Sitting low in a red Honda Civic, the driver is contentedly strapped in by the red five-point harness racing seats. She gives a complimentary rev of her engine as she waits for the light to turn from signaling a stop to permitting her to go. Few things sound better than the hiss and whine of the turbo charger.
Lowering her darkened windows ever so slightly, the beautiful sound of the engine takes a back seat to the tracks beating from the 12-inch Sony subwoofers. As they try to catch a glimpse of the interior, the pitiful Volvo passengers and bicyclists make equally earnest attempts to identify the handler’s driving soundtrack.
The secret sound from the speakers? None other than the Cats Not Dogs’ debut album Rouge.
That Volvo owner has about as much possibility of passing as a souped-up Civic street racer as a music journalist has of finding substantial information about the Madison-based rock band. Consider the liner note: “sorry.” Take a gander around the homepage of the band’s website: “Hi. We recorded a CD and we’re releasing it April 30. We’ll be playing with Echo-Static and The Cummies at the King Club.” No band bio. No exotic photographs. No testament of the possibly tenuous project of recording.
Surrounded by a culture of self-promotion through elaborate packaging and attention-grabbing gimmicks, Cats Not Dogs members take a minimalist approach to appearance. With an album cover boasting images no more technical than a fourth-grade knowledge of basic Word Processing programs and a plain black disc label, the band (gasp!) allows the music to take center stage.
Composed of drummer Heather Sawyer, bassist Ben Dederich and frontman Jason Loeffler, Cats Not Dogs creates a kind of rock as driving and purposeful as that modified engine. It is loud, it is distinctive and it will draw intrigue.
From the very first note of album opener “New Song #1,” there is an explosion of intensity demanding a listen. With clean production from DNA Studios’ Mark Whitcomb, this and subsequent attacks are as precise in dispensing that intensity as they are luring.
One such enticing element is the single voice — so simple, yet so direct. Many bands make excellent use of harmonies and interwoven vocals to create depth and add dimension. Cats Not Dogs is not “many bands,” instead relying on the instruments to surround the foundational singing. In fact, during the second track, “In Thailand,” Loeffler’s nearly unintelligible shouts of “what you said to me / take whatever I’ve got,” nearly become secondary compared to his tight, searing guitar shredding.
For the gems of Rouge, skip straight to “The World’s Fair 1962.” It is unclear — as the minimalist ideals disregarded any possible listener appreciation of the addition of lyrics — about what exactly Loeffler is so angry. Regardless, the track is an ideal frenzy of auditory stimulation. Although nearing a sound of disinterest during the verses, Loeffler’s vocals suddenly adopt intensity in the driving chorus, “come on take a stand / I really love your band.” Paired with Sawyer’s clashing and Dederich’s powerfully unassuming plucking, such a tune epitomizes the Cats Not Dogs’ turbo-charged rock.
Surprisingly, there are sprinkled suggestions of the intricate underlying bass lines of the Strokes’ Nikolai Fraiture and strong, steady riffs of guitarists Albert Hammond and Nick Valensi. Such elements are surprising when paired with energetic drumming — anything but a wallflower keeper of the beat — and scorching screams which are reminiscent of anything but the hipster, indie lo-fi sounds.
Unfortunately, by the end of the record, the seemingly indestructible intensity fades, the expectation of sustained purpose suddenly putters out. A Honda stares back. Pimp it out, soup it up, a Civic is still one of the safest, most practical family-friendly vehicles on the market.
Not that there is anything wrong with safety. But for Cats Not Dogs, ending with the quiet, subdued “Trapped” is like thanking JD Power and Associates for high safety ratings after winning a race for papers. The two are completely incongruent, almost enough to make the road to the finish line forgettable in the face of those final seconds. And with an album as short as Rouge, those ending moments hold their own against even the triumphs of “Perfect Skin” and “Magazine.”
If safety is what the trio searches for, they best install the five-point harnesses and buckle up. Sometimes being safe means consistently executing what one does best. At its best, Cats Not Dogs’ stability lies in the modified engine. The charged energy of its customized sound leaves anyone passing by yearning for more, waiting for even a complimentary rev.
Grade: AB
