Dr. Dog
(Music) Shoobie-doowie up-ba-ba. Aah-ahh-ahh-ooh-woo. Whoa-oh-oh-oh. It’s easy enough to sing along at a Dr. Dog show—you just kinda make up the words as you go. Onstage, the band twinkle, lurch, swell, and roll, practiced in loose and sloppy delivery that sees band members switching instruments, singing harmonies, and swaggering behind unstyled hairdos and goofy sunglasses. The Philly five-piece are masters of the sunshine-pop hook, pouring as much slaphappy glee into a three-word chorus as into a five-minute breakdown. (Crocodile, 2200 Second Ave, 441-5611. 9 pm, $12 adv/$14 DOS, 21+.) JONATHAN ZWICKEL

‘Return to Camp Death’
(Improv that Doesn’t Suck) The premise is simple: Somebody shouts out a made-up teen-slasher movie title and the three members of Blood Squad spend an hour acting it out. The Squad doesn’t use stage blood or props, which is smart—small theater cannot summon anything worse than the gore in our imaginations. It also helps that the show starts late with a mostly tipsy audience and the actors stealing sips from their backstage beer stash. (Odd Duck Studio, 1214 10th Ave, 800-838-3006. 10:30 pm, $10.) BRENDAN KILEY