I have just as much right as anybody to stand up and sing a song.”

As a father and a husband, do you worry about letting it all hang out on record?
Well, yeah, obviously that’s a concern. And I did keep things at an arm’s length enough where I don’t think my wife has anything to worry about—about people freaking out about the lyrics on the record. Y’know, everybody goes through their ups and downs. But all of our friends know we have a strong marriage and that I’m not pondering suicide or anything.

I understand you are a David Foster Wallace enthusiast. What was your reaction to his suicide?
I was heartbroken. He was a hero of mine. Not just a literary hero, but just as a human being, y’know? I just really like the way he confronted the reality of our world head on and tried to process it. I read everything he did and I saw the darkness looming larger and larger in his work…but I didn’t expect that, honestly. Being a fan of [Wallace], I knew people who were close to him and they always said that [he was suicidal], but I just figured as smart as he was he would figure out a way to keep those demons at bay—or to silence those voices enough to be able to survive. So, when I realized that he didn’t, that was the hardest thing.

Did his death inspire any songs on the new album?
Well, in retrospect, I was trying to figure out what the opening track, “Nobody Says I Love You Anymore,” was about…[and] I realized every lyric in the song I could bring back to something about my relationship with [Wallace’s] work. Like the lines, “Same time tomorrow, I know where you will be/Same place as always, right here beside me.” I imagined the copy I have of [Wallace’s masterwork] “Infinite Jest,” which is held together by duct tape and sits on my bedside table. Every morning when I wake up, it’s basically the first thing I see.

So many of your songs, like “Nobody Says I Love You Anymore,” take these bleak sentiments and counterbalance them with these extremely catchy melodies. It allows you to get away with a lot of gloominess without coming across as a sad sack.
Yeah, well, thank you. [Laughs] It’s born out of the fear of being the guy who is all, “Look at me, I’m so sad.” Because there is something so unattractive about that—people who just revel in their sadness. Like they’re the first person who ever felt sad. I decided early on that I didn’t want to be a sad-song singer…I knew I probably stood a better chance of getting people to come to my shows, if they knew they were going to have two hours of a pretty good time—versus two hours of coming along on this ride through a sad world of sad songs [laughs].

The new record closes with this sweet, softly sung—as if to one person—song, “Sometimes.” I understand a family member might be hitting Dad up for royalties some day on that one.
Yeah, little Soleil [Miller’s daughter] was two years old and I walked in her room to get her out of her crib. She didn’t hear me so she kept singing the song—she sings songs all the time—but the melody from the chorus was pretty much straight from what she was singing. [Sings] “Sometimes, sometimes”…she would go into “sometimes Mom, sometimes Dad.” And I made it kind of a love song.

Your summer tour finds you pulling double duty: opening with a solo set and then fronting the Old 97’s. That’s a substantial workload.
I’m looking forward to it. I’m not freaked about the prospect of having to play for that long—I think I’ll be OK. I’m really grateful of the band for being so supportive with me and being willing to show our fan base that they’re so supportive. I mean, there were tough times around the time of [Miller’s 2002 solo album] “The Instigator.” It was touch and go whether the band would survive. And the fact that we have come so far now that they support my solo career to the extent that they do, it’s a great thing. It says a lot about the brotherhood that is our band.