Dr. Dog Review Round-Up

"Not only is Dr. Dog's We All Belong the first great rock album of the year, it's already on my short list for Top Ten albums of 2007." Jeffrey Morgan, CREEM Magazine
The Boston Globe says the new Dr. Dog LP is "Fucking Great!”
"4.5 out of 5 stars" Alternative Press Magazine
GQ Magazine says "We All Belong" is (so far) the best record of 2007.
"These Philadelphia boys debuted last year with a fine record that matched the Shins with smart, retro psych rock.” -- Rolling Stone, Sept. 2006
"The most common critique/gush/bash on Dr. Dog involves the word "Beatles" and the suffix "-esque." Bah - cliché. "Gondrylike" is how this mellowed gold sounds..." - SF Weekly Sept. 2006

Dr. Dog

We All BelongBy David EduardoGlider MagazineFebruary 13, 2007Rock revivalists? It’s time to just admit that classic rock never went anywhere, let the term describe a genre rather than a period in history, then allow Philly-based Dr. Dog to prescribe it to you in addictive doses. We All Belong (Park The Van Records) is missing a needle-to-vinyl hiss, and not much else. Even with obvious influences embroidered on their sleeves, Dr. Dog makes second-hand coat rock that is pleasantly fresh and untamed. Picture the mountain backdrop and the wild horses in cigarette ads. Someone brought a keg. Someone brought something else. There’s a bonfire. You’re in the spirit world now, Chavez. Simultaneously psychedelic (“The Girl”) and soulful (“Worst Trip”)—We All Belong is seemingly the result of the Beatles spending spring break with The Allman Brothers Band and getting delirious with sunburn and their 24 track, 2 inch tape machine. The burping bass line, cavernous vocal reverb and fuzzy guitar leads on “The Way The Lazy Do” encourage escape to the beanbag chair and reducing illumination, so that only the dull red glow of your lava lamp remains. Glide Magazine (http://www.glidemagazine.com/index.php?id=51828§ion=94&issue=1&task=Articles)

Dr. Dog: Five Professional Life Specialists Filled With Grandfathers, Unafraid Of Dr. Death

