By Steve Weinstein
By Bryan Bierman
By Lindsey Rhoades
By Chaz Kangas
By Ben Westhoff and Sarah Purkrabek
By Jena Ardell
By Jesse Sendejas Jr.
By Katherine Turman
So maybe we're buying into the dream herethat the good Doc's indie pop is just regular pop on a budget and a college education, unmired by industry politics, of for by about ordinary dudes, etc., etc.. Maybe this band's all about the music; the dirty flannels and the bassist's cobbled-together guitar (he used a light dimmer as a replacement volume knob) definitely help with that image-not-image; so too the shambling Monkeeisms of "Oh No," turned out with plenty cartoon rubato. The sloppiness is just to hide their chops, and it almost works.
Even then, though, I'm not sure how the spacey folk-rocker "Say Something" inspired the girl next to me to grind her butt into her date's pelvis, or the guy behind me to tap my shoulder and confide that said grind was "so hot, ain't it, dog." Somewhere, "Something" is somebody's wedding song.
Point being, it's possible the band resonates more deeply than anyone might expect. Beyond the nerd struts and puppy yelps of "Easy Beat" happen those quick and barbed hints of desperation, fear of loss, and aging that made Weezer's Blue Album work so well: "We all lost our dog to the hunter and the fog now," and we clap and sing and grind along because that line could mean pretty much anything, but we all know what it really means. It means people like dogs.