As the 40th anniversary of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band has come and gone, the Beatles legacy remains nothing if not over-determined. As the praise may never grow stale for the group's musical pinnacle, the most notable aspect of the masterwork remains its innovation, eternally calling into question the merits of any act in the behemoth's towering shadow. However, like a shining beacon – a North Star of rock 'n' roll – the band's sound and collaborative genius remain benchmarks present in group dynamics and more patently, in the form of direct musical models. But in the modern, while blatant imitation is certainly a contemptible offense, there is something to be said for a healthy synthesis of precursory influence, never more respectful than on Dr. Dog's We All Belong.

As ’Old News’ begins to rattle in warmly familiar romp, like a less vogue Cold War Kids, a piercing howl conveys the album's bold mission statement. "A dog from the past started barking," croon Dr. Dog's two lead vocalists and chief songwriters, Scott McMicken and Toby Leaman, in unison. This conceit of 'nostalgia rock' combines with a chorus of la la la’s and is performed free of irony; you'll be hard pressed to find neither an undersized leather jacket nor any other hint of retro swagger. Employed instead is an every-man authenticity manifested in gravelly yelps, soulful three-part harmonies and song structures cognizant of tradition but without the chains of formulaic expectation. Never stock or trite, a knack for reconstruction is explored throughout the duration of the record as if Dr. Dog has a filter, processing that which they love into that which is their own.  

All the classics are torn, ripped and dismantled, then reassembled into able and captivating reinterpretations. Like an aged puzzle, done over and over again, the pieces to the puzzle of We All Belong are frayed and bent adding a rugged charm: the distorted bass line of ‘The Girl’, like a ‘Helter Skelter’ rehearsal version. ‘My Old Ways’ recalls the Wilson brothers of Beach Boys fame with a tinkering piano line and honeyed lyrics about recommitment and newfound fidelity, using do do do's to harmonious effect.  The thoughtful metaphors of ‘Keep A Friend’ are everlasting proof of the immortality of a simple love song. As lyrically charming as lines like "Even rivers ask for rain/Well I ain't sand/But I'm a desert for your love," are, it's the swaying instrumentation that sound like they were learned from The Temptations. Favoring ah ah ahs to the previous syllabic back-ups, by this point you're entranced. The Jackson 5 intro of ‘Worst Trip’ flows seamlessly to the triumphant horns and sax that flesh out the track's remainder, while standout ‘Die Die Die’ takes a tambourine, handclaps and a somber organ to the end of a Southern hymnal-style lament not far from Sam Cooke.    

To be fair, We All Belong and the Dr. Dog vibrations are more Abbey Road than Sgt. Pepper, but with vocal acrobatics aspiring to Pet Sounds. Lofty goals without a doubt, the album's imperfections are as beguiling as its ambition. With the studio magic possible in this age, any band can auto-tune to their heart's content and it wouldn't be hard to reinvent Sir Paul himself in a soulless robotic version, yet Dr. Dog capture the cracks of human voices and the hiss of tape, recording in an analog manner to give a worn/warm quality to the production. Shining proudly not as carbon copies or banal caricatures of old favorites, but as bold 'what you see is what you get'-songwriters with a penchant for the canonical past and their own pop song chops.

We All Belong, with its slamming keys and bona fide sincerity, calls into question the validity of the tradition of experiencing new music as an extension of the familiar. But the carefree, feel-good nature of the record gives the impression that Dr. Dog are unconcerned with living up to anything and are comfortable in the role they fill. This band is a bar band in the same sense as The Hold Steady – that is to say, far better than any band you've ever seen in a bar but relishing in the same low light of casual rock 'n' roll, free of pretension and with the same partiality to the dark horse; the best straight rock music this side of Lennon, McCartney, Wilson and Springsteen.