Dogs


Another French band that should've been. Well, could've been, anyway. Why things never fell into place for them honestly perplexes me a bit. Is it the accented English? Maybe? The production is clean—sometimes so clean it's scrubbed of all color—and the breakneck tempo of most songs somehow implies a certain unsureness to me, but these critiques are relatively inconsequential. And they weren't a flash in the pan affair, either, so you can't chalk their lack of impact up entirely to timing; they recorded a handful of albums and were active until the early 2000s, when their lead singer, Dominique LaboubĂ©e, died. Really good group that was all pummeling power pop and Johnny Thunders-esque nonchalance and post-punk aesthetic austerity.

The first album, Different, is the winner for me, but they're all fantastic. Quality. Even the later efforts, which were recorded with more limited means and what seems to have been a lack of enthusiasm from their labels, hit impressive highs.



They're often compared to the Only Ones, which I absolutely won't disagree with, but there's also a certain lackadaisical sass and swagger to them that evokes, say, the Replacements.

Then there're moments when they're even drier and more dissected, when they're doing their best to pull off that crystalline and pacey gothicness that the Cure trademarked.



And then there're flirtings with classic rock and roll.

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