Dr. Dog at First Avenue
Dr. Dog stopped by for a sold-out show at First Avenue on Friday night on a tour promoting its newest album, Be The Void. Famous for its rough-around-the-edges sound, Dr. Dog cut its teeth as an opener for My Morning Jacket, so the band knows a thing or two about playing to a live audience. With its sing-along harmonies, hand claps, and stomping beats, Dr. Dog had the whole main room playing along.
Fellow Philadelphians Purling Hiss opened the show with a solid hour of ear-blasting no-fi garage rock quelled up from every punk kid’s conception of what rock ’n’ roll should be—loud, primal, loud, and, well, loud. The three-piece band is built entirely around the guitar virtuosity of Mike Polizze, whose frantic, snarling riffs and solos were belied by a Cosby sweater and charmingly banal stage banter.
After an almost interminable set up between the bands, Dr. Dog took the stage, which, with a fireplace, a healthy smattering of blankets and lamps, and a wall full of amateur paintings, became a family room that doubled as amp storage.
Much has been made of Dr. Dog’s unexpected return to its homespun ramshackle sound after the unexpectedly tight pop production of 2010’s Shame, Shame. But opening with the brooding-yet-bubbling “That Old Black Hole” from Be The Void and following up with the soaring “Stranger” off of the last album, it is clear that no matter what spin the production had put on the band’s output, all its songs all fit comfortably in the overflowing enthusiasm of its live show.
After that, the band settled into a nice back-and-forth rhythm between guitarist Scott McMicken and bassist Toby Leaman, who took turns on lead vocals as they covered their bases between a mix of old and new songs. The contrast between Leaman and McMicken’s vocal and lyrical styles has always lent a greater versatility and depth to the band than similarly shaggy acts, and that contrast was on even greater display during the show. McMicken was all jittering, nervous energy, even doing the Charleston during a few impassioned moments like on the jumpy refrain of “Heavy Light.” McMicken’s songs were bouncing, bright, his high nasal singing style ringing out with sing-along melodies through the crushing harmonic wave around him.
Leaman, meanwhile, was all swagger, prowling the stage like a bass-playing panther while not on singing duty. His soulful, yelping caterwaul, while occasionally slipping backwards and getting lost in the mix, brought a level of passion and height to a song like the anthemic “Hang On.” For all their differences, though, the two played off each other’s energies perfectly, as in on “These Days” that found them back to back, Leaman singing over a driving, circuital guitar riff from McMicken.
The band barely stopped to catch its breath between songs, except for a spare moment where McMicken acknowledged to raucous applause that the sold out crowd would get the band a star on the wall outside, and humbly acknowledging how great of company they would be in. The crowd, dotted with orange poms on Dr. Dog beanies, knew the band had earned their right to be there.
