Own The Kerb by Dogtown Dojo: A Raw, Unfiltered Sonic Ride
Dogtown Dojo’s Own The Kerb isn’t your typical polished studio album—it’s gritty, unapologetic, and feels like it was born out of late-night jam sessions in a dimly lit garage. This record doesn’t try to be something it’s not, and honestly, that’s what makes it stick. It’s the kind of project where imperfections become part of its charm, like scuffs on a well-loved pair of boots.
One track that really grabs you is “Neon Grind.” Right off the bat, the bassline hits hard—like, punch-you-in-the-chest hard. Paired with these haunting synths that feel like they’re creeping up behind you, it creates this vibe that’s both eerie and addictive. You can almost picture neon lights flickering over rain-soaked streets while listening to it. What sticks with me most is how the vocals are delivered—they’re raw, almost like the singer’s spilling their guts without caring who’s judging. It’s messy but intentional, and somehow, that works.
Then there’s “Concrete Jungle Shuffle,” which flips the mood entirely. If “Neon Grind” is dark and brooding, this one’s got swagger for days. The drumbeat has this hypnotic shuffle (hence the name) that pulls you in, and the guitar riffs have just enough edge to keep things interesting. There’s a moment halfway through when everything drops out except for this lone keyboard melody—it’s unexpected, kinda jarring even, but it totally works. Feels like the band said, “Screw convention,” and went with their gut. And honestly? Good call.
What I love about Own The Kerb is how unpretentious it feels. These guys aren’t trying to reinvent music; they’re just owning their sound. Sure, some transitions could’ve been smoother, and yeah, a few lyrics might make you raise an eyebrow, but that’s kinda the point. It’s real, warts and all.
Here’s the thing: after listening to this album, I found myself humming “Neon Grind” at random times—while waiting in line at the coffee shop, during my commute, once even in the shower. Weird, right? But maybe that’s the mark of a good record—it sneaks into your brain and sets up camp without asking permission.
So yeah, Dogtown Dojo didn’t just make an album here—they made something memorable. Not perfect, not shiny, but damn if it doesn’t leave a mark. Oh, and fun fact: apparently, the cover art was drawn by the drummer’s cousin. How punk rock is that?
