Former Housemartin Paul Heaton's second band, the Beautiful South, has long-since eclipsed its predecessor in virtually every major statistical category: longevity, number of albums, top 40 hits, record sales. So why is Heaton forever unable to escape mentions of his involvement in the former? Well, for one thing, the Housemartins never recorded a song called "Look What I Found in My Beer." They also broke a little more ground than the Beautiful South ever did, or ever intends to.

Their latest, Painting It Red, while excellent in parts, is a bit more homogenized and domestic than fans are accustomed. Production is buffed until reaching a glossy sheen, and all indulgences of previous Beautiful South albums-- strings, choirs, horns, jazzy rhythms-- have been shamelessly stripped away. It's a shame, really, because while their slick überpop vs. dry pessimism juxtaposition has always been their modus operandi, a rougher edge might have given the album a needed kick in the ass.

The lyrical direction of Painting It Red reads like a bible for British baby boomers. The obsessions that preoccupy Paul Heaton these days have been whittled down to the basics of aging: death ("You Can Call Me Leisure"), failed marriages ("Final Spark"), and expanding waistlines ("Til You Can't Tuck It In"). I must have missed the biting song about his Volvo being in the shop. Heaton still relies on his heralded wit, but it's put to the test when dwelling almost exclusively upon personal issues.

Perhaps the scariest indication of Heaton's diminishing songwriting is his recycling of previously-used metaphors. Except rather than cannibalizing themes and imagery from his past albums, he either draws them from eight songs prior or outright steals them for other bands. "The River" is so very reminiscent of a certain Erasure ballad that I kept scrutinizing the liner notes for an Andy Bell or Vince Clarke credit. Lyrically, though, he gets it right; the track features lines the creators of Abba-eqsue could never dream of producing. And in rare moments, such as "Just Checkin'" and "Half-Hearted Get (Is Second Best)," the band actually pulls off the solid delivery of their Welcome to the Beautiful South heyday.

So, what does Painting It Red amount to? Whatever diehard fanbase the band has left will undoubtedly claim it to be a continuation of their reliable, if familiar, catalog: more of the Beautiful South; no weird direction shifts or risks that might disappoint. Maybe it's a bit more consciously radio-friendly, but after all, Heaton's growing old, just like they are! To the rest of the world, though, the album is just another cobblestone on the road to their next Carry On Up the Charts compilation, which extracts a few single-caliber songs, but packages them with mediocre brethren to provide a safe (and thrifty) choice during future visits to the CD shop. And maybe it's just a bit more consciously radio-friendly.

-John Dark