Golden Dogs – Bio

Let me tell you about the balmy June evening when I first discovered the band that brought rock and roll back to my hungry heart.

I was jaded. I had played my copy of You Forgot It In People to death. I was tired of attending rock shows amongst cold-hearted shoegazers who broke their straight-legged, acid-washed stances for no one. "Dance, fuckers!!!" my heart and loins implored, but, imprisoned by the icy gaze of the black-clad bands onstage, my desperation remained muted.

I was thus hipstered right the fuck out. I needed a change. I needed, in the words of Ace of Base, a sign. Then, one night, my tired cotillion slouched to the bar. We were prepared to drown our summer aches and pains and, God willing, nod our heads a little.

We weren't ready for The Golden Dogs.

The motley crew that assembled on the tiny stage and launched into the soaring strains of "Birdsong" were unlike anything I had ever seen before. Parts of them seemed familiar. The impossibly lanky lead singer looked like Tom Petty but cavorted and yowled like a pre-haggard Iggy Pop. The pretty keyboard player displayed signs reading "HOLY SHIT!" like a cigarette girl at a bullfight - when she wasn't shaking the hell out of her tambourine. The bassist perched bouncingly above us on a speaker, while the straight-faced drummer pounded with a ferocity that was anything but straight. But the thing that was completely new was the way the figures onstage made our bodies feel like they were splitting into pieces. I wanted to wiggle my ass and jump and fuck and dance and drink and fight. I had not felt like this seeing live music for a very long time.

That's what happens with The Golden Dogs. One minute you’re sitting, smiling curiously, asking youGolden Dogs – Bio

Let me tell you about the balmy June evening when I first discovered the band that brought rock and roll back to my hungry heart.

I was jaded. I had played my copy of You Forgot It In People to death. I was tired of attending rock shows amongst cold-hearted shoegazers who broke their straight-legged, acid-washed stances for no one. "Dance, fuckers!!!" my heart and loins implored, but, imprisoned by the icy gaze of the black-clad bands onstage, my desperation remained muted.

I was thus hipstered right the fuck out. I needed a change. I needed, in the words of Ace of Base, a sign. Then, one night, my tired cotillion slouched to the bar. We were prepared to drown our summer aches and pains and, God willing, nod our heads a little.

We weren't ready for The Golden Dogs.

The motley crew that assembled on the tiny stage and launched into the soaring strains of "Birdsong" were unlike anything I had ever seen before. Parts of them seemed familiar. The impossibly lanky lead singer looked like Tom Petty but cavorted and yowled like a pre-haggard Iggy Pop. The pretty keyboard player displayed signs reading "HOLY SHIT!" like a cigarette girl at a bullfight - when she wasn't shaking the hell out of her tambourine. The bassist perched bouncingly above us on a speaker, while the straight-faced drummer pounded with a ferocity that was anything but straight. But the thing that was completely new was the way the figures onstage made our bodies feel like they were splitting into pieces. I wanted to wiggle my ass and jump and fuck and dance and drink and fight. I had not felt like this seeing live music for a very long time.

That's what happens with The Golden Dogs. One minute you’re sitting, smiling curiously, asking your buddy “what’s with the band?” The next you’re on the dance floor doing high kicks, pouring beer on yourself, and screaming for everyone to say hello to the man in the elevator.

Let me introduce you to the band. The tall guy in the front, that’s Dave Azzolini. He writes and arranges all of the songs with the help of the leaping lady at the keyboards, but we’ll get to her in a minute. It’s been Dave’s band from the very beginning. He plays guitar, and can scream like a banshee and coo like a bird.

Jessica’s the girl on the keys. She and Dave have been partners-in-crime since 1998. Her voice blends with Dave’s with an inherent and eerie perfection. On the bridge to “Faster”, their vocals would make even Frank Black and Kim Deal bite down on their knuckles with the beauty of it all. Entwined ,their voices ring with twilight purity.

