Does a big record deal and loads of money always take the flare out of music that was once exciting, original and independent? Not always, but the Old 97’s are one more band that have seen the quality of their records falter while their sales and fame have shot skyward.

Only a few years ago, the Old 97’s, Texas outlaws slinging the fastest tales of heartbreak and genuine melody this side of the Rio Grande, were nearly unheard of. Famed for their lightning-fast (and usually drunken) live shows, the Old 97’s were an absolute alt-country sensation, at least for those who had heard of them.

Dallas native Rhett Miller, the cheeky singer/songwriter with a thousand tales of geeky love, was once thought of as the best kept secret in Texas. This year’s overly friendly “Satellite Rides” finds the band sounding more like the band most likely to make the next Dawson’s Creek soundtrack.

Beginning with 1997’s “Too Far to Care,” the Old 97’s began their departure from the gun-packin’ rustic musing that brought them a legion of devoted fans back in Texas. Incidentally, “Too Far to Care” was also the band’s major label debut on Elektra records. Like “Too Far to Care” and 1999’s “Fight Songs,” “Satellite Rides” is a decidedly produced album. The artificial sound of a “big-city” studio is clear from the get-go and is not advantageous for a band that thrives in a live environment.

After five full-length albums, the 97’s are a different band than the desperate quartet that coyly charmed the roughest and toughest states in the union. The band that was once too cool for college is now college radio-friendly with all the twang of their Telecasters lost somewhere in their deluxe tour bus.

“King of All of the World,” a fine example of the new Old 97’s sound, is a catchy opener with a swinging riff that drives an otherwise predictable song. Overly-produced but endearing, “Designs on You” would have belonged in a more stripped down studio environment, one more akin to 1995’s fiery unheralded masterpiece “Wreck your Life.” Anyone who has heard the poignant demo of the song with just Miller and his acoustic, which didn’t make it on the studio cut, would question the choice to release this version of the song.

The craftiness of Miller’s songwriting and indelible melodies allows an always hum-worthy chorus; his heart-on-sleeve tenderness is often irresistible, despite its sappiness. What is most disappointing is that the 97’s are no longer dangerous. The band seems to have settled into its major label shoes and is content with a tone that is dryer than Texas tumbleweed. Ken Bethea, the 97’s lead guitarist, seems the most diluted since the band’s modern transformation. Bethea’s searing and saucy riffs once brought life to desolate dust bowls, but now he is reduced to comping melodies that are much too tame.

Eight years ago, an ambitious and raw gang from Texas used to play a gig for the price of the beer they would drink (which occasionally could be quite significant). Anyone lucky enough to hear them back then knows that they have never sounded better. For a down-home taste of real country bliss, check out “Wreck your Life,” “Hitchhike to Rhome” and “Early Tracks.”