Review by Xephyr for Dog Fashion Disco - Adultery (2006)

Easily Influenced

A man in a soggy, stained trenchcoat slams the door of the muggy motel room and strolls across the creaky, wooden floor. The uncomfortably arid air leaks through the thin walls, turning the tolerable room into a prison as light shone from a singular lamp beside the bed. The man slaps his stack of notes below the lamp with a sharp rustle, continuing to ignore the struggling handcuffed man wrestling with his shackles that are entwined around the foot of the bed below him. The sweating captive snaps his neck upward to see the man unzipping a bag on the bed and relaxes a bit as he pulls out what's inside.

"The fuck are these? Tapes? Keepin' some sort of diary?"

"Oh you know, just a personal project. Some music. Had some friends back home that liked all that alternative metal stuff, one of them played the saxophone...Y'ever hear of Mr. Bungle?"

"Who?"

"Ah well, I'm sure you'd come around to it, why don't you put it on until the cops get here?"

"Cops ain't comin' for ya, jackass. I got a nice, warm home for ya under the floorboards next door."

"Well that's a shame, who knows, maybe it'll give the big, tough private eye some of the answers he's looking for."

"Already got all the answers I need. Y'aint the hardest to trail. Found the poor bitch at the hotel, found the mincemeat on Route 25, and I know where all the sand I smacked outta ya came from. Already know how fucked up ya are. But y'know what, call me curious about what a scumbag calls music." The detective loads the tape into the small player on the nightstand and slams the play button.

The theme of the album is instantly set up from note one with its twisted, dark piano and spoken word but quickly fuses with some lighthearted aspects after the transition into the fantastic opener "The Sacrifice of Miss Rose Covington". The detective side-eyes the squirming captive as the foreboding intro gives way to energetic Alternative Metal riffs that complement the slightly strange drum beats, piano and brass interjections, and a varied vocal performance ranging from subtle musings to aggressive yelling. The slow climb in tempo makes for an incredible transition as the album continues to cement its cinematic, film noir style with the craziness of more trumpets and woodwinds. The dead air of the motel feels like it can be cut with a knife as abrupt transitions that somehow still flow together extremely well spell out some truly lunatic thoughts. Although the music coming out of the small player seems completely unhinged, there are still moments of pure catchiness that show that there's some solid songwriting beneath all the madness all while keeping to the overall theme of the album. The prisoner's head bops along with the sweeping chorus of "Sweet Insanity", which would unfortunately be secretly fixed inside of the detective's mind for longer than he would admit. 

"The hell is this?" scoffed the private eye as the prisoner shrugged at the jarring transition into the acoustic, country-styled "Desert Grave". The eccentricity of the music was expected at this point, but putting this downtrodden, honky-tonk track in-between the infectious "Sweet Insanity" and the quirky, high-energy "Moonlight City Drive" seemed questionable at best as it screeches the album to a halt. Coupled with an outro that feels like it shouldn't even exist, the detective couldn't wait to get back into the intensity of "Moonlight City Drive" with its bizarre, charming atmosphere. 

"Wait, how the fuck did you get my voice?" barks the detective as he closes in on the handcuffed man as the song progresses into some seriously awkward and scandalous recordings. The captive bats his eyelashes and laughs as the detective grasps him by the shirt collar, the recorded gunshot rattling off, signaling the transition into the next song. The detective loosens his grasp as he gets slightly lost in the heavy, up-tempo riffing of "Darkest Days", another admitted highlight of the runtime thus far. He was getting the sense that the music that was playing was a gateway to the mind of his eccentric prisoner, but couldn't exactly place the whole point of it all. His anger and grip on the other man's collar loosens further as his expression changes to that of a perplexing glare when "Dead Virgins Don't Sing" echoed through the motel. The maniacal man mouthed the strange speech from the song, as if it was his manifesto. 

"The hell are you a part of?" muttered the detective as he shoves the man to the ground, releasing his grip. The album progresses in the background into the most compelling song so far, "The Hitchhiker". All of the elements of the album thus far are culminated into a track that has everything from a great riff, a great chorus, an out-of-nowhere interlude, a fantastic climax, and great storytelling. The detective's mind swirls as the song is a one-for-one account of the murder on Route 25 he described previously with even more detail than he even could have dreamed of. The next track comes and goes as the detective tries to make sense of what's happening; he comes to as the title track clumsily begins with its signature sax and sultry bass line. He slowly warms up to the groove after the awkward start; it makes him think back to the classic film noir mysteries on the silver screen, but that fantasy is only elevated by the scratchy, funky guitar riff and great songwriting through this erratic section. The private eye knew the man he had thrown on the motel floor was a criminal, but this admittance of vile acts and brutal, murderous intentions and intrigue made him realize he was dealing with much, much worse. 

"The hell are you trying to pull?" grunts the detective, pulling his gun from his hip and pointing it with a straight arm directly at his captive's forehead. 

"Well Mr. Private Eye, did you enjoy it?"

"...Y'know, it was pretty damn good. Interesting," said the detective, his outstretched right arm not wavering an inch. 

"Easily influenced, aren't we?" laughs the man. 

The private eye clenches his right hand and doesn't even blink as the shot rings out through the small room. He swiftly pockets the weapon inside his coat, strides to the door and slams it behind him.