Shame, Shame

Portions of Shame, Shame might prove to be just a little too effervescent--certainly not a bad thing for a band with a track record that usually ran contrary. The important thing is that these songs hit more than they miss, occasionally with shimmering resolve and a couple of really big choruses to back it all up, often quite memorably.

More by accident than design, it works sometimes. [Aug 2010, p.79]

Shame, Shame is Dr. Dog's most involved record to date, proudly reaping all those years of experience.

For their sixth album, the quintet have finally made theor cranky Americana into fully fledged classic rock. [May 2010, p.118]

With co-producer Rob Schnapf at the helm, Dr. Dog don't sound like mere imitators--they sound like an unusually hook-savvy indie band whose taut, touching songs about friendship ("Jackie Wants a Black Eye") and life on the road ("Station") begin as straight pop rock and take thrilling turns into psychedelia.

Though Shame, Shame succeeds more than it fails, it also exposes how difficult it's going to be for Dr. Dog to truly create a masterpiece. [Sping 2010, p.69]

Dr. Dog are a band you know you're going to appreciate as soon as you reach the first chorus. You'll want to go back and explore their back catalogue, and force them on unappreciative friends.

It's an album of confusion and carpe diem, which might explain why its two best traits are its psychedelic bent and liveliness.

Grooming their jam-band shagginess and spotlighting their songwriting chops, Philadelphia indie poppers Dr. Dog produce a clean, big-sounding album that uncannily evokes Summerteeth-era Wilco and Soft Bulletin–era Flaming Lips.

These 11 tunes stretch out over 40 minutes like a yawn after a good nap, and they're nearly as refreshing.

The results of this experiment are not blasphemous by any means, but they have clearly lifted their collective leg to the fire hydrant of their former selves, in favor of cleaner and hipper pop.

Despite the more professional scenario, they resisted the temptation to pile on unnecessary ornamentation, and instead pared back to the essentials. As a result, they've finally captured their live energy on disc, coming up with the album that might be their big breakthrough.

It's not very ambitious, it's not very original, and it's not very deep, but what it is is fun and what it does is give you a half hour to lose yourself in a little sun-dried nostalgia.

Dr. Dog gives its songs a casual, homely surface; it has perfected the imperfections that make indie-rock approachable.

Shame, Shame is both a more focused and lyrically mature effort without forgoing any of the band's rambling pop charm.

After five full-length albums, Shame, Shame finds Dr. Dog far from having exhausted their creativity, sounding more passionate and frenzied than ever on what is a lasting testament to their showmanship and remarkably consistent songwriting.

Balancing these cheery influences with the melancholy prose is the name of the game. The lively accordion and clanky piano on the song "Shadow People" recall Bob Dylan's 1974 country-folk single "Forever Young," but the cheerfulness seems to contradict Dr. Dog guitarist/vocalist Scott McMicken's strained lyric: "It's the right time for the wrong company."