Why four sweaty geezers from West Australia (no sheep jokes, please) should call themselves Babyjane is probably not my business, and at least they don’t have stupid shag haircuts.
In every other way, though, they’re subscribing to a very American tradition that has been followed by posturing macho rock bands at least since The Stooges’ Raw Power and Alice Cooper’s Killer. They play fast, loud and unintelligibly, and even include the obligatory power ballad.
They are tight and proficient at what they do, except they do nothing to distinguish themselves from a thousand other bands who also want to be the next Guns N’ Roses. They don’t have the wit of Alice, the trained psychosis of Iggy, or even Lemmy’s battle scars. I don’t doubt that they go down a storm in Perth, but in the wider world, they need to conjure some originality if they are ever to be noticed.
