The band’s 2nd album offers 10 unique tracks with constant genre shifts, absurdist elements, emotional repression and high-powered exhaustion.
★★★½☆
Photo: Emma Toma
Fat Dog have had enough with everything, it seems. Since their rise from South London’s Windmill scene back in 2020, NME awarded their debut album, WOOF., five stars and described it as an “end to any conversation that originality in music is dead”. Follow-up release Cancel Me (I’m Tired) goes even further to prove that point. Already, it’s drawn divisive reviews, with it being labelled everything between thrilling, juvenile, powerful and… well, a ‘mess’.
So where exactly does it land? Opener Smile and Wave, in all its driving power punk, escalates like a rocket about to launch. There are some comedic bestiality references immediately (complete with horse sound effects) and a whole bunch of satire delivered by frontman Joe Love. Given that sax is one of my favourite additions to modern alternative music, the chorus was an exciting prospect: it’s progressive and packs in weird, industrial elements that suddenly make it feel a lot like The Prodigy from their The Day Is My Enemy-era. A slowed instrumental midsection adds intensity to increasingly manic, echoed spoken word in an Opus Kink kind of way, though no way near as sophisticated.
What follows is quite the mix. Go Fuck Urself is a dancier number, with darkwave beginnings. The whole track feels hollow and, for some reason, as if it’s trapped on a deserted 2010s dancefloor. It remains to be seen whether it’s deliberate or not. Love’s vocal style has the level of emotion that would make Gary Numan seem animated (but it’s OK, he’s tired). Building on the blankness, there are some melted, detuned twists that briefly offer another dimension before quickly returning to club anthem numbness.
Heart of Darkness and Call It What You Want serve off-key melancholy in indie tracks that are fairly ordinary by Fat Dog standards. On the latter, the downtuned opening and vocals full of punky attitude mean it’s pretty catchy already, after just a few spins.
The title track is all about electro funk-meets-darkwave and dance punk. It’s the sound Twin Tribes would make if they were cheery and were regulars at ‘70s discos. There’s even something in there that reminds me of Girls, another Prodigy track. It’s a standout, but exactly the kind that makes you feel you should regret calling it that once you hear the words.
Fat Dog lyrics aren’t the norm; other artists aren’t usually so intentionally raucous and blunt, yet it’s nothing particularly revelatory that they’re doing. In fact, it’s deceptively simple — maybe that’s where the charm lies.
Love, when asked to describe their music, went for “the polar opposite of thinking music”, and I’d say he’s not far off the mark there in (mostly) a good way, with provocative lyrics like: “Life break your balls like S&M / You make your music for H&M / I make it for B&M / Why don’t you suck my M&Ms”. It’s proudly apathetic and satirises herd mentality and the hysteria of cancel culture: a topic that too many are reluctant to address, for fear of cancellation themselves.
Shit Love is another electro-synthpunk fest, reminiscent of Pendulum, with a stabbing beat, busy drums and pitch-altered, reverbed vocals. Lines like “Chase me ‘round the house like a prime Jack Nicholson” show the band’s sense of humour, while “Lord knows why I take this ketamine” perpetuates the satire by spewing a slew of chaotic inner thoughts. That self-deprecation continues on the techno-punk belter Bad Dog; it’s got an angry, to-the-point energy, not dissimilar to Sleaford Mods, as themes of destructive behaviour, toxic relationships, fatigue and self-hatred are barked at us (no pun intended).
The record takes a turn somewhere in the second half, and we’ve somehow arrived in Spaghetti Western territory. Don’t try to make it make sense. A departure from the rabid and the rough and ready, The Devil evokes a futuristic, steampunk incarnation of The Good, The Bad & The Ugly, while, at first, Snakes’ dusty acoustic strumming makes us feel like we’re suddenly listening to the Handsome Family. After ominous melodic whistles, trailing piano and downbeat vocals, it opens out into a poignant, string-led ballad. It’s definitely the most reflective Fat Dog have been on this record so far.
Keeping that energy in mind, the surprisingly emotive Aliens closes proceedings with a soft acoustic start, tender vocals and stripped-back guitar-piano arrangement. Acting as a nighttime, last-call ballad, there’s something very Life on Mars or Jealous Guy about it. Introspective lyrics deal with hidden pain, loneliness and existential dread. Opening out at various points with sharper chords, swelling strings and growing, exasperated cries, Fat Dog prove they can succeed at more than just shock value. There’s still that hint of deadpan wit in the recurring hook: “You’re the reason why aliens don’t come”. It seems to come full circle as all that built-up sax and guitar morph into a whirring sound that mirrors a spaceship, linking back to sci-fi motifs used throughout the LP.
Fat Dog are a Marmite band. There’s no room for fence-sitting; Cancel Me (I’m Tired) is an album you’ll probably either love or hate. If you’re searching for clever, cryptic meaning, then you won’t find it here, but did you really expect to with such a lethargically unbothered title?
The whole album smacks of Fat Dog needing desperately to make something whacko enough to quench their boredom with the bland reality of life. That’s not such a bad thing, though. No two songs sound the same and, whilst that sentence is thrown around a lot, it really is no exaggeration here. Sure, sometimes it feels like it’s trying too hard not to care, and some lyrics are bawdy at best, cringy at worst, but it’s an enjoyable ride because of its originality. At least, even in their indifference, Fat Dog are doing something different.
Cancel Me (I’m Tired) is out now via Domino Records.