Juggling a band and a solo career can be a tricky proposition. If these projects sound too different, people might think you have a problem with the group. Sound too similar, and people might think, well, what's the point? Fortunately Rhett Miller, frontman for the Old 97's and solo artist, has managed to strike a fine balance between the two, slightly favoring Texas country with the former and more sophisticated L.A. pop with the latter. Indeed, L.A. pop savant Jon Brion produced and played on Miller's (relative) solo breakthrough, The Instigator, contributed to its follow-up, The Believer, and pops up all over Miller's self-titled fourth disc, even if the much of the disc was crafted in Dallas.
Clocking in at a hair under 40 minutes, Rhett Miller falls toward the mellower end of the power-pop spectrum, which is to say it's impeccably crafted and heavy on tasteful tunesmithery. How much you'll enjoy this leans on one's interest in forlorn romanticism ("Haphazardly"), British Invasion nods ("Nobody Says I Love You Anymore"), and good ol' jangle-pop (the Marshall Crenshaw-rific "If It's Not Love" and "I Need to Know Where I Stand"). No surprises there, but Miller does shake things up now and again: On "Happy Birthday Don't Die", he unleashes his inner Robyn Hitchcock, paying homage to his fellow Largo buddy with a weird, rollicking sci-fi glimpse into the future. On "Bonfire", he paints a more restrained, lullaby-like portrait rife with enigmatic portent. That he sounds equally comfortable at both extremes is a testament to his restraint-- even at its most ornate, the album thankfully keeps the distracting bells and whistles to a minimum, in turn keeping the focus on the songs.
Speaking of songs, Miller's claimed that much of the album was informed by the death of his grandmother as well as the suicide of David Foster Wallace (whom he considered a hero), but any shadow hanging over the disc is subtle at best, especially since Miller can't resist pairing bittersweet lyrics with peppier tunes, as he does in "Like Love" and "Caroline". On the other hand, the sweet "Sometimes", rather than drawing from some dark corner of Miller's subconscious world, was apparently inspired by a melody hummed by his two-year old daughter in her crib, and fittingly it's a song more likely to inspire "aww"s than awe. Like much of Rhett Miller, and unlike much oft-unctuous power pop, it's music seemingly made to softly impress rather than outright inspire. Maybe that's the Texan in Miller at work, making the case that, whenever in doubt, it's best to sacrifice flash and err on the side of modesty. The disc's tasteful to a fault, but at least you can't fault his good taste.