Daytrotter19 February 2007 Words by Sean Moeller // Illustration by Johnnie Cluney // Sound engineering by Patrick StolleyThere’s a branch of vitality that has everything to do with death, with mortality and the absolute end of a simple existence. Without the understanding that there’s no escape hatch when the lights start to dim and where the embalmer makes his bread, one is unfortunately disillusioned and cannot successfully live it up. Without embracing the fragility of life, the capacity to experience richness in life is lessened. Death legitimizes life, to some extent, and some of the most interesting thoughts come when death is broached and really examined with a fine-toothed comb. The thought of death is so suggestive of tragedy and such a languid supposition that it never really feels like it’s breathing our air, but when it’s put into the right contexts and those carpe diem birds start chirping as if they’ve just bathed in the mystic prowess of promised daybreak, death is as lovely and invigorating a concept as anything. It can be the same as a crisp autumn morning, maybe with exhalations coming out white, but still toasty only because thinking of death and one’s eminent demise can force a person to truly get to living, as flowery as that may sound. Philadelphia’s Dr. Dog, five men with a healthy stake in both polarities — life and death, show an exorbitance of life in their songs of throwback musicality and irreproachable three-part harmonies, but there are just as many instances of what’s to come some day. Death is a valuable tool for making living sweeter, just as salt is used on tequila and limes are used with Coronas, and Dr. Dog – though they aren’t real doctors – prescribe both ideas in large doses on We All Belong, the group’s full-length follow-up to Easy Beat, a hazy snack of impeccable, sundried offerings that are rarely timorous, but instead exhibit so much hot-bloodedness that it’s easy to discern that they choose life over lingering on what will be. There’s a lot of old soul feeling to what they do, as if they were young men filled to the lashes with the spirits of thousands of mild-mannered grandfathers, who’d experienced all of the 50s and 60s as young men, with fires in the pits of their stomachs and unwrinkled skins. It’s as if they’re on both the front and back ends of lives – with the youthful swagger and exploratory gene as well as the realization that days are numbered and the time’s ripe for reflection and kicking and screaming before kicking the bucket. Going by Taxi and Tables, Scott McMicken and Toby Leaman, who met each other in eighth grade, write songs of different bents that still meld together to form the identity for a group that comes off as one that’s wonderfully wise, rebellious and seasoned, but still keeping a jagged edge that they never want to smooth over. McMicken’s show off some good ol’ soft heartedness. He’s a man in song who is after the tender parts that life can offer in its vulnerable times. He proceeds with the task of getting to the bare bones of a love, to find the hidden wires and the energy source – what makes it tick and survive, what makes it crumble. There’s always this hope in his songs that makes true love seem attainable, that makes a better life seem likely to unravel right before the eyes – for if the heart is noble, good things will come. The redhead likely lives by that credo. Leaman’s songs are the ones that sprout after a couple packs of smokes, a six-pack and a long week. They always have steam to blow off, gripes to gladly work through and, well, some of that life and death to ruminate over. Those long nights blow through his songs and when they’ve been wound up and then wound back down, you yourself start to feel better, even without having been anxious about anything.Dr. Dog is irrationally good and We All Belong is just another notch in its belt. Its rawness deserves commendation. The trapset playing of Juston Stens, the on-point keyboard work of Zach Miller and the dexterous guitar lines, plus invaluable vocals of Frank McElroy complement McMicken and Leaman’s songs, which are the best forms of escapism that we’ve come across in quite some time. These songs permit us moments that are imperative to not getting swarmed at by cynicism and the belief that the world is going to hell in a handbasket. These songs remind us that pureness in life and love is still something that should be sought out. Life can be overwhelming and difficult, but this band will always be there to open the shutters, lift the curtains and let in some fresh air. The Daytrotter Interview:On Park The Van, there’s you guys and The Teeth and on The Muppets, there was Dr. Teeth of Electric Mayhem. Tell me this is NOT a coincidence. Do you each have a favorite Muppet?Scott McMicken: Excellent detective skills my good man. Maybe you’re aware that Park the Van’s founder goes by the name of Watson and to that end you shall be Sherlock. My question is: What decent self-respecting record label dosen’t owe two arms and two legs and one beak and two pinchers and four flippers and 1,000 feathers and 50 shades of blue to The Electric Mayhem? I’ve yet to see a rocker with more heart than Animal. A band ought to be a family and a family ought to be of love and love ought to be absurd!Who’s making up this 12-piece CD release party band (for a CD release party Feb. 16)? How excited are you for this? Was it an idea you were thinking about for a while?SM: The Horny Toads and the String Bikinis are made up of a cross section of Philly’s hardest working gypsys and carpenters and late night alley cats and whiskey slugging transposers, as well as the sweet-talking angels of the balcony. Excitement itself, prior to these grand arrangements, seemes sleepy compared to the fork we jammed in the socket with this engagement. Very excited! We thought about it just long enough to procrastinate and that was exactly too long.Have any of you ever thought you’d seen a ghost?SM: Everything I’ve ever looked at is as much itself as it is the death of things ive already seen. In that sense, I’ve only seen ghosts, except on my birthday. Are you guys willing to offer explanations for your band handles: Tables, Taxi, etc.? They’re mysteriously tasty. SM: Are YOU willing to offer any explanation about your term “band handles”? talk about tasty! Why do those words roll so effortlessly? I’m positive that your term alone explains our little monikers better than i ever could! “BAND HANDLES!” Front page headline! How did you