Elder Schoolhouse - Dog Day

Elder Schoolhouse

Dog Day
Divorce Records.

SCQ Rating: 72%

The morning after Dog Day’s blistering set at Horseshoe Tavern, I sat down and counted myself one of the lucky 400 people to own Elder Schoolhouse, the Halifax quartet’s ultra-limited, vinyl-only, mini-album. Having prepped myself a bit by reading a Chart Attack interview with bassist/vocalist Nancy Urich, I thought I was ready for the band’s “spooky” direction. I wasn’t. Slopping out of my speakers like compost sludge, ‘Ritual’ sounded like a lost track off The Cure’s Pornography, all doom-laden bass and eerie keys, with vocalist/guitarist Seth Smith singing through some sort of thunderous mic effect. Was Smith being sarcastic when he described Elder Schoolhouse as “lively and bright”? Was this the result of Urich’s quoted affinity for noise-bands? Nah, it was just my record player – which had somehow changed speeds without me knowing – and by the end of the first chorus, I rectified the problem.

The message of that story isn’t that I’m pretty dim-witted (I can translate that in less than a paragraph), but that Dog Day’s sound is rooted as firmly in pop music as it is in gloomier, noisier genres, and I wouldn’t have been terribly shocked had their record not been playing at half-speed. Luckily, Elder Schoolhouse at its intended speed is way cooler and finds them toiling in progressively noisier arrangements. If you’ve checked out the sample ‘Synastry’, you’ve also just heard the brightest of these tracks, one that wouldn’t sound out of place on Concentration. More menacing but no less enjoyable are ‘Ritual’, with its harsh guitars revving like a pack of hungry motorcycles, and ‘Dark Day’, which was written specifically for the band by Rick (Eric’s Trip) White. With claustrophobic melodies and frightening song-breakdowns, Elder Schoolhouse could’ve been the devious little brother to Concentration’s accomplished nuances but no… Dog Day take it a few steps further. What might’ve been a title track becomes the black psychedelia of ‘Concentration’, a falling off point where Dog Day revels in the echoed incoherence of lost lyrics and near-goth guitar riffs.

If Dog Day’s direction on the record’s first side sounds vicious, side two – a looming ten-minute onslaught of distorted guitars - is downright sadistic. The song in question, ‘New Beginning’, sets out like a controlled, if surprisingly raw, slow-burner before distortion stretches through verse and chorus, percussion fades in and falls out, amps start crinkling and six-strings become band-saws waging war. As unrehearsed and messy as it sounds, the whole spectacle of it is pretty marvelous, no different than how Smith and Urich battle their instruments against each-other to close each live show in deafening fashion. This mini-album isn’t for everyone (i.e. my neighbours) but Elder Schoolhouse is more than a few new songs recorded at Rick White’s studio; it’s a descent into madness that will either mark Dog Day’s discography as a bizarre hiccup or crucial turning point.

Concentration - Dog Day

Concentration

Dog Day
Outside Music.

SCQ Rating: 81%

So I’m listening to ‘You Won’t See Me On Sunday’ and minding my own business when I uncover how closely that seventh track off Concentration resembles The Pains of Being Pure At Heart’s ‘Come Saturday’. Is this a witty rebuke? Perhaps a chance combination of chords? In either case I’m bothered. It’s one thing for critics to launch The Pains of Being Pure At Heart into their fifteen minutes as if they’re the next messiahs of hipster-cool, but if that means a truly awesome band by the name of Dog Day ends up playing second fiddle, I take issue. Regardless of who wrote which first, there’s no questioning that ‘You Won’t See Me On Sunday’ is the stronger song; growing from its initial riff and exercising some expert guitar-swagger before spiraling into a moody overcast those Brooklyn kids could only dream of creating.

Enough blogosphere comparisons… Dog Day deserve better company (like Sonic Youth, who they share producer John Agnello with) thanks to Concentration, the Halifax-based quartet’s third album; a brooding collection that marries addictive songwriting with dissonant flourishes, ensuring its audience never gets too comfortable. Such mood-shifts are evident as early as in ‘Neighbour’, where an innocent party-invitation – from the “forces of darkness”, no doubt – turns sinister with Nancy Urich and Seth Smith trading ominous cups of sugar amid driving minor-chords. Or take the sympathetic string-picking of ‘Don’t Worry About the Future’, a song that consoles the listener’s anxiety with Smith’s casual intonation while subtle waves of tension shift and spike. Best yet is how ‘Judgement Day’’s taut anticipation allows some open-ended chords to punch through, reminding us that Concentration is as much about rock as it is about mood.

On that note, Concentration offers a few single-worthy tunes to contrast their drearier side. The celebratory ‘Wait It Out’ is a break-up daydream, where an insular relationship is prepped for self-destruction along with driving percussion and playful bass-lines. Moments later we’re dancing to the rousing ‘Saturday Night’, where Smith remarks:
“It’s Saturday night/
let’s ride the crazy wave of anticipation/
until we get let down.”
These nights on the town, detailed as both drunken and hollow, act as the setting for an album as nocturnal and nonchalant as Concentration. Yet they also set the stage for ‘Peace’; a late-night phone-call to weariness that exemplifies decadence with chiming electric guitars and echoed vocals. That an album of greatly converging moods closes with such a strong statement should hardly surprise fans of Dog Day, since the foursome were formerly spare-parts of well-known indie and hardcore bands. Still, as someone who recently discovered Dog Day and is fighting to ignore any instinctive tendencies to write in journalistic smoke and mirrors, this is an album carefully built to bare no expiry date. And for that reason alone, Concentration should, with any justice, outlast the few dozen indie-rock, internet-prodigies still lurking beneath Myspace this year.