The crowded stage at IOTA simply couldn’t handle Dr. Dog. That’s not rock critic hyperbole; it actually couldn’t fit them all on stage. The venue’s modest stage coupled with the band’s plentiful instrumentation left keyboardist Zach Miller perched in an upper deck loft above (decidedly not the best seat in the house), leaving the rest of the band free to pursue a lively, rollicking set that provided ample evidence of singer Scott McMicken’s assertion that the band’s live show has clearly “evolved.”
The band’s looseness, hinted at on record, became clear once the band hit the stage as McMicken and bassist Toby Leaman bounced around, drawing their guitars towards the air in unison. “The Old Days” kick started Dr. Dog’s 17 song set, consisting almost exclusively of songs from their last two albums, We All Belong and Fate. It’s a smart pairing considering the stylistic similarities of the records, although some of the band’s most intuitive live choices such as “Hang On” and “Keep a Friend” were mysteriously absent. The crowd at IOTA hardly seemed to mind however, including the zealot-like enthusiasm displayed by those front and center (must be that rabid, cult-like following). To be fair, Dr. Dog’s music is easily engageble with the good time vibes of a sold out crowd on a Friday evening, Hurricane threat and fans left outside notwithstanding. “The Beach” saw an extended bluesy intro leading into one of the band’s moodier arrangements while the wailing guitars of “Alaska” and three way harmonies of “Ain’t it Strange” perked the mood right back up. Although a few technical difficulties marred the set midway, McMicken did his best to entertain on the piano until things got resolved.
The informal break between sets gave time for the band to regroup. “My Friend,” tucked away and nearly forgotten at the tail end of Fate, sounded buoyant live, its confident Bolan-like swagger and bounce switching gears midway through thanks to an ELO interlude that concludes with a crowd-pleasing sing-a-long. Members of Delta Spirit later joined the band for a fittingly theatrical rendition of “Die Die Die,” Leaman working his throaty blue-eyed soul convincingly when joined by extra tambourines and a good dose of participatory fist pumping. By the time the band came back for an encore of “Old Ways,” Miller climbed back atop his makeshift stage and if the crowd’s rapturous applause was any indication, it once again became apparent that the room could not quite handle the band. And that’s rock critic hyperbole.
