I won’t name names but these bands have perverted something that was pretty glorious into something sleazy, stupid, and quite frankly, dull. Luckily, Dogs have avoided such obvious traps and transcended some, occasionally, very obvious influences to create the sort of dynamic punk and roll most bands would give their blistered fingers and damaged livers for. Lyrically, failed relationships, the state of the nation and all things in-between come under the Dogs microscope, and are sung by Johnny Cooke with the studied cool and natural insouciance of a Jarvis Cocker or Vic Goddard. Quite obviously the man’s a star, but so are the rest of the band, who rattle out glorious tunes and big hooks with a passion and style that’s a rare commodity when there’s such a preponderance of style over substance in much modern rock music. As if to confirm their pedigree, Dogs’ last song was an excellent cover of The Jam’s A Bomb in Wardour Street, proving that if anyone can claim The Jam’s mantle it’s this lot, who’ve got the bark and bite to be top dog anytime they want. |
