Leave Me In Leicester
Spin Spin The Dogs
There’s a childish inanity to Spin Spin The Dogs which stops me utterly hating them.
. .just. A friend of mine who loves his Modern Art (Koons, Kippenberger, that kind of cock) nearly throttled me when I suggested he should love this band. You see the kind of feelings they evoke - about as far from ‘meh’ as it’s possible to be. I blame the Fall. Or perhaps it’s the vocalist’s fault for thinking that the best accompaniment for his pissed Dale Winton crooning would be the Magic Band as re-imagined by Menswear.
I’ve been on the receiving end of the ‘Dogs live experience a few times; the first was a support slot with Mike Watt. I entered just as they were finishing and could swear that the audience was backing away in fear, as a man with a microphone appeared to be trying to eat them. Most recently was in a tiddly room at a pub. There was nowhere for the audience to back away to, so instead they affected an air of bemused tolerance, such as that given to a drunk uncle karaoke’ing himself into vomit at a wedding reception. I can safely say that this album conveys all this pretty accurately. For example:
Spin Spin The Vox: No! Don’t ignore me!
Audience member, with more than a little sarcasm: Wooo!
The Vox: Oh, shut up!
Make up what’s left of your mind. Are you Dave Devant/Mr. Solo after a bottle of brandy (Heads Nose Teet Toes)? Bert from Sesame Street hung upside down in a vat of Southern Comfort (Saddam Insain)? And about those lyrics - I know that even the Beatles went free-form - just not every song. Hungry For Love is, perhaps, the least annoying, where a twisted choir makes its appearance and the band end up sounding like an autistic Roxy Music. You will probably listen to this album twice, if you listen to it at all. Because you won’t believe what you heard the first time.