Dog Days of Summer: Dance hounds
are wagging their tails for Dog Talk,
a pedigreed performer among
local bands
Indianapolis Star/News,
July 6, 1997
by S. L. Berry
 You can hear the music a block away.
It has the lilt of the island and the punch of funk. You
just know folks are dancing.
And they are. On a Wednesday evening. In the courtyard
behind the Rathskeller in The Athenaeum. From booty-bouncing
toddlers to head-bopping seniors, people are dancing and
smiling.
It's another evening with Dog Talk.
Dog Talk is a band. In fact, it's one of the local music
scene's most successful bands, at least in terms of popularity
and financial solvency. But it's not like any other band
around.
Dog Talk consists of five seasoned musicians, all between
35 and 45 years old -- drummer and group founder Michael
Beck, guitarist Bill Lancton, keyboardist Cliff Fortney,
bassist Jim Litchfield, and percussionist/lead singer
Cliff White. And the bulk of the band's material is original
music.
Music that Beck calls "wacky, off-the-wall sort of stuff."
Stylistically speaking, it's ...
"Afro-Cuban island music," says Beck.
"Caribbean reggae pop," says Lancton.
No matter what you call it, it draws a crowd. True devotees
-- known as Mambo Doggies -- catch them as often as they
can. They own the band's two CDs -- 1995's It Happens
Every Day and the recent Twiddling the Tightrope.
They known the songs and they participate in the show.
Audience participation, in fact, is one of Dog Talk's
hallmarks. "With us, the line between the band and the
audience has disintegrated," says Lancton.
That's the result of creating music that appeals to people,
says Beck, and of sticking to a business plan. For its
musical quirkiness, Dog Talk is a thriving business entity
complete with its own merchandising arm and 3,000-name
mailing list.
Beck created Dog Talk four years ago in an attempt to
break out of the doldrums. "I was playing in a Top 40
band at the time, keeping my chops up and making money.
And going, 'What the hell am I doing? This isn't who I
am at all.'"
So he quit. And decided it was time to give his long-deferred
desire to play original music a shot. Working in a home
studio, he created an audition tape containing some of
this songs for the "Rock the Ripple" music showcase in
April 1993.
To disguise his one-man-band status, he submitted the
tape under the name Dog Talk. When showcase organizers
called Beck's bluff by inviting Dog Talk to participate
in the showcase, he had to scramble to assemble a band.
Though equipment problems marred the group's debut, Dog
Talk was a hit. And Beck was on his way to turning his
ruse into reality.
In the years since, Dog Talk has changed personnel a few
times before setting into its current lineup. But it has
never changed its purpose -- to create and perform original
music.
That was a gamble, admits Beck; but one that has paid
off. In addition to drawing all-ages crowds to such venues
as the Rathskeller's courtyard, the band regularly packs
such adults-only clubs as the Jazz Kitchen and The Cozy.
It performs at a variety of festivals, corporate events
and private parties, as well as in clubs and at events
throughout Indiana and surrounding states.
In fact, Dog Talk is so busy these days that, in addition
to publishing a monthly schedule of appearances in its
newsletter, it posts updates on its web page, and its
concert line (317)579-3047.
As a result, the band has built an audience base whose
support and enthusiasm are as infectuous as the music.
Everybody's Best Friend
"Dog Talk is my favorite band," says WISH-TV (Channel
8) personality Dick Wolfsie, who's among the Rathskeller
crowd. "And it's my son's favorite band. A 50-year-old
and a 9-year-old; there's your generation gap for you."
Wolfsie is not alone. Christine Valmore, 32, keeps an
eye on her 2-year-old daughter, Emma, who's bobbing in
time as Dog Talk plays on the stage of the Atheneum's
bandshell. "They appeal to every age group you can imagine,"
says Valmore. "We've never brought anyone to hear them
who hasn't loved them."
Her mother Luana Valmore, 58, agrees and adds, "They do
such a good job of bringing the performance out to the
crowd."
What she's referring to is singer Cliff White's penchant
for performing not just for the audience, but in it. His
cordless microphone headset frees him to wander, and he
spends more time singing off the stage than on it. He
also dances with audience members, leads conga lines and
stands on tables encouraging people to enjoy themselves.
But make no mistake. This is no Vegas act. Dog Talk's
roots are solidly in rock, pop, jazz, and rhythm and blues.
And the musicianship is top notch. It has to be, since
there's no set list. Lancton calls the songs live, based
on what he thinks the audience is ready for.
At some point, every audience is ready to dance.
That's what makes coming to see Dog Talk so much fun,
says 13-year-old Brittany Ryan. "You can come and dance
and try difference things out, and you don't feel stupid."
Howling Success
Beck loves to see people having fun. The more, the merrier.
He set out to prove that a good band playing its own music
could be successful locally. And nothing proves his point
better than hundreds of smiling people moving to the music.
"A lot of people are astounded that an original band as
wacky and different as we are is doing as well as we are,"
he says. "We're kind of the Frank Zappa of Indianapolis.
We do pretty much what we want to do, and still we're
accepted."
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