Old 97s are coming to Rose Park in Columbia — revisit these 10 memorable musical moments

Some bands are both the itch and the scratch.

For nearly 30 years, Texas quartet Old 97s has stoked the desire for a certain sound — music made where rock meets country, and Beatles-quality melodies glide over punk guitars and railyard shuffles — then satisfied that demand.

Frontman Rhett Miller, bassist Murry Hammond, guitarist Ken Bethea and drummer Philip Peeples create alt-country that's colorful and visceral; and they season each song with specificity, their devils and angels living in the details.

With the band headed back to Columbia for a gig at Rose Park, it only seemed right to survey their catalog — one I know and love. Rather than offer a list of favorite 97s songs, I went deeper. These are my 10 favorite moments within their catalog, presented in chronological order rather than being ranked.

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"Big Brown Eyes" (1997)

Among the anchor songs on the 97s breakthrough "Too Far to Care" (after first appearing on 1995's "Wreck Your Life"), "Big Brown Eyes" houses a number of memorable moments in just less than 4 1/2 minutes, not least of which is the now-romantically dated lyric "And I'm calling time and temperature just for some company."

Miller serves up these verses in pitch-perfect fashion, knowing where to lean into a syllable and when to lay back. After a killer Bethea solo, he offers the best line reading in the song, wringing every drop of emotion from a simple "yeah" on "I've got issues, yeah / Like I miss you, yeah."

"Barrier Reef" (1997)

The band sets a staggering stage here, with Bethea's sprightly riff and Peeples' deceptively intricate shuffle — then Miller's lyrics undercut that swagger at every turn. Here, a fictionalized version of Miller talks his way out of romantic success in a fashion that's so pitiful, it's riotously funny.

The song's signature moment — and perhaps the most 97s moment of them all — comes when he approaches a woman with his Christian name, and a declaration that dies once it hits the air: "My name's Stewart Ransom Miller / I'm a serial lady-killer."

The response comes back, more devastating than the call: "She said, 'I'm already dead' / That's exactly what she said."

"Salome" (1997)

Sometimes a single instrument conveys more than even the most beautifully-sculpted poetry. The 97s craft a heart-wrenching ballad here, describing the end of a trainwreck love. The song would stand on its own, but is elevated by the most lonesome sound — pedal steel master Jon Rauhouse's crying countermelody, entering the mix in verse two to offer Miller's vocal mournful ballast.

"Jagged" (1999)

The lead cut from 1999's album "Fight Songs" lives up to its name with distorted guitars and a world-weary refrain: "I would give anything / not to feel so jagged." Miller and Hammond mine beauty from toil, staggering their vocals on the word "jagged," letting the word echo in listeners' ears.

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"Murder (or a Heart Attack)" (1999)

The 97s' first seriously-charting single introduced a swath of listeners — including this music journalist — to the band. With a wink, and powered by Bethea's playful riff, Miller tells the woe-begotten tale of accidentally letting a friend's cat loose; the genius of the song lies in its ability to be read as a tale of lost love.

"And the whole damn complicated situation could've been avoided / If I'd only shut the window," Miller sings at the tail end of the first verse, the emphasis placed on "whole" and "damn" sounding out the true measure of his cursed luck.

"Designs on You" (2001)

Sometimes Miller sets scenes and describes dark desires like a pulp-fiction writer. This cut, from the album "Satellite Rides," offers such a shadowy romance. Miller sings from the perspective of a nightclub performer tangled up with a woman named Annette, who is betrothed to another. Promising to keep their affair under wraps — except in his music — Miller's devilish lead makes it clear he won't just wait in the wings.

"I don't want to get you all worked up / Except secretly I do," he sings, wrapping those last three words with a novel's worth of untoward intentions.

"Rollerskate Skinny" (2001)

Miller's closing lines on this guitar-forward rocker — "I believe in love / But it don't believe in me" — might be one of the perfectly forlorn couplets ever laid down on the permanent record. Delivered first with a floating falsetto, then equal mixtures of defiance and resignation, the line doesn't break hearts as much as it reveals where they're already fractured.

"Up the Devil's Pay" (2001)

Hammond typically owns one or two cuts per record ("Color of a Lonely Heart Is Blue" from 2008's "Blame it On Gravity" might be my very favorite), so it's only fitting to include him. Everything about his singing here resonates, but the floating, wordless vocal in the song's intro — and each turnaround — evokes every cowboy campfire tale and Western ghost story you've heard.

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"My Two Feet" (2008)

Four songs into "Blame It on Gravity," Miller and Co. offer one of their most bittersweet melodies to date on an ode to desire and disappointment. "Right there, upstairs / undressed and unprepared / For the moment baby we don't care," Miller sings to start the second verse. "You're so fine, so fine / For the moment baby you were mine."

That second utterance of "so fine," delivered with pure ache, says everything about what Miller's main character loved and lost.

"Longer Than You've Been Alive" (2014)

Self-referential songwriting often proves self-indulgent — and, as this retrospective roots-rocker conveys, Miller typically isn't a fan. But he makes an exception on the opening cut from "Most Messed Up," a delightfully askew confessional from decades spent on the road.

Miller's walking, talking blues offer a singular Old 97s moment: "I'm not crazy about songs that get self-referential / And most of this stuff should be kept confidential / Aw, but who even gives half a f--k anymore / You should know the truth — it's both a blast and a bore."

Old 97s play Rose Park at 7:30 p.m. Aug. 1; St. Louis singer-songwriter John Henry shares the bill. Tickets are $25-27. Find more details at https://rosemusichall.com/.

Aarik Danielsen is the features and culture editor for the Tribune. Contact him at adanielsen@columbiatribune.com or by calling 573-815-1731. Find him on Twitter @aarikdanielsen.

This article originally appeared on Columbia Daily Tribune: 10 memorable moments from the Old 97s rich catalog of songs