Fat Dog - WOOF. Review

Woof. has a bite running through its bark, a sense of purpose and depth that clears it from its contemporaries.

What is a ‘live’ band? In recent years, folk have used the term with greater liberty to describe any artist that has even the vaguest origins in live performance. It’s a trope that has lost meaning through liberal misuse, but it’s born out of a growing problem; namely, the translation of a memorable and skin-tingling live show into engaging recorded music. 

It’s a hurdle that has tripped up countless bands that have wowed crowds in London over the past five years, creating a rolling wave of excitement and buzz that grinds to a halt once the bands in question attempt to capture what makes them such an alluring live presence. The road from south London to Spotify is paved with good intentions, and such. 

Given the stellar reputation Fat Dog have earned since their first chaotic post-pandemic shows, you think they’d be ripe for tripping into this particular chasm of obscurity. Woof., their bombastic debut full length album, quickly dispels such concerns. 

For those unfamiliar with the canines in question, they were formed out of frontman Joe Love’s pandemic-induced boredom and a desire to create music for the body rather than the brain. Signed to Domino off the back of an insatiable word of mouth reputation whilst also turning down major label interest (“So, guys, this is my vision, I’m seeing The Next Prodigy, but with retro bathing suits, yeah yeah?”) , the group are one of the few who have managed to make the leap from Windmill darlings to being commercially viable. 

Any concerns that a ‘live’ band with a penchant for crab dancing and dog masks would struggle with this transition are aggressively allayed by lead single ‘King of the Slugs’; a sprawling 7 minute epic that coalesces electro-punk, orchestral strings and klezmer into as grandiose an opening statement you could wish to find. It sets out the Fat Dog stall, emblazoned with ditties about slugs and god and man and cod.

Woof. doesn’t wait around. Coming in at a tight 32 minutes with production from James Ford, Jimmy Roberston and Love himself, it lives like the best gigs, where there is no opportunity to sneak away or for your mind to wander onto future meal plans or whether you’ve been neglecting an old friendship. ‘Closer to God’ and ‘Wither’ rollick through the opening like a pissed train that’s somehow managing to stay on the track. ‘All The Same’ manages to be both a menacing stomp and an earworming bopper all at once. They capture the abrasive yet warm absurdity that has given Fat Dog such a fanatical following. 

However, this album would not stick in the way it does if it was just contained chaos. You have to look beyond the bombast to see why Fat Dog are one of the most exciting acts in the country. Their following wouldn’t be half as obsessed and their shows half as cathartic if there wasn’t this confused pain that underpins the gregarious bravado. ‘I Am The King’ neatly displays this combination, a 3 minute build of choral chants and increasingly strained arpeggiated synths that rise to a climax that never comes (in a good way). Love combines talk of Karate Kid 2 with explorations of a frail bravado, a swelling mix of doubt that is more of a welp for help than a battle cry. 

‘Running’, the album’s closer bar a short spoken word outro, is the best example of this marriage of absurdity and anxiety. It has all the bombast of what came before, but opens a crack in the door to reveal the pain and confusion that scuttles underneath the blaring beats. Understandably a fan favourite at shows, it hits because it has an understanding of how and why absurdity is such an inviting concept for folk at present. It gives you the comfort of an answer to a question you don’t want to ask yourself, an opportunity to shake off the doubt and fears that have been sneaking their fingers further into your brain. It’s absurdity that gets you in the feels, and is by far the standout moment on the album.

There’s no denying Fat Dog’s strength as a live band, but they offer something far more pertinent than a 30 minute mindless mosh.Their appeal comes from creating a rage fuelled catharsis that welcomes you in rather than saying ‘look how absurd we are, aren’t we wacky’. Woof. has a bite running through its bark, a sense of purpose and depth that clears it from its contemporaries. They might be one of the best live bands in the country, but this debut proves there is so much more to the group.

In their own words; It’s fucking Fat Dog baby. You can kill the man. But you cannot kill the dog.