May 08, 2013

Keep the following in mind when reading this review: 1.) I’m lukewarm at best on Bruce Springsteen. 2.) I really, really want to paint a dogs playing poker mural in my bathroom. 3.) Remember that part in Better off Dead where the claymation hamburger plays the guitar to a Van Halen song? Chill Dawgs make me think of way-stupid shit, much in the way of Too Many Daves. Chill Dawgs validate stupid ideas into being reality. So, if I even cared about Bruce Springsteen, best case scenario would be Chill Dawgs: true road dog music for the fucked-over under classes. Instead of actors and millionaires in arenas, it’s Jason Stuhlmann drumming in a sweaty St. Louis house, where the kiddie pool’s water is murky, shirts are for work, pizzas get delivered by specially trained dogs, fireworks get set off mostly outside, and the band runs six members deep (including tenor sax). It’s lovingly stupid, it’s honest. I back it. For some reason, I keep thinking about Miami Vice episodes. “Hey is my beer mic’d? Can you hear me open the can?” “Yeah.” “Hey dawg, does your Casio have dog barks.” “Rwoof, rwoof.”

 –todd (Do What?