Office Dog – ‘Spiel’ album review: A frustrating debut coloured by highs and lows
THE SKINNY: Office Dog knew exactly what they wanted to do on Spiel. They wanted to play with light and dark, creating atmospheric windows of highs and lows. Either as a testament to their commitment to that or their failure to achieve it, they accomplish light and dark in every sense. There are flashes of brilliance interspersed between indie-rock fluff, which leaves you wanting more from this incredibly frustrating debut.
Every member of the Auckland trio, made up of Kane Strang on vocals and guitar, Mitchell Innes on drums, and Rassani Tolovaa on bass, is clearly capable of creating a distinct mood befitting the best of indie, but on Spiel, that mood just noodles off to nowhere. After shuffling between Innes’ shed and the basement of a church, they started forming the record. Upheaval and belonging are domineering themes, with Strang, in particular, seemingly searching for something concrete after moving constantly between Auckland and Dunedin.
Car journeys between cities were the backdrop for lyric writing, which is significant because the themes explored in the lyrics seem to command the tone of each track. The band peg the album as “essentially, a record about change and time”, and so entrenched are the ideas about how that should be conveyed. You get the sense the overall theme was thought up first, and the sound moulded to fit around it.
The result is a lacklustre effort with glimmers of real bite that too often get lost in the endless rehashing of metaphors. The most consistent element is Innes’ drumming, which provides much-needed cohesion. The pace can change suddenly, and while they never veer too far from indie-rock’s subdued sensibilities, when they amp things up, it’s genuinely joyous. Slightly too slow-moving at times and entirely too preoccupied with imagery – it’s a victim of style over substance.
Equally, this album feels very poetic. It’s done with clear intention and highlights the post-punk promise of Office Dog, which will no doubt fully materialise with some well-placed restraint.
For fans of: “Taking arty pictures of your knackered trainers.”
A concluding comment from Tom’s mother: “Well meaning lads with dashing bowl cuts, but some moments felt like tinfoil on a filling.”
Spiel track by track:
Release Date: 26 January | Producer: De Stevens | Label: New West Records
‘Shade’: What starts as a subdued opener gives way to the glorious fuzz of guitar, gritty and not too prettied by production. But the overwrought outro weakens it because the vocals feel secondary, almost like they’re racing to catch up. As poetic as the lyrics about the light are, there’s only so long you can stretch out the word “shade”. [2.5/5]
‘Antidote’: A reflective, melancholic song that touches on yearning for better times. It’s deeply atmospheric and buoyed perfectly by Innes’ drumming, which provides beautiful flecks of space through the track. Two songs in, and the intention is pretty clear: create moments of light and dark. [3/5]
‘Gleam’: A very abrupt shift in tone, far more energy and attack right out the gate. There are moments of flair with the guitar, which feels like the main feature of this track. Everything sounds crisp and resolute, which makes it an entirely convincing moment of positivity. [3.5/4]
‘Warmer’: Taking cues from its title, ‘Warmer’ feels somehow bathed in more light. It doesn’t offer the same emotional reprieve as the previous track but is touched by a distinct lightness. The vocals are like a sharp whisper, eventually building into a more full-bodied cry. At this point, the continual restraint from Strang feels frustrating. [3/5]
‘Big Air’: In another moment of sonic whiplash, naturally this is the song where the vocals are being properly showcased. They’re lower and more conversational, which works with the confessional lyrics: “I can’t feel nobody else / I can’t feel no pain.” It is easily the most enjoyable without abandoning the mood that shapes the record. [4/5]
‘Tightropes’: Would have been a triumphant instrumental. There are brief Eastern inflexions combined with the standard issue fuzz of indie rock. Still, the spoken word vocals don’t work with the elegance of their backing because they’re a jarring combination of robotic and slightly screechy. [2/5]
‘In the Red’: A grungier offering that puts the shimmering guitar front and centre. The busier moments are the better ones, and Office Dog are at their peak when they commit to the noise of indie rock, but there’s still a sense it’s not being fully realised yet. [3/5]
‘Hand in Hand’: Seemingly the most outwardly romantic track on the album, which so far has been so preoccupied with light and dark that it’s devoid of all emotion in favour of that one motif. It feels an odd choice to follow up ‘In the Red’. They’re each so similar it knocks the wind out of it. [2.5/5]
‘Cut the Ribbon’: At this point, I started to become concerned about my own stamina because the openings of each track smacked of the same indie-ish, faintly post-punk opening. Just before they started to blur into one, ‘Cut the Ribbon’ pulled focus, arriving with jangly guitar and, again, some sharp drumming from Innes. [4/5]
‘Teeth’: Forgettable, maybe not in its own right, but the songs so far either have either lacked cohesion or felt too familiar. There’s a heaviness to the track that allows you to imagine a crowd swaying as it’s played – but it might be dependent on its position in a set. Fatigue is starting to set in. [2/5]
‘The Crater’: Lyrically, the weakest on the record: “I rust / Turn to dust / Stretch my trust / Just enough.” An exercise in rhyming and making limp metaphors about a well, so the same fuzzed-out guitar we’ve been treated to the entire record. [1/5]
‘Spiel’: Announced itself with some chunky bass, which had me hopeful, but then “clay” was rhymed with “fray”. And then “bay”. It’s a muted send-off that speaks to the album’s most frustrating qualities because the lyric writing becomes a constraint the longer you let it linger. The guitar rarely lets you down, the drumming is exquisite, but Office Dog are so beholden to their naturalistic imagery that they lose themselves in it. The “sorry for the spiel” line feels like a fitting confession they got that sense, too. [2/5]
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