By rights, as a discerning music fan you should abhor DOGS. After all they're derivative, their singer sounds irritatingly like Paul Weller, and they write staunchly bloke music. The CD should have a disclaimer which demands the listener wears a Hackett t-shirt before playing the album lest a few heavies come over and kick in your CD player.
But you won't abhor them. You shouldn't even disapprove of them if this latest offering is anything to go by. The simple truth is they write great songs. Yes, they could easily be accused of being The Jam copyists if it wasn't for the fact that the tracks on this, their sophomore effort, are right on the money. Razorlight could sound like this if Johnny Borrell would quit posturing and flip the switch on his distortion pedal, but instead he seems more concerned with airplay on Heart FM. Razorlight’s loss it seems is Dogs gain.
Opener and new single Dirty Little Shop kicks off the album with an understated intro doesn't really get going until the sublime chorus which takes the song to another level. If this alone doesn't garner Dogs an army of fans then, fortunately, the rest of the album has plenty to offer.
Further highlights include previous single This Stone Is A Bullet which compares favourably with Eton Rifles and the devastating Little Pretenders with its damning indictment of teenage hoodlums.
“Like little pretenders to the old Eastenders, you ain’t no gangster son..” Rip up that disclaimer then!
Despite strong melodies and fine musicianship it is incredibly difficult to ignore The Jam’s obvious influence. This would prove to be their undoing were the songs not so vibrant and honest. As it stands, the band are clearly keen to demonstrate that they are fine songwriters in their own right. And they achieve it. In spades.
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There are, however, a few notable weaknesses to be found on this collection. These Days and Who Are You don’t sit comfortably alongside the more immediate sounds of Soldier On and the aforementioned Little Pretenders.
That aside, there is still much here to be admired. Surprisingly and, indeed, courageously they settle for a slower number to round off the album. Let it Lay, with its twinkling piano and rat-a-tat drumbeat begins with a charm reminiscent of the Pogues quieter moments before building into an entire different proposition with pleading melody and urgent lead guitar. It’s a stunning way to cap what is essentially a fine selection of some of the best British tunes available currently.
So, aside from the obvious comparisons, Dogs do little of what was expected which results in so much more. The old adage don’t judge a book by its cover was never more keenly felt here which leads us nicely to a final cliché.
Don’t let sleeping Dogs lie. Sorry.
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