Who are the Dogs? (I couldn't ask for anything more)

Dogs at the Tutu's, Kings College London, Student Union

Should we be afraid of them? Are they comparable in looks to any member of the canine species? Are they just for hardened post punk enthusiasts? Certainly not.

In fact the band are looking and sounding as good as ever and vodkaslut, cidertramp and I all agree that the late night jaunt to Kings College SU was well worth it when they come up trumps with new music and old favourites London Bridge, Selfish Ways and She's Got a Reason, all blasted out with the usual Jam inspired panache. Johnny Cooke does look slightly tired at first but soon perks up and delivers his gritty Ian Drury-esque vocals like a well-rehearsed pro on serious uppers.

I’ve seen Dogs three times now, with and without the fervid maniacal fans who chant ‘we are the dogs’ and jump on stage at every available opportunity. Each time I've seen them has been different but each time they’ve got better and interested me more. As a thirty something without any great affinity or aptitude for the moshpit, and someone who might be considered a bit too genteel to be a Dogs fan, I still highly reccomend them not only to the fearless and the brave, but also slightly retiring music fans like me who are feeling a bit more adventurous than usual.

Last night we had a good opportunity to listen to the music in a less fraught arena than on previous occasions (the first time I saw them at 93 Feet East in particular was a bit like going into gladiatorial combat) and the experience was all the more rewarding for it as we had enough time and space to really appreciate the music without worrying too much about being divebombed.

Dogs give good value and nobody can deny them that. You just have to be up for something a bit more rough and tumble than other fêted indie bands of the moment. Kaiser Chiefs or Maximo Park they're not.

Oh and on a tangent I received an admiring comment regarding my new short fringe from a fashionista bleach blonde twentysomething at the cloakroom door which made my evening more than complete.

It really doesn't take much to make me happy anymore.