The Parlor Mob's bid for rock & roll stardom was initially thwarted by major-label reshuffling (dropped by Capitol, they quickly reemerged with the ostensibly independent Roadrunner), then stunted by confusing musical allegiances (lost somewhere between retro- and indie rock, they followed
Wolfmother and
the Sword into "hipster metal" purgatory), so it's now up to their sophomore album,
Dogs, to turn the band's career prospects around. What's more, the Asbury Park, New Jersey natives have to pray that consumers will listen with eyes closed and minds opened, ignoring the intra-genre politics and critical recriminations ignited by the issues cited above, in order to give said music a fair shot. So, eyes closed now, just listen. Fundamentally,
Dogs finds
the Parlor Mob aiming to first streamline, then modernize their debut's classic hard rock hallmarks, losing most of their primal hard rock bombast (and reams of colorful keyboard and organ backdrops), but gaining some infectious simplicity in the process. The former is therefore reserved for a few punchy riff engines ("Fall Back," "Take What's Mine"), the moody "I Want to See You," and the epic, teeth-gnashing "The Beginning," which moves from fluttering strings to earthshaking riffs and desperate melodies before a roaring bassline finally takes it home. While the latter takes over on radio-oriented fare like "How It's Going to Be," "Into the Sun," and
the Strokes-flavored "American Dream," as well as on surprisingly sedate numbers like "Practice in Patience" (featuring a jazzy piano, wobbly slide guitars, and a big catchy chorus), the folky lament "Slip Through My Hands," and a string-accompanied "Holding On" (which recalls
the Smashing Pumpkins' "Tonight"). Now, on the one hand, this general change of direction is all well and good because
the Parlor Mob's basic instincts for crafting tight, diverse, and inventive tunes remain impressively sharp. On the other, it leads to shocking revelations such as the fact that those abandoned classic rock elements were actually masking singer
Mark Melicia's emo-born whine (an acquired taste any way you slice it) as some kind of born-again
Robert Plant-ism; meaning some returning fans will be stunned when sonic cues that once pointed to venerable dinosaurs like
Zep,
Purple, or
Queen now seem to reference
My Chemical Romance and
Foxy Shazam, instead. The paradigm shift is enough to leave one questioning one's musical sanity. But then, a little willful insanity and a certain suspension of disbelief were always requirements for appreciating
the Parlor Mob's peculiar sonic vision anyway, so none of that will be changed by
Dogs. ~ Eduardo Rivadavia