Some bands blast out of the gate and never recapture their early energy. Other bands establish themselves as models of consistency. Still other bands take a while to find themselves. And then there are bands like the Old 97s, who blast out of the gate, establish themselves as models of consistency, take a while to find themselves, and then, fifteen years in, deliver a glorious record that sums up everything about them that fans have always loved. With Blame It On Gravity, the seventh Old 97's record and the second for New West, the band has made its definitive statement. "It's really exciting," says Rhett Miller, the band's lead singer and songwriter. "I read an interview with Randy Newman where he said that if your work is as good at 50 as it was at 20, you've won the battle. We're nowhere near fifty, but I feel like this collection of songs is the best we've ever done. And I LOVED our earlier albums." From the opening notes of the first song, "The Fool," Blame It On Gravity is an archetypal Old 97's record, only more so. Back in 2004, the band released Drag It Up, which was filled with more personal and contemplative songs; the music adjusted accordingly. At other points throughout the band's career, it has tilted toward power pop (Fight Songs, from 1999) and the sounds of the British Invasion (Satellite Rides, from 2001). Blame it on Gravity finds the band turning up the amps and returning to the satisfying crunch of its early records. There are triumphant windmilling riffs, squalls of feedback, and upward spirals of guitar noise -- and that's just in "The Fool." "Bands go through a phase where they age, as people," Miller says. "During Drag It Up, all of us had gotten older and started families. That record was full of songs about mortality and aging. This record is more like a second childhood. More guitars, and they're loud." Still, second childhoods are wiser than first childhoods and however loud it is, Blame It On Gravity reflects a renewed focus in Miller's songwriting. "Around the time of Drag It Up, I was definitely distracted, both by the natural ebb and flow of the band also by my solo career. When my second solo record, The Believer, came out, it ran into some problems, and I spent about a year licking my wounds. When I did decide to recommit to writing songs, it was with a different attitude. I found that I cared much more about making the songs perfect, and much less about what happens to them after they're written and recorded. I mean, it's always been out of my hands, but with the music industry the way it is now, it's SO out of my hands." Songs like the chiming, wistful "My 2 Feet" and the jauntily miserable "I Will Remain" demonstrate that Miller's rededication has paid dividends. And the shimmering, beautifully sung "No Baby I" has more good writing in it than most careers--including the line that gives the record its title. Miller's trademarks as a songwriter are all still in place- -his clever wordplay and gut-wrenching emotional honesty, for starters--but they're accompanied by a more mature (which isn't to say more complacent) worldview. Above all else, Miller isn't afraid to stare directly into the heart of the matter, even if it's breaking.