Dr. Dog: Fate

The market seems just about perfect for Dr. Dog's

fifth album: Fate

is logical kin to Wilco's Sky Blue Sky, Fleet Foxes, and other recent attempts to

reboot slacker Americana for people who don't know or care about The Band. The

opener "The Breeze" captures everything good about the Philadelphia band: an

easy opening verse undercut ever-so-slightly by a little tape warping, then the

steady introduction of dueling two-part harmonies, finally settling into an

easygoing percussion groove, rounding out the finale with fugal woodwinds

wrapping around each other. Where other bands would be content to settle into a

simple plod, these ambitious studio brats repeatedly make things hard on

themselves: "The Old Days" features Levon Helm drums to start, but breaks

through halfway into stride piano, then double-time 'til the end. Like smarter

traditionalists, Dr. Dog makes the familiar strange—though not as strange

as a few albums back, when stabbing dissonant guitars were still an option.

It's weird to hear a band which was never that abrasive to begin with further

smoothing the edges, and it doesn't help that the lyrics are getting pretty

silly: "From" is catchy, but it also involves the phrase "choo-choo train,"

which no one above kindergarten age should have to sing. Still, it's adult and

musically complex enough to pick up the slack.