Yeah, this band's got a Google-hostility unseen since the Music called it a day, so it takes a bit of crafty sleuthing to find the following on South's MySpace page: "We've never been the sort to jump on a bandwagon and start writing Snow patrol (sic) or Keane type ballads to sell more records. Our souls just wouldn't allow us. The South way has always been to push boundaries and never record the same record twice." They certainly have the truth on their side: With a subtle individuality, each of their previous four albums were more likely to explore sonic texture than mawkish sentiment, but you have to wonder whether the above statement is borne of stubbornness, pride or denial, considering they're responsible for one of my most awkward concert experiences-- at a 2004 show in Athens, Ga., they got blown off the stage by an exponentially more energetic Metric and then proceeded to limp through their set in front of what couldn't have been more than two dozen Anglo diehards or alcoholics. Mind you, this was after "Paint The Silence" was prominently featured on "The O.C.", so I'm not sure if these guys really have the moral high ground.
South still can't find their compass-- You Are Here, despite being titled in a manner of directional certainty, mostly evokes the momentary disorientation of seeing said phrase on a mall map. It's easily their most raw and direct work to date, but that's a relative concept for guys who've shared studio time with James Lavelle and Dave Eringa. Crispy acoustic numbers like "The Creeping" and "Better Things" won't be confused for Bon Iver, but in the past, they'd likely be dripping in synth pad strings or two additional minutes of breakbeats. And yet, it's also South's most sonically damaged album as well, often inspiring double and triple-checks of the credits to make sure Dave Fridmann wasn't involved. He's not, so the next best guess is that you've received an unfinished demo, as most of their tricks sound like the work of my high school garage band buying its first digital recorder-- a deluge of ideas, way too much technology, and no idea how to use it.
Even though the EQing here often has these poor guys sounding like they're pressed against a Plexiglas ceiling (the bass guitar might as well be a timpani), vocalist Joel Cadbury is the big loser in all of this; he's never been the most distinctive singer, sort of an Ian Brown with additional shades of beige. But attempts to bedeck his papery tone with color ends up in boundless self-sabotage. "Wasted" and "Opened Up" are occasionally gorgeous, featuring the sort of chiming delay notes, capo-ed strumming, and crunchy percussion that evokes top-shelf Travis. Yet, on the former, Cadbury is lashed by a sour flange effect that renders the verses meaningless. The latter reverses, as it's the chorus that sounds like the band's been transported to a studio trapped inside a steaming tea kettle. "She's Half Crazy" is all mess, with Cadbury either swimming in some backmasked brine or trying to play catch up while the rest of the guys try out a sort of playful, funk groove that proves South do neither playful nor funk.
If it seems like I'm harping on the production too much, there's a reason-- South have always been more of a cipher than anything, a sort of blank slate where engineers can try out their more outré ideas without having any sort of bold melody or strong lyrical gambit get in the way (think of a British answer to Wheat). The latter's not so much of a problem, as Cadbury rarely speaks in something other than placeholder or platitude, which might be for the best, considering that "Lonely Highs", the most topical moment of You Are Here, ends up one of the lamest anti-drug PSAs since Jimmy Eat World's "Drugs or Me".
But the insouciant "Better Things" (salvaged from 1999's obscure Overused) manages to do mushy properly ("the better things look forward to you"), as well as "Every Light Has Blown", which practically flicks its own Bic with lines like "I'll do my best to keep you safe." Get the hint? You Are Here ironically reaches its peaks as South lunges towards the very influences they claim to so conscientiously avoid, meaning this whole thing might not be a problem of production so much as projection. South may be worried about selling out, but in the process, they're selling themselves short.
