Hold onto your dog masks; the second album from one of the UK’s most questionable bands will not be for everyone. But for those capable of self-parody, it will be a triumph.
Fat Dog are essentially the musical equivalent of a shit-post. Their music is a kaleidoscopic mashup of numerous genres which can be ostensibly categorised as that punk-techno hybrid which we’ve seen plenty of in recent years from the likes of Getdown Services, Decius and Warmduscher. The thing is with these demented fusion projects is that they’d fall apart completely if it weren’t for two key features; transgression can be really funny, and the level of musicianship is genuinely impressive. Plus, it’s a product of the zeitgeist. We live in absurd times, so let’s lean into it.
As is the case with this cohort of bands that broke through post-lockdown, their reputation was built on their live performances. Watching them perform, it’s almost impossible to discern just how many musicians are on stage, and what exactly they’re doing. But the energy they’re generating whips the crowd into the sort of carnal frenzy which makes them an ideal festival band. You don’t need to know the music, or have any real comprehension of taste; you just have to be able to run around in a circle pit whilst a bunch of musicians clad in cowboy hats, leather and dog masks screech about slugs.
Translating this sort of energy into studio recordings is a notoriously tricky task. After all, these performances thrive off the symbiosis between the artists and the audience. Plus, a significant chunk of the euphoria comes from trying to wrap your head around the audiovisual overload of witnessing what’s essentially a drug-fuelled live jam. Packaging this up into something which people can listen to as they sit on the Northern line feels like more of a marketing strategy, offering a glimpse of what happens when these noises synthesise in a live performance.
And if that is the goal, then it’s a resounding success. The album is predictably a complete mess, but one which pants with so much deranged verve that it’s totally addictive. Smile and Wave and Shit Love have an early EDM flavour which is reminiscent of the golden days of Hold Your Colour era Pendulum. The titular track and Go Fuck Urself deploy a familiar disco beat which would get even the most stuffy of naysayers moving their hips, undercutting the silky acoustics with lyrical content that is best left to be discovered independently. Building on its predecessor Woof, the group do widen the influences beyond the in-your-face sonics of punk and acid-house. Snakes is western tinged ballad which wouldn’t sound out of place on a film soundtrack, whereas Aliens is a strikingly effective piano-driven closer.
Fat Dog seem to be perpetually walking the tightrope of acting and sounding completely dreadful; and yes, they’re not for everyone. For those who didn’t grow up watching the lowbrow humour of early days South Park or Family Guy, the irreverent lyrical content of Cancel Me (I’m Tired) won’t do much to dispel any opinions that this is nothing more than a lazy attempt to be controversial. But for those who are partial to the lesser celebrated corners of inane anti-cultural art, then this album will be a thrilling listen.
In seeing the hate for this intentionally disputable group, there’s something incredibly gratifying about watching from a distance. Causing outrage from music’s most stuck-up prudes, shows success in their mission of pissing off the self-proclaimed purveyors of good taste. It’s almost as if the music, which objectively does straddle the borders of complete idiocy, is doing exactly what it’s meant to be doing. In a contemporary music scene dominated by overt sincerity, where musicians are morally obliged to add some kind of contrived political undertone to their music, it’s a breath of fresh air to see a band so vehemently do the opposite. Especially when the outcome is something as riotous as this.
