You take a hard left off the Lost Highway into the desert twilight. What caught your eye? A picket fence around a ramshackle church you coulda swore neon lights flashed from. You park, kick a whiskey bottle into the sagebrush, boot nudge God’s door open, and the place is gutted, but for a jukebox. It’s not plugged in but it purrs nonetheless.

What’s it spinning? The only thing a lonesome but jubilant jukebox in the near night could, “Graveyard Whistling,” by the Old 97’s.

“Graveyard Whistling” is the sanguine, sly 11th studio album of the Old 97’s. It’s full of the wretched and wild finding love, the Lord, the bottle or, in the very least, the fortitude to carry on.

DGO talked to bassist and co-songwriter Murry Hammond about his love of books, the new album and living a life of gratitude.

Q: Connecting music to book love, the new album, “Graveyard Whistling,” if you were going to recommend a book similar to the album, what book would you recommend?

A: Let’s see, I would say, like Zane Grey’s darkest output or Louis L’Amour’s darkest. Or McMurtry. Something like that.

That record, there’s nothing particularly Western about it but that’s what comes to my mind. There’s a tone to it, a vibe, the life and death and theological underpinnings. There’s a certain anxiety on that record that I think fits in very well with stories of light and darkness at its deeper levels.

Q: Where does that anxiety stem from?

A: It’s a record that’s a bit of the day after having ended a period of, let’s say, debauchery and self-abuse, that dawn between the night and the day. I know for Rhett (Miller), thematically it was a lot of writing about leaving a long life of self-inflicted pain and entering into a more sober life full of a bit more benevolence.

There’s a tension there that gets worked out in various ways over that record. Funny reference to Jesus. Not so funny references to God. That sort of thing. In that way that we always liked about Johnny Cash because there always seemed to be a battle that wasn’t quite won. You knew he was going to win, but it’s not a done deal. I experience the record that way.

Q: Will you talk more about that struggle?

A: That struggle between dark and light is in nearly every single thing that I do, unless I write a flat-out novelty song.

Rhett’s a little better at removing himself through metaphor and pointing at things without shoving a fist at it and going, “Here!” The two things that were the most influential on songwriting for me, personally, were being a punk rock kid and Syd Barrett. The language of punk rock, it’s not metaphorical at all. If it is, it’s self-consciously doing it. It’s mostly straight to the point and yelling at you. There’s something beautiful about that that I love.

Q: You’ve worked with a lot of your heroes, like Waylon Jennings. Is there a musical influence, still alive, that you’d love to work with?

A: Golly, there are so many that are gone. Johnny Cash is gone. David Bowie is gone. Joe Strummer, gone. Ya know, I don’t know.

For me, personally, it’d be interesting if all of a sudden we woke up one day and Tom Waits was interested in what we do. I don’t think he is or would be, but that’d be a nice little fantasy. Or to get a call from Loretta Lynn saying, “Oh my god, I got these songs in my head and they’re tailor-made for you guys!”

Q: How do you stay so upbeat in an art world that’s so up and down?

A: Personally, I’m deeply grateful for this band. As a music fan, I’ve always wanted to be in a band that mattered, that was different enough to be important, at least in a footnote or chapter in a broader compendium of music sort of way. I get to be in that band, a band that continues to care about what they do.

It drives me crazy when a band stops caring about what they do but they still put out records. They should stop and leave their legacy intact. It was great that Minor Threat broke up when they did because it was the right time to do it. Black Flag were about to become a jam band so they needed to stop.

I haven’t had to have a j-o-b since 1996. I was working barbecue catering and doing office temp work and I got to quit that and do this for the rest of my life and, as it turns out, when somebody asks me someday, “What’d you do with your life?” I’ll say, “Well, Old 97’s, there was this band.” I’m very, very grateful for getting to make music and be immersed in this art world that I didn’t know would be available to me. I didn’t know what else to do with myself. I always gravitated towards this and I got to do it and it worked. I’m grateful for that. That happiness comes out. It’s just naturally always there for me.

When I get on stage, I look at people and they’re so beautiful. You look at faces and see all the humanity in front of you … I’ll look at the crowd and see a face and it’s like seeing a painting. “That face, right there, that’s it! That’s the perfect face.” It’s so valuable. I’m happy and grateful that I’m in this life where that’s a part of my workday. I’ve had some (bad) jobs in my life, but that right there is part of my workday. The more you run into that the more you go, “Life is good.”

If you go

What: Old 97’s with The Vandoliers.

When: 9 p.m. Saturday (doors open at 8:30 p.m.)

Where: Animas City Theatre, 128 E. College Drive.

Tickets: $25 advance/$30 day of show. Available at http://ticketf.ly/2vwvSob.

More information: Visit www.animascitytheatre.com.