As canine omens go, the bemused hound wandering around on the roof of the venue before the show must be a good sign for Dr Dog. A five-piece from west Philadelphia, they seem determined tonight to shake Brixton to its foundations, while reminding the crowd that country is not a dirty word.

This is only Dr Dog's second ever UK gig, but a small wave of hoedown hysteria has already overcome the first few rows. And the band - who look as if they were dragged kicking and screaming by the tassels on their fringed coats from a Texas bar circa 1973 - are clearly more than pleased by the effect their joyful, unselfconscious hick rock is having on the crazed crowd.

Scott McMicken - in oversized shades that appear to be welded to his face, and with a straw hat covering his long, California-burnished locks - is a miniature, slightly over-excitable Neil Young, complete with heart-rending nasal wail. In the bolstered-up rock-out section of Oh No, he delivers a bit of deranged howling while leaping from foot to foot as though someone had laid hot coals on the stage.

Bassist Toby Lehman has a gruffer tone, though that's not to say he can't do sentimental country harmonies along the lines of the Flying Burrito Brothers. The World May Never Know demonstrates this perfectly, with its swooping but gentle rock stomp, keyboards that verge on a crazed Hammond organ clamour and lyrics that sound as if they were written after a few too many lonely days in the desert.

Eking out the last vestiges of summer with their brusque singalong ballads, Dr Dog tread the thin line between romantic and rowdy with surprising ease. Wake Up provides a rousing finale: it's chock full of riffs big enough for a stadium, yet between the gaps are tambourines and handclaps that wouldn't seem out of place around a tiny campfire.

· At the Barfly, London NW1, on Thursday. Box office: 0870 9070999.