Amid the flurry of chatter inspired by the sudden release of the first My Bloody Valentine album in 22 years earlier this month was half-serious speculation about how m b v would affect the legion of indie bands still drafting in Loveless' jet stream all these decades later. Now that Kevin Shields was "back" orchestrating perfect storms of ugliness and beauty, would it put dozens, if not hundreds, of ineffectual *faux-*gazer outfits out of business? The answer is: not exactly. But it does put records like Dog Bite's new Velvet Changes in a fresh, not-so-flattering perspective.
Dog Bite is an Atlanta-based group fronted by Phil Jones, an artist and musician whose most notable gig to date is playing keyboards in Washed Out's touring band. On his own in Dog Bite (which includes members of Mood Rings, Balkans, and Red Sea), Jones applies a chillwave sensibility to the late 80s/early 90s reverbed-out dream-pop template. The songs on Velvet Changes unfold more or less as expected: The tempos are languid, the guitars are chiming and luminous, the bass lines are melodic though not particularly forceful, and the drumming is tepid. Dog Bite fetishizes iconic sounds without investing them with any of the transcendent emotion-- be it fury, sorrow, exhilaration, or a mix of all three-- normally associated with those sounds. What Velvet Changes offers instead of genuine feeling is superficial prettiness that reads as callow once you venture an inch deep into the murk.
The album-opening "Forever, Until" putters forward on a moderately brisk rhythm guitar strum, which contrasts with Jones' expressionless, soporific vocal. The delivery of "Forever, Until" makes it impossible to discern what exactly Jones is warbling about, though by the next track, the vaguely danceable "Supersoaker," this seems like a blessing. "Hot dream/ Warm touch/ Cool bed/ You're tough," Jones sings with a boyish sigh-- a nonsensical line that's especially vacuous given the drowsy musical surroundings. At least "Native America" has an engaging, syncopated rhythm that briefly wipes the sleep out of Dog Bite's eyes. But like the rest of Velvet Changes, "Native America" doesn't build over five minutes so much as repeat itself to the point of tedium. A lack of musical sophistication or a dearth of good songwriting-- no matter the culprit for Velvet Changes' problems, Dog Bite has little to say and a severely limited vocabulary with which to say it.
Aside from the rare musical flourish, like the progged-out synth that squiggles its way into the back half of "Prettiest Pills", Velvet Changes is one long, predictable drone. The classic records that inspired Dog Bite specialize in creating an air of mystery that draws you deeper into the music and your own heart. All Velvet Changes creates is a disquieting malaise that deflects any attempt to penetrate its billowy, monochromatic, meaningless contours.
