When an artist self-titles an album deep into its career, it can be a signal of a comeback or a new direction, a blunt notice that no matter what has come before, this piece of work is representative of the author. Dr. Dog’s new self-titled effort, its 11th and first in six years, is a reset not a rehash, a return to the band’s most compelling era, from “Easy Beat” (2005) through “Shame, Shame” (2010). The essence of what made those records great were sweet melodies filtered through the gentle psychedelia of the 1960s, never quite fitting in with the very indie folk boom it was helping lead.
“Dr. Dog” the album has all of that, but it is a refocus, not a rehash, a step forward following the group’s retirement from the road.
The R&B-flavored “Authority” opens, with Scott McMicken thumbing his nose at the man with the help of vintage organ and horns. As is the pattern throughout, the lead vocalists alternate from track to track, and up next is co-frontman Toby Leaman on “Lost Ones,” with gang vocals and a drone-like feel on the verses. “Fat Dog” showcases McMicken’s love for sing-song, nursery-rhyme tunes, with an irresistible and breezy chorus.
Leaman’s “Talk is Cheap” is particularly strong and would fit snugly on 2007’s “We All Belong.” It’s a fully fleshed-out composition, with the rhythm and vocals working in lockstep, glorious female backing vocals, sound effect-y keyboards and a subtle guitar solo. But what makes the song brilliant isn’t its complexity, it’s that it sounds so simple.
The piano ballad “What a Night,” a McMicken song, is a tearjerker, a last-ditch effort to repair a relationship. “Maybe we’ll remember all the love that isn’t there,” he sings, and the sentiment reminds of Bob Dylan’s recent series of crooner albums.
“Tell Your Friends,” sung by drummer Eric Slick with harmonies from his bandmates, is not a throwback to early Dr. Dog; it’s actually a fond look over the shoulder at the great early work of another band that came of age in the mid ’00s, Fleet Foxes. Piano and percussion form a bed for Slick to look back too: “Now that I’m old and wiser/ It’s a shame to see the past/ All in a blurry image of the years that slipped through the cracks.”
“Fine White Lies” is another nice entry from Leaman, with classic Dr. Dog wordless backing vocals helping tell a classic story of a mysterious woman. “White Dove” is a shambolic and upbeat McMicken tune, with verses that last just a few lines and give space for the chorus to appear more frequently than standard. It’s another one of his tales of getting up to no good on the streets, and the dove is symbolic of something, too, found “under a bridge, kicking trash,” McMicken sings: “What a way to live.” Zach Miller’s vintage organ is typically understated and tasty.
Leaman’s “Handyman” is sparse and evocative, reminiscent of The Band’s version of “Long Black Veil” and the Garcia-Hunter ballads — one can easily imagine the band seguing into the Grateful Dead’s “Morning Dew.” The lilting midtempo and fiddle-assisted “Love Struck,” written by McMicken and M Ward, serves as the closer, a gentle goodbye but hopefully not the last word from the band whose absence was unfortunate but served to inspire and recharge. Here’s hoping for more to come.
Rating: 79/91
Leave a Reply