Fat Dog, Manchester Academy. 1st March 2025

Honestly I’m not sure how this will go. I like Fat Dog, but I’ve not fallen in love yet. I’m clearly in the minority as tonight has been upgraded from New Century to the Academy, pretty impressive venue for a new band. They pack a punch on record, so I’m expecting a live set to match. It’s busy and warm inside this black cavernous box, which is quite welcomed as I’ve come straight from the match and although the result was good, I still need warming up. Are Fat Dog up to the task? They’re an odd looking bunch, seven, or eight of them if you include the fella who comes on for the intro of ‘Vigilante’. A balaclava’d bassist, saxophone , a chap wearing a football top and wielding a fiddle, two drummers that explain the brutal tribal pounding that underpins everything. They’re the soundtrack to a demented juggernaut thundering down a demonic rollercoaster, absolutely batshit. Absolutely brilliant. It’s a massive monolithic sound. ‘All The Same’ sounds incredible and has the whole place slack-jawed with awe. Before ‘King of the Slugs’ turns the Academy into a crazed gypsy disco. It’s a massive melting pot, punk, ska, disco. Sounds that writhe together in a baffling concoction that has me grinning like an idiot. People are coming out of the pit drenched in sweat, looking like they’ve been going for hours. It’s been 20 minutes. The pace doesn’t drop, but the crowd does calm a touch for the none album tracks. A touch. No more. ‘Ballad’ is a rave monster. The lad with the fiddle is still playing but I’m buggered if I can hear it. “We’re fucking Fat Dog” is the cry between songs to which the crowd respond with woofs!! Have I inadvertently wandered into an asylum, if I have I like it. ‘Pray to That’ could be played at an exercise class in the middle of a death cult compound. We’re in the palm of their hands, I’d do pretty much anything they asked. By the time we get to ‘Bad Dog’ the front is in utter chaos. I’ve no idea what it’s like at the back. I’ve no idea where the back is. ‘Closer to God’ is kasbah rock, eastern riffs melted with full on happy hardcore. This should not work. Not this well at least. It’s insanely fun. They’re at there most melodic on ‘Peace Song’ as the sound opens up and the room is bathed in love. Arms up. Hugging. It’s beautiful. The cowbell is then deployed on ‘Wither’ and the energy rises again.. and again. Things keep getting bigger, faster. I’ve not seen a crowd sustain energy like this for a while. ‘Fuck Urself’ sounds like a Boney M cover, but clearly isn’t. In any other set it’d stand out like a sore thumb, but here it makes total sense. ‘Runner’ is the euphoric finale. I’d wondered how on earth they’d close a set like this but this is utter perfection. Lights blare, limbs flail, it’s carnage in the best possible way. So it turns out that although I thought I was a bit indifferent about Fat Dog. I was wrong. I adore them. They need to be seen live. If you’ve got a ticket to do that, lucky you. If you’ve not, fix that as soon as you can. Woof!