In the grand Australian tradition of AC/DC, Wolfmother and, uhm, INXS, Jet are ardent disciples of that hallowed philosophy "keep it simple, stupid". Subtlety's for sissies. Details just get in the way when you're trying to rock out.

And ? despite no references to Zulu kings, assegais or the mfecane ? they certainly go out of their way to live up to the second half of the album title. Opening with a salvo of machine gun drumming and screaming fighter planes, 'Shaka Rock' annihilates the Beatles obsession of its predecessor 'Shine On' with an almost non-stop barrage of greasy two-chord Neanderthal grooves straight outta 1971.

The wildly careening 'She's A Genius' ? with its "oh-oh-oh-oh" chorus, gang vocals, and sleazy guitar solo ? is the soundtrack to a dive bar that smells of beer, sweat and piss. Yes, it's that good. Even-rougher-around-the-edges 'K.I.A.' is one Iggy Pop short of the Stooges, 'La Di Da' is Franz Ferdinand for dummies, 'Times Like This' is a war chant backed by a garage band, and 'Start The Show' is vintage rock from the days Aerosmith and cocaine were synonymous.

Their idea of variety comes courtesy of the vague ska shuffle that is 'Beat On Repeat', the soul funk undertones of the flaming 'