In the world of digital music consumption that I am used to, it’s easy to view the first album on an artist’s Spotify page as the start of ‘the journey’. But this is not the case for Fat Dog: despite releasing their debut album Woof only last month, their formation occurred some four years ago. I found myself categorising their genre as heavy metal, but their sound is so much more, fusing saxophone and techno synths into a maximalist burst of post-covid frustration. Their testing grounds for developing their sound were not hard-to-please Instagram comments sections, but a gritty live setlist that would earn the band a national takeover in-person, one by one. Their gigs, it would seem, are ritualistic in their energy. It turns out I would be attending not just any concert but oxygenating this band’s lifeblood. 

My fish-out-of-water feeling was strong, rocking up to the Central London venue fresh off a sugary serving of Charli XCX with the promise of interviewing these steely icons. After being directed to the right team member, I was now being taken to a back room to speak to Morgan and Jacqui, the band’s saxophonist and bass guitarist. It’s clear that they don’t take their feat of gathering an audience the old-fashioned way lightly: “It’s just mad to play something that’s now like in people’s minds”, Jacqui still dumbfounded by their achievement. “It’s very mental, ’cause obviously people know the singles, but looking out into the crowd and seeing people sing along to ‘Clowns’. Like it’s been out for a day already and people know like the lyrics.” Morgan adds that the album release has affected their relationship with their fans. “It is weird having people come into it from the album rather than from the live, ’cause they probably have different expectations of what we’re used to.”  

Receiving my first exposure to Fat Dog not at a booming live show but through headphones sitting on a grey train journey, I found my appreciation lying in their compositions: the looming descent captured in ‘Closer To God’, or my personal favourite track ‘I am the King’, a moment of quiet but eerily still formidable reflection. Fascinated by their collage of instruments, I asked the pair about their musical backgrounds. “Me and Morgan went to Trinity to study jazz”, Jacqui explains, “and I mean we all listen to like techno, rock, country”. Morgan adds to this eclectic portrait: “I think also like playing sax, people always assume it’s a jazz instrument, and then you think see Fat Dog and you’re like, ‘Oh that’s so different to jazz’.” Indeed, I had never seen a saxophonist in such a chaotic setting. “It’s similar in some weird way, but it’s like, with playing jazz it’s like a lot about feel and like rhythmic feel. And it’s the same with Fat Dog. You really have to lock in.”  

The thunderous applause that greeted the band upon their entry to the stage demonstrated it’s distinctive loyalty. As the show geared up, frontman Joe Love belted out “I am the king of the slugs now!” on their 7-minute fan favourite track. The lack of clarity in the projection of his 1984-loudspeaker esque voice truly assumed him his title of king. The subjects of his muddy kingdom feel simultaneously approving of being reigned over, while also being aggrandised themselves. Their intriguing musical collage had been replicated in their audience turnout – elders and children stuck out to me every now and again. Jacqui took this as a badge of honour to the accessibility of their music – “It’s universal”. Staggeringly, I found myself agreeing, staggering because of the specificity in the brand of absurdity they had crafted. But it’s accessibility is perhaps best summed up by an audience comment I overheard, who called the drummer, wearing a rubber German Shepard mask, ‘hot’. 

‘King of the Slugs’ provoked the largest mosh pit – seeing people lose themselves in Fat Dog’s cathartic vents was foreign to my naivety; I preferred to ‘lock in’, as Morgan had described it, reserving energy to immerse in their sonic journey but feeling a bit silly writing it all down experience – journalism has it’s trade-offs. I felt reassured when Jacqui admitted she had only joined the band this May, realising the beauty in being a newcomer. “What you don’t realize is like going into an album, there’s like three years behind that. So they’ve been playing the songs for three years now. So it’s like, we need to tour the album, but we need more material.” Ultimately, the album release feels less like it’s own event but a stepping stone; a necessary online footprint of their existence, or another item for their fans to gather round. If nothing else, “WOOF WOOF!” makes a great crowd chant.