Between their funky rhythms, nihilistic humor, and wigged-out compositional style, this Texas-based trio is clearly not gunning for widespread acceptance. In fact, there are moments when they don’t seem terribly concerned about anyone’s acceptance. Throughout The Hit-Tooth Chronicles, Like Dogs navigates a strange and disturbing musical landscape which provides a harrowing glimpse into their solipsistic mentality and reckless approach to songwriting. As they heedlessly twist any semblance of genre or tradition into a mangled heap of heterogenous muck, one is left to wonder whether she will ever return to Kansas in one piece.
At the peak of their ferocity, Like Dogs adopts the cacophonous math-core histrionics of Daughters or The Locust (e.g. “Baby Day Out”). However, their approach is necessarily unique due to the absence of guitars. Each track is executed with simple, almost primal instrumentation: bass, drums, vocals, and (very) occasional keyboards. This may suggest a sparse and hollow affair, but they offset this tendency by saturating every open space. Even sections that call for a brief tacit are covered over with bass and drum fills, which allow little time for the listener (or band, for that matter) to catch their breath and consider the next move.
At the other end of the spectrum (but with a whole lot in between), Like Dogs seems content to wallow in sarcasm and self-mockery. A definite sense of humor can be found in their entertainment of various incompatible genres, such as surf punk (“22″), post-hardcore (“Under Any Circumstances”), mock-alternative (“Shit-Tooth”), and theme music (“Halloween”). For good measure, the band slaps some icing on this garish, misshapen cake by including a hidden rap track (titled “Crop-Dusted”) and a minute-long comedy sketch that will earn a grin from the average cynic.
In the end, this seventeen-track aberration somehow manages to deliver the goods. While much of it sees them straddling vast canyons from one stylistic point to the next, Like Dogs handles the proceedings with a playful arrogance which suggests that they are in control at all times. While certainly unpredictable, none of this album’s tracks seems misplaced, and none of its performances seem forced. Even the humorous components are solidly placed, and achieve their intended effect.
Interestingly, The Hit-Tooth Chronicles reveals yet another clever element in the band’s repertoire through its minimal packaging and presentation. The cover art is admittedly a bit baffling, as it simply portrays a mother and child posing for a family photo. But the back cover shows Like Dogs dressed in true anachronistic splendor: ‘70s style tennis shorts, bad wigs, outmoded sunglasses, bare chests, and knee-high tube socks. They beg the observer to dismiss them as a “joke band” or one-off novelty. But after listening to the album and getting a feel for their artistic perspective, one begins to understand this photo as an effort to further the band’s disregard for conventional approval. It effectively says that they are doing this for themselves, and that the satisfaction of others will always be secondary.
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