Leave all of your prized possessions at the door, down a big glass of milk and tell your mum you love her. It's about to get downright ugly (and a little bit silly) in this pit.
Photo: Pooneh Ghana | Words: Hazel Blacher
Few bands have caused a stir quite like Fat Dog have in recent years. Emerging from the leaden fog of lockdown isolation with a bucket full of creative juice, squeezed from the deranged oranges of bandleader Joe Love's mind, their Brixton Windmill debut was the starting point at which a new litter of pups grew into the vigorous, slobbering beast that we know and love today. Like one of those sticky moth pheromone traps, but for a panting, mosh hungry clergy of fans, the high-octane spectacle of their live shows has seen crowds summoned in droves. The band sold out London's Scala last year with only one single to their name. At long last releasing their debut album 'WOOF.', out via Domino Records, the South London five-piece immortalise the chaos and thrills of the last three years on record, as the fizzing, bubbling hype encircling them continues to proliferate to new ebullient heights.
Describing their sound as 'screaming-into-a-pillow music', pinpointing exactly what Fat Dog's music is feels less straightforward. Pitting a range of seemingly incongruous styles and genres against each other, ranging from rave-punk to Klezmer, the resulting sonic skirmish seems to mingle together seamlessly like a cartoon dust cloud, further honed by a furious energy and sense of fun. As we bear witness to a wider rejection of the more austere post-punk sound that once permeated grassroots alternative music, many new emerging bands today are taking a more pastoral approach. This new musical undergrowth, increasingly thoughtful in nature and pruned of any harsh thorns, is precisely what Fat Dog seek to remedy in their approach. "Our music is the polar opposite of thinking music. It's music you feel in your body more than your brain" explains synth player Chris Hughes. It's music you feel in your body more than your brain". Crucially, this deliberate aesthetic dichotomy feels fresh in its aims. Where seriousness once ruled the roost, silliness is the new king, crowned with a latex dog mask or perhaps reading near-apocalyptic poetry to the backing track of 'O Fortuna'.
"It's fucking Fat Dog, baby!!" shrieks Love's maddened voice on opener 'Vigilante' atop a backdrop of menacing video game-esque synth-punk, before reciting what feels like an excerpt from The Book Of Genesis if it was written in canine prose. Setting the tone for what's to come, the unrelenting pulsations of the first few tracks on WOOF. are triumphant in their aims to capture the sweat-drenched energy of the band's infamous live shows. Like the musical equivalent of being forced into the boot of someone's car and driven around at 80 miles per hour, yet still somehow enjoying it, the back to back pounding inflicted by the driving 7/8 rhythms and manic arpeggiations of 'Closer to God', followed by 'the similarly paced rhythmic onslaught of 'Wither' is enough to give you palpitations.
While incredibly thrilling and escapist in its commitment to uncensored musical bedlam, at times WOOF. can feel a little bit one-note in its execution. Many of the tracks follow a similar formula, that certainly works very well, but one can't help but notice these occasional parallels. Perhaps this fatigue is also exacerbated somewhat by the fact that the majority of the tracks have been released already, which means that there aren't many secrets left to uncover here. That being said, there are some slower and more reflective moments throughout that give you a chance to catch your breath and guzzle down some electrolytes. The heavily autotuned 'Clowns' garnishes a crescendo of booming bass and hauntingly beautiful violin legatos with that familiar throbbing synth line that serves as the beating heart of WOOF.. There are also some truly exceptional offerings included in the record that must be acknowledged. The seven-minute, genre-traversing epic that was their debut single, 'King Of The Slugs', showcases a brazen shredding of the rulebook and perhaps the most range within their output to date. Elsewhere, the anthemic unhinged trance-punk energy of 'Running' has set it on course to be perhaps one of the best tracks of 2024. On WOOF., heaven and hell somehow become the same place, and Fat Dog don't care who you are or where you come from. Everyone is invited to the party.
No comments:
Post a Comment