Beware Of Safety - Dogs
Record Label: The Mylene Sheath
Release Date: January 13, 2009
Someone hand me a stone slab and a chisel because Beware of Safety’s Dogs needs to be set as the law and standard for all the cute little Explosions In the Sky derivatives coming out in full, climactic bloom. The genre is teetering on the edge of becoming as overused as pop-punk – well, not exactly yet, because the post-rock bands haven’t resorted to advertising their singers in the same, transgender manner (see: The Right Coast, whose most original component is a band member named Curran) – but they could be close in a couple of vocal-less years. Setting boundaries can help curb some impending madness, and Dogs seems like an auspicious place to start. It’d be simple: you can’t use any crescendos any more straightforward than these, and if you can’t resist having one, they can’t have any less epinephrine buildup than the ones found here. Otherwise, you can’t join our pretty post-rock brigade.
Dogs could be the best album of its kind for months and months to come. “The Perfect Climax” can be found at least ten times in the album’s one hour-plus course, one in each drawn-out-as-can-be track. What’s remarkable about it is the fact that its rusted iron cookie-cutter approach holds an incredible amount of bursting energy; don’t sit down with this one with your therapeutic coffee expecting a dreamy ambience to infiltrate your caffeinated brains unless you prefer to have your coffee off your shirt. On second thought, the band might be best for venting frustration to – you get an average of 5 minutes of meditation before uprooting everything in your vicinity to the intensity of a headbanging peak.
With music this enjoyable, who blames Beware of Safety for being slightly generic? OK, maybe you’re tired of the guitars that manipulate the atmosphere of a sailor approaching a distant island at night across eerie waves, but are you tired of “Light of Day’s” industrial crests? What about “Nu Metal’s” tear your clothes, oh-my-goodness-I’m-going-to-explode final outburst? What about “The Laughter Died’s” battlecry army-clash Elves vs. Orcs sputter rock-out session? No, no, no! The answer is no, you’re not tired of them! Get up and break things! Shelter the homeless, feed the hungry, pole vault over Robert Mugabe! This is the post-rock of your generation! This is your music to revolution!
And now you’re tired, which is great because “Raingarden” is welcoming you into a universe of lush plants and soothing waterfalls, more readily equipped to calm your ardent thoughts than a bearded Jedi with an aquamarine lightsaber. Yeah, it’d be really great if someone could absentmindedly (or consciously, but most of the post-rock lovers I’ve met tend to be sluggish all the time) slip the album into the hands of some of the newcomers in the genre who could use some pointers on how to properly relate emotion through this medium. But until then, standard post-rock can only be Dogs.