Jacks Creation

Dragster are already playing as we enter Soho’s quaint little Borderline club. A raven-haired punkette clad in boots and mini-skirt, pretty but mean looking, belts out a number over the racket of the band’s distorted rumble. The guitarist looks like a cross between Chopper and Mad Max, like a deranged sheep shearer, punishing his instrument for, I dunno, talking to him or something… Which is obviously a good thing. They sound like they look too: a nasty line in suitably abrasive thrash-punk. Good stuff and a fine way to blast out the cobwebs from your ears. Write their name on your exercise book...

When they take to the stage, clad in uniform black, it’s clear that Jack’s Creation are men of rock who like it big and beefy and worship the power of the riff. Jack’s…take the pounding drive of QoTSA-like stoner metal but replace the sludgy depths with the more brash and upfront sounds of the leather trouser brigade. From the churning stoner rock grind of opener ‘You don’t know Jack’ to the more chunky power-chord punk of ‘Jackscreation’, there’s a muted and growling power here behind the macho posturing - bassist Dee’s indoor sunglasses for instance! Debut single 'Moanmoanmoan’ pumps along with the cock rock momentum of Jane’s Addiction or even ‘…Jungle’-era GnR. If you like your rock pure and untainted by garage retro-ism or arty experimentation, or if you’re just looking for a less ludicrous alternative to The Darkness, Jack’s could well be your men.