The UK’s latest post-punk export, Fat Dog, has quickly built a reputation for their chaotic live shows and costumed antics. But on WOOF., their debut album, the South London five-piece’s arch dance-punk fusion feels more calculated than provocatively chaotic.
When Fat Dog toured with Viagra Boys last year, they managed to rile up a few fans. “We got a lot of hate from people because they didn’t want to see the support act ‘out-do’ anyone,” frontman Joe Love told NME earlier this year. One concertgoer, apparently incensed by their performance, even called Love “a tiny little prick.” It’s a badge of honor for a band that thrives on discomfort and unpredictability. Their rabid fanbase, self-dubbed “the Kennel,” loves them for it—and it’s what landed Fat Dog a deal with Domino before they’d even released their first single.
Fat Dog’s debut track, the seven-minute thumper “King of the Slugs,” is a sonic blitz of hard rock, EDM, and synth-driven klezmer-techno. Love’s vocals, filtered through reverb, evoke a bullish intensity reminiscent of Idles or Fat White Family, his gruff delivery blending with lurching bass and revving synths. At their Electric Brixton show earlier this year, the crowd bounced along to the song’s frenetic energy as Love, waving a cowboy hat like a rodeo preacher, tried to sell the madness. Yet beneath the spectacle—the rubber dog masks, the wild crowd—Love’s performance felt curiously joyless, his detachment palpable. That same disconnection seeps into WOOF., dulling the album with a grayish residue.
Formed in 2021 with the intention of making “fun, ridiculous music,” Fat Dog crafted their sound to get people dancing or thrashing. But WOOF. often misses that mark. Despite flashes of zany brilliance—flatulent sax bursts, jagged howls from Love—the album feels labored, as if each track were the product of a cynical, calculated process rather than genuine spontaneity. It’s more a collection of “what if” experiments than cohesive songs: What if we had violin, viola, and cello on a punk album? What if we used Auto-Tune? What if we had a track that referenced The Karate Kid Part II?
The result feels like eccentricity for eccentricity’s sake. Songs drag on, with repetitive lyrics that leave little lasting impression. Love’s delivery, often flat and disinterested, drains any potential humor or edge from lines that should land with more punch, like on “Clowns”:
You are what you eat now, baby
You’re shit to me
I died a thousand times now, now all I see
Crackheads to the left
And clowns to the right
I’m falling down the stairs
No jiggy for me tonight
There are bright spots, moments when the album’s potential shines through. The thick, sinewy bass on “Wither” is undeniably catchy, and “All the Same” opens with a rubbery synth line that recalls early Nine Inch Nails. But elsewhere, the production feels too polished and clean, undermining the raw, chaotic energy Fat Dog’s live shows are known for. Tracks like “I Am the King” feature strings that crest in all the wrong ways, and the pitched-up backing vocals on “Clown” feel more grating than impactful.
As keyboardist Chris Hughes noted in a DIY interview last year, “The best you can hope for is that 50% of people love it and 50% of people hate it. If people just have a lukewarm response then what’s the point?” Ironically, WOOF. falls into that exact trap. Rather than inspiring rapture or rage, Fat Dog’s debut feels bogged down by gimmicks, cheap irony, and a mythology they haven’t quite earned. Despite the band’s efforts to stand out, the album ultimately fizzles, leaving behind little more than a whimper.