become so passionate about what you do? I think, moreso than anything else, it’s what comes out to me in your wonderful songs.SM: A source of passion is, I think, beyond my comprehension. Is it the totallity of a set of arbitrary circumstances leading up to any given moment in your life? Is it given to us by what is generally known of as G-d? Is it fake? Is it any diferent from what dirties-up our wall, where we perpetually turn the lights on and off? Is it the same as a finger print? Does it come from love, either recieved or not recieved? (Is it chaos, is it devine, is it natural, is it science, is it social?) How it became, I am not sure, but a day without it is no day at all. Outside of music, what are you passionate about?SM: Outside of music, I am passionate about people, probably to a fault. People like Sean Daytrotter, with whom I’m always late, whom I always love. People like Toby Leaman, who is effortlessly one neck ahead, people like us who will answer the telephone, people like Ellen Zeppieri, who speak to me like a mirror, people like my old man who are always on the run, people like Sharon, who draw big black lines around my existance and people like Curly who color it in. People like Fatboy Hocking, who provided couches for Iron Maiden in the past, people like K. T. Tungston, whose arms are busted not to speak of other things. Are you all generally very positive? There seems to be a real feeling of positive energy coursing through your records and definitely in your live shows.SM: No one wants to be an asshole, except the assholes (of which I am definatly one.) That belief alone is what keeps it sensitive. Once when I was in preschool, my older brother showed me this snail he found out back. Though it was a rare gigantic snail, I immediatly kabobbed it with my barely walking stick. It is instances like that which I will fight to not repeat. Speaking of the live show, the shades really add something. Are they crutches for nerves that you don’t let us in on?SM: If a nerve had my body, and that body fit between a shattered piano and the concrete of an unlucky man’s last living step, than that nerve could only look good in either a casket or a pear of bad shades. What’s your greatest gambling story?SM: (tangent- dealines, the world is bi-polar, moms sleping upstairs, bum f***, welcome, you and me ought to be friends) All ass-kissing aside, the only good gambling story I got takes place right outside Daytrotter studios, where, after kicking a Ping Pong ball-sized soccer ball down Rock Island’s streets Dr. Dog, realized riverboat casinos weren’t just a thing of the pages and Taxi commited (only after convincing a stuffed animal that his expired drivers lisence was most definatly worth less than $1,200) his 10 dollar food ration to the blackjack table and met his risks with a $30 reward! Taxi walked out a champion, especially amongst the company of Tables an Thanks, who played thier cool watching football in the riverboat casino’s leisure lounge. I remember in St. Louis Juston was talking about how he got his mom tickets to a My Morning Jacket show. Are all your parents that rad?SM: Yes and yes! Who couldn’t consider thier own parents rad? How would we even consider at all without first having parents. Zach’s parents are as undeniable as the Amish and Juston’s parents might as well be in the band. Toby’s parents are The Beatles and Frank’s parents sit quiet like thunder where lighting never strikes. my parents wrote this. Scott, do you draw the interiors of people’s homes often?SM: It is a way for me to say, “I was here, and I am grateful.” Just like graffitti.I’ve decided to annoint you all honorary uncles to my two-month-old daughter, Dylan. How would you try to out-do the others in the band so she saw you as her favorite uncle?SM: By now, you are aware that only one uncle is present, Uncle Scott (uncle of eight — Max, Tank, Andy, Jack, Jonny, Jake, Micheal, Ryan). Dylan must know that five uncles are better than one. However, I can make coins disappear and turn up in Dylan’s ear. I can sled through the tiniest slopes with Dylan while dad laughs from kitchen window. I can, with the most sincere enthusiasm, admire the littlest touch of Crayola to paper and most importantly, I can convince Dylan that anything is constantly possible. (And I believe that tickling is torture.) Plus, I have uncles which I revere, to this day, as Gods on earth! What do you want people to get out of “We All Belong”?SM: Very strange question. (Not for you to ask, but for me to consider.) There is really only one intended listener for this album: Dr. Dog. Beyond that, I really hope for good times in an increasingly complicated set of circumstances. I intend to learn a lot about this album in the near future, as soon as WE ALL hear it. How do you all deal with being away from home so much? SM: Dear Sean, Our time apart has offered me many things. Good, bad, mostly good, almost entirly good although seemingly bad. Today, Juston bought new shoes that he is not so sure Katie will like. I have total confidence that any girl of Juston’s (Katie being the only one of any importance) will love them. We visited my uncle and he told me not to be scared. Me and Toby got these new hats in Lawerence, Kansas that are known as Swedese army surpluss hats. Jack White. Jack shit. Jack and Sarah’s dad’s girls were there at the Magic Numbers big gig at the London Hammersmith deal. There were no String Bikinis. She had a Dr. Dog button on and the pictures were 3D. Only cause someone made dicks out of poster putty and put them on photos of classic sculptures. Nick Meyhew is a gentleman and a scholar and a friend and a great tour guide only he won’t get us on a ferry on-time, which is a very small price to pay for unlimited time on the sex line (we all broke our own hearts just trying not to talk about sex.). While visiting the home of The Black Angels, I realized that no matter how much Coach loved us, he could not stay happy despite Frank’s more than impressive rendition of “Alone Again Natually.” So, despite Frank’s efforts and my tears, Coach slept as I did in the living room of that van. Any hoo Sean, the tales go on and on and you might as well tell them! (then make a fart sound) What do you love about Philly?SML Philly has not lost its teeth yet.What are you all reading and listening to these days?SM: Joanna Newsom.Daytrotter (http://www.daytrotter.com/article/550/dr-dog-five-professional-life-specialists-filled-with-grandfathers-unafraid-of-dr-death)

