After 35 seconds of feedback and 76 seconds of further build up, Small Dog Frenzy pause briefly before launching into a musical cavalcade and do not rest for 47 minutes. There is no climax, no individual moment of flair, no catharsis. Every moment thereafter is singularly uncompromising.
Small Dog Frenzy were a three-piece emo band that formed in 1991 hailing from Boulder, Colorado (though amusingly some online sources cite them as actually being from Evergreen). The trio put out three 7” records over 4 years and one album, 1993’s Davenport Champions. This was an era when making it to a full 40+ minute album was a feat in itself for an emo band. Theirs was the only one ever released by their label Titanic Records in its short history amongst a smattering of singles and EPs, and the only release on CD. Yet, Small Dog Frenzy left their mark. In their waning days they provided local support for Built to Spill, and for Jawbreaker in 1992 (prior to Bivouac at Club 156, so named for its capacity). Members of Rise Against have cited them as a favorite. They hosted Jimmy Eat World for a house show. They laid the groundwork for later Denver emo heroes(?) Christie Front Drive. However, they are mostly forgotten amongst the canonical bands of emo’s first wave. Monthly Spotify listeners of Moss Icon, The Hated, Dag Nasty, One Last Wish, Indian Summer, and Small Dog Frenzy sit at 16.5K, 4.8K, 60.6K, 9.9K, 13.9K, and 119 respectively.
That said, they don’t really sound like any of those other bands. They are decidedly “emo”, evidenced by their label mates, the bands they shared bills with, and the members’ later projects. The sonic linkage between themselves and earlier hardcore is clear - thumping bass, fast tempos, loud guitars. Distinctions between hardcore, post-hardcore, and emo were still functionally irrelevant at this point. However, on Davenport Champions, Small Dog Frenzy sounded like no one else. The tone is dark, to say the least, gothic in the Unknown Pleasures sense, but densely textured like blackgaze. 90s DC doomers like Hoover and Lungfish explored similar aesthetics, but combined it with a bleak sparseness not heard here. The songs rarely sound any different from verse to chorus, instead forging along as continuous jams that will pull in a vocal melody as an accent piece on top of several nonstop minutes of blurry tremolo picking. Other bands sound choppy and discretely segmented in comparison.
Hans Buenning’s drumming is bouncy and repetitive in a good way, like motorik with more fills. Tim Nakari plays a thundering technical bass. But Aaron Hobbs on guitars steals the show. The best comparison is probably J Mascis, or maybe The Edge if U2 were on Dischord. He does know how to play a chord, but often chooses not to for extended stretches. Hobbs’s vocals are used sparingly, just frequently enough to be mainstays but never truly taking the lead from whatever he’s up to with his hands. He sounds like Matt Pryor of the Get Up Kids imitating Kurt Cobain while recovering from whatever cold Jeremy Enigk had when he recorded Diary.
The mix is lo-fi in the sense that it sounds as though the band plays in a dimly lit empty warehouse. It is not an album that is interested in being a soundtrack to anything but itself. You are placed in the soundstage surrounded by the trio on all sides. The drummer is mere feet away, his kit heavily stereoed across both channels. The bassist’s monitor subtly shakes the floor, the guitarist is drenched in sweat and never looks up or smiles. He sings of course as well, but sounds like he is on a balcony 50 feet away completely in the dark. You can’t see the walls, but they sure must be far based on the amount of reverb. No one else is in the room, the band plays for no one but themselves, trying to see how long they can keep this going. They have no interest in beating you into submission with walls of noise, or relaxing you before a sudden burst of intensity. It is a constant stream of even tempered, head-down passion. Each song begins a half second earlier than expected, as if there is nothing to wait for before moving on.
Is Davenport Champions the greatest first wave emo album? Spiderland would like a word, but otherwise maybe yeah. It exists on an island though, unlike anything that came before it, and hard to compare to anything after either. Maybe it’s even the first second wave emo album? I’d sure love to know if a copy made it quickly up to Seattle, it might explain some things if it did. If nothing else, it’s a breathless, ageless document from a time when rock was ready to freshly explode. Small Dog Frenzy chose to do something entirely uncommercial instead, without hooks or anthems. Books have been written about albums with less aura. Maybe some day they will get their due.
