In their record Wrestler, the band Southam grapples with some familiar existential themes: relationships, the past, and God, intermixing everyday questions about haircuts and summer weather with interrogations of the cosmos. They describe their music as “mostly about hanging out,” and these are, after all, the kinds of questions that come up when spending exorbitant amounts of time with your friends. Hailing from Northeast Georgia, the band is in fact composed of college friends Seth Banks, Dylan Stancil, and Logan Southam. As a result, the album manages to sound at once serious and playful, cerebral and immediate. This unique approach to songwriting infuses self-reflection with nostalgia and levity, bearing the clear marks and likely influence of acts like Pinegrove and Hovvdy, but what emerges from this record is a pop sensibility rooted in Appalachian indie rock.
The first track, “Muscadine,” might be my favorite on the record, beginning with about fifteen seconds of ambient noise before giving way to the first lyrics of the song: “The Muscadine vine climbs a tree by the driveway/ An early spring breeze rushes into the valley/ An elephant stands in the back of my mind/ such a nice day but it’s there all the time.” What begins as a warm recollection of the first few weeks of spring quickly turns into an account of psychological dissonance. Punctuated with sparse guitar chords, this opening captures much of the melancholy spirit of the record, revealing a narrator who occupies a familiar space while failing to be fully present. They go on to sing, “I miss you so bad, but you’re always around.” The song thoughtfully renders the difficulty of being present, really present when our experience of the world and life–with all its concomitant memories, relational complexities, and personal anxieties or even insecurities–pulls us in so many competing directions.
Later tracks like “Sit Down” experiment with vocal filters and drum machines, revealing a genre-bending style that is steeped in a range of musical influences and interests. And “Cut Your Hair” is arguably the second-best song to bear that title, an honor considering the company they keep, and the tune demonstrates the band’s capacity to craft a beautiful melody around what would appear to be an inane question. Both songs are perfect examples of the well-earned and carefully crafted earnestness that animates this record.
If for any reason you somehow continue to question Southam’s penchant for a well-turned lyric, I submit the opening of “Dead People:” “Here is my statement to the press/ About quitting cigarettes and doing what I said.” This line alone should make it clear to any casual listener that they are in the hands of a capable and incisive songwriter, one who effectively blends this pop sensibility with lyrics that pack a punch. In “Longer Days,” we find childhood nostalgia and the unique adolescent capacity to be fully present coalesce in this melodic homage to summer’s past. Finally, the album culminates in the moody ballad “All Take,” and the closing words: “I’m starting over this Monday afternoon/ In the silence.” The album’s arc, then, ultimately resembles the arc of a week, the passing of time, seasons, and lives. Ambitious stuff for a band composing–in their own words–“a documentation […] of where one has been, longs to be, and doesn’t want to be anymore.” In any case, I cannot wait to hear more from this band out of Northeast Georgia, but in the meantime, I enthusiastically recommend spending several hours with Wrestler.
Written by SilenceKid