Dr. Dog

We All Belong Park the VanHarp MagazineJudging solely by its song titles, Dr. Dog may be the most self-aware band on earth. The first two tracks on its third full-length We All Belong both contain the word “old”—and, honestly, that’s as good an adjective as any to describe the Philadelphia collective’s sound. However, while last year’s Easy Beat could be almost painfully lo-fi, with We All Belong the band finally sounds polished, confident and complete. Tracks like “Don’t Pretend” show that the band has developed its own distinctive sound as opposed to simply replicating the Beatles’ psychedelic era; the tasteful horn flourishes and stellar arrangement on “Worst Trip” sound like a disco version of the Beach Boys (in a good way), and the disc’s standout song “Alaska” sounds like it was written in a farmhouse with the Band. Sure, the members of Dr. Dog haven’t reinvented the wheel with We All Belong—but, maybe more importantly, they’ve reinvented themselves.By Jonah Bayer First printed in Jan/Feb 2007 Harp Magazine (http://harpmagazine.com/reviews/cd_reviews/detail.cfm?article_id=5123)

Dr. Dog: Shimmering Like Jethro Tull, This Strange Playfulness

Daytrotter26 January 2007 Words by Kyle Smith // Illustration by Derek M. BallardFive lights hang over the stage at Schuba’s, harsh red and blue beams streaming out of ancient metal cages like little psychedelic eclipses — even cursory eye contact can be blinding. They are comically situated, forming rigid, purposeful angles. Against an empty stage, it looks like a child’s drawing, these primary colors dangling like tempra orbs over vacated musical instruments. Despite their foreboding, the lights are harmless. Only when Dr. Dog steps underneath them do the beams become edgelights, barely visible on the musicians, who are instead heavily lit by some incandescence you can’t find. Dr. Dog (or maybe Drs. Dog; they’re more Jethro Tull than Trapper John) is not unaware of the light, forgoing Ray-Bans for the only sunglasses that work all the time — those plastic, neon-flavored shades your dentist offers before your most painful close-ups. That name, too — “Dr. Dog” — so perfectly encapsulates some abstract depiction of strange playfulness. I could think only of Underdog, before, during, and after their performance, and perhaps Shoeshine Boy’s alterego would be a suitable mascot for the Philadelphia band — maybe slyly mocking hand-drawn animation from the 1970s could illustrate Dr. Dog’s fun-loving vibe. Tonight’s lesson: Just like the title of a poem, band names are important. Their songs all seem to begin with some familiar base sound that visibly energizes the three stand-up members of the Dog, who all manage to emote, bounce, and strain in some sort of harmony, like some neofolk hydra. The song fills up, dispersing whatever poison gets a talky audience to pay attention to the opening act and nod accordingly. Then the song peaks with some variety of electric guitar leading the charge, the band downstroking and laughing playfully. A knock against jam bands is the way they dress; the allure is the amount of fun they have. This is no jam band, even if they dress in plaid and one guy looks like Bob Dylan (it was hard to see, but I believe his were heart-shaped glasses), but they have a blast letting each song jangle together into some groovy, organic mess. I want to namedrop America but like any other band it doesn’t seem fair to the Dr.; their versatility and looseness seem to indicate they’d have us enjoy this music rather than lose ourselves trying to define it. Fair enough.The Dog was playing Schuba’s on the second night of Tomorrow Never Knows, a five-night series of local favorites and hot national acts. The big boys tonight were Indianapolis’ Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s, a name as interesting as Dr. Dog but completely misleading — lead singer Richard Edwards is not a girl, and his music is not as twee or quirky as the name may suggest. The So-and-Sos filled Schuba’s small stage eight-wide, with all variety of instruments and pleasant-looking people playing them. Like only the greatest bands, they specialize in meaningful pronouns. “You” and “she,” in particular, are thrown around to devastating effect. You’d openly quote them if the citation wasn’t so lengthy. The standout on their lone album, The Dust of Retreat, is “Skeleton Key,” on which Edwards laments, “I did a horrible thing to that girl,” over a mesmerizing flora of violins, keyboard scales, and spaghetti western guitar. Tonight saw a sped-up “Skeleton Key,” which added pounding drums and a singalong audience, which I suppose is symptomatic of such wonderfully strange songs. MatNSaS played all kinds of anthemic indie pop, including “Quiet as a Mouse” (sounding suspiciously like Coldplay, complete with massive chorus and soft/loud dynamic) and obvious fan favorite “On a Freezing Chicago Street;” I’m beginning to think these depressing love songs to the City of Big Shoulders will soon become standards on par with “My Kind of Town.” A highly incomplete infomercial would include “Chicago,” “Via Chicago,” “Chicago Seemed Tired Last Night,” “Dear Chicago,” “Chicago at Night,” and “Blue Chicago Moon.” An uncalled-for digression, but Margot’s paean is a seamless addition to any entry-level indie-Chicago mix.When Edwards played his acoustic solo, a certain intimacy enveloped Schuba’s, and it’s not a hushed, cry-on-his-or-her-shoulder reverence, but that of a certain small-town charm, like the high school band who’s finally made it big. That’s not to say Margot and Co. aren’t capable — they certainly are — but when surrounded by stir-crazy fans, cheap beer, way-friendly bouncers, and five lights trying to illuminate an eight-piece band, it was like losing the trees for the forest, if anyone even does that anymore. Daytrotter (http://www.daytrotter.com/reviews/499/dr-dog-shimmering-like-jethro-tull-this-strange-playfulness)