CANCEL ME (I’M TIRED): FAT DOG, THE MASK STAYS ON

Fat Dog’s Cancel Me (I’m Tired) builds exhaustion into the songs, not just the titles, and that’s why it works.

Fat Dog’s second album, Cancel Me (I’m Tired), drops on October 2nd, and today I had the pleasure of reviewing it.

Cancellation, toxicity, romance in the shadows, devils, trickery, isolation… all symptoms either of cultural collapse, or perhaps just a band deciding to lampoon it like hell. Anyhow, those themes are reflected in that perfect mixture of black comedy and dread that has made their name. It was after watching them kill Get Together Festival in Sheffield earlier this year and seeing the utter, glorious madness live that I knew I wanted to hear what album number two sounded like, and yes, I was eager.

‘Smile & Wave’ starts the proceedings in such a concise little summary of survival tips for the modern decade that it’s frankly impossible to listen to without being amused, even if not particularly comforted. Right out of the gate, the meaning couldn’t be clearer in that title: keep smiling and nodding regardless of the screaming insanity going on inside. Yet the jittery anxiety in the melody itself, which suggests all the pretence required of performing happiness despite everything collapsing around you, wasn’t just saying it; it embodied it. That synth wobble, which somehow never fell into place and kept wandering off-centre, spoke volumes without words. The kick arrives slightly late to itself, like someone smiling on a delay, and the guitars don’t riff so much as lunge, then get yanked back. This is the effort required to maintain perfection on the surface level, leaking out from beneath.

Of course follows ‘Go Fuck Urself’. This is where shit changes, although again, not quite how you might guess based on the provocative title. ‘Smile & Wave’ represents all that effort, that pretence, that forced smile and synthetic perfection. ‘Go Fuck Urself’ isn’t an outburst. Instead, it’s catchy and bright, the hook laminated, too clean for the lyric, with the irritation in the lyrics matching the irritated expression on that mask, which is worn differently. But where ‘Smile & Wave‘ has represented effort and control, the title track represents something entirely opposite. The exasperated sigh. The beat is huge and oddly airless, a dancefloor with nobody left on it; each new layer arrives already tired. The cancellation of everything, of rage turned inward until it collapses in silence after shouting into the void to the point of utter burnout. The exhaustion isn’t just thematic; it’s baked into the album’s creation.

Because this is the difference here. Whereas up till this point the songs have offered diagnosis and witty comments, it’s at this point they really begin exploring what it feels like on the receiving end. In particular, that central section gets progressively darker, and what was brash begins to peel away, revealing vulnerability beneath. Suddenly, that previous effort and bravado take on another layer, that of exhaustion. Of the effort needed to be brave when there’s nothing left. It makes sense that exhaustion runs through the record. Joe Love began recording it the day he got home from a chaotic US tour where every band member had some kind of breakdown, and he worked through illness and burnout to get it finished.

‘Heart of Darkness’ and ‘Shit Love’ continue to question whether intimacy and romance can stand up to that sort of foundation. On ‘Heart of Darkness’, space opens around the vocal that the first three tracks never allowed; the band steps back like they’ve remembered there’s a body in the room. Except ‘Shit Love’ just goes all out, a manic pile-up with a stupid punchline running through it, everything stacking at once so the joke has to shout to be heard, very typical Fat Dog.

In between, ‘Call It What You Want’ gives another broad view; not a manifesto proclaiming how each lives inside his or her own reality, but more a shrug at genetic inevitability, whatever poison exists within your bloodline coming round again eventually. ‘Call It What You Want’ sounds less liberating, more resigned to fate here: the synths descend instead of detonating, and the high end thins out.

While ‘Snakes’ actually manages to cool the temperature for once: suddenly polite, almost tender, the one moment the record remembers how to sit still. You can suddenly hear fingers on strings; Love’s voice is unmasked for the first time, and it is almost indecently ordinary.

Then ‘Bad Dog’ and ‘The Devil’ bring us back to the blame game, and damn near everyone else on the planet. ‘Bad Dog’ puts the old live-band shove back on, but nothing in it clowns so much as nags; ‘The Devil’ is accusatory in the stereo field, parts answering parts, nobody taking the centre. Everyone is guilty of betraying or being betrayed by others; everyone sins against himself. And of course somewhere out there, there’s someone always hunting the devil…

And so appropriately, the final track is ‘Aliens’. Again, not a stylistic flourish but the logical conclusion after so many accusations flying. The point at which ‘Smile & Wave’ ceases functioning, a disconnect so complete it almost sounds beautiful. The song gets bigger by subtracting the twitch that ran the whole album; what human noise remains arrives like the last thing left in a wide mix. There is definitely grandiosity to this closer, but what I find far more impressive is how earned it feels.

You don’t arrive at exile. The record walks you there.

So this is why Cancel Me (I’m Tired) is memorable. Because, despite that initial impression of a simple collection of titles designed to shock and outrage, Fat Dog create exhaustion in structure. While plenty of acts offer noisy humour and without allowing the jokes to fall flat, the mask stays on, and you can still hear what it’s costing…

Fat Dog’s new album Cancel Me (I’m Tired) is out on October 2 via Domino Records. Purchase the album here, or Pre-save now.

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