The Golden Dogs’ lineup has gone through a bit of shuffling since the band formed in 2000, and the miscreants onstage form the band’s latest incarnation. Neil Quinn, the man with the other guitar, is a natural when it comes to 60's inspired harmonies and ballsy lead guitar lines. Stew Heyduk, the bass player, is nothing to sniff at with his fervent and vocal adoration of Paul McCartney. Considering most of The Golden Dogs are obsessed with The Beatles, such a fact couldn’t hurt his case. Taylor Knox, the manic drummer, is the spine of the band. He also looks like the younger brother that Dave never had.

Now you’ve met the band. Aren’t they so wonderfully nice for a group that rocks against the dying of the light? How strange that such a good rock band can lack so many of the trappings of good rock bands - the egos, the contrived glamour. The Golden Dogs have traveled across Ontario a million times over to prove themselves to us with candor and grace. “Birdsong”, their album/set opener, encapsulates their honest and simple desire: to write beautiful music, to rise above the vagaries of industry hearsay and be real.

In light of the praise I’ve heaped upon these young lions, you might just consider me another rabid, sweaty-haired scenester, and that’s fine. But do us all a favour and listen to the album Everything In 3Parts before you make your final appraisal. Convince me that it isn’t a beautifully diverse ,shiny production. Convince me that this isn’t a band whose validity lies far beyond the buzz of being “the next big thing”. Convince me that “Yeah!” doesn’t rank with the best Canadian rock songs of all time, and “Anniversary Waltz” doesn’t make you sigh...even a little bit, when your friends aren’t watching. Convince me that The Golden Dogs don’t make your hard little bastard of a hipster heart soar. I’ll listen to you with one ear. The other will be cocked towards the stage, waiting to hear that song cause I feel it coming on.

r buddy “what’s with the band?” The next you’re on the dance floor doing high kicks, pouring beer on yourself, and screaming for everyone to say hello to the man in the elevator.

Let me introduce you to the band. The tall guy in the front, that’s Dave Azzolini. He writes and arranges all of the songs with the help of the leaping lady at the keyboards, but we’ll get to her in a minute. It’s been Dave’s band from the very beginning. He plays guitar, and can scream like a banshee and coo like a bird.

Jessica’s the girl on the keys. She and Dave have been partners-in-crime since 1998. Her voice blends with Dave’s with an inherent and eerie perfection. On the bridge to “Faster”, their vocals would make even Frank Black and Kim Deal bite down on their knuckles with the beauty of it all. Entwined ,their voices ring with twilight purity.

The Golden Dogs’ lineup has gone through a bit of shuffling since the band formed in 2000, and the miscreants onstage form the band’s latest incarnation. Neil Quinn, the man with the other guitar, is a natural when it comes to 60's inspired harmonies and ballsy lead guitar lines. Stew Heyduk, the bass player, is nothing to sniff at with his fervent and vocal adoration of Paul McCartney. Considering most of The Golden Dogs are obsessed with The Beatles, such a fact couldn’t hurt his case. Taylor Knox, the manic drummer, is the spine of the band. He also looks like the younger brother that Dave never had.

Now you’ve met the band. Aren’t they so wonderfully nice for a group that rocks against the dying of the light? How strange that such a good rock band can lack so many of the trappings of good rock bands - the egos, the contrived glamour. The Golden Dogs have traveled across Ontario a million times over to prove themselves to us with candor and grace. “Birdsong”, their album/set opener, encapsulates their honest and simple desire: to write beautiful music, to rise above the vagaries of industry hearsay and be real.

In light of the praise I’ve heaped upon these young lions, you might just consider me another rabid, sweaty-haired scenester, and that’s fine. But do us all a favour and listen to the album Everything In 3Parts before you make your final appraisal. Convince me that it isn’t a beautifully diverse ,shiny production. Convince me that this isn’t a band whose validity lies far beyond the buzz of being “the next big thing”. Convince me that “Yeah!” doesn’t rank with the best Canadian rock songs of all time, and “Anniversary Waltz” doesn’t make you sigh...even a little bit, when your friends aren’t watching. Convince me that The Golden Dogs don’t make your hard little bastard of a hipster heart soar. I’ll listen to you with one ear. The other will be cocked towards the stage, waiting to hear that song cause I feel it coming on.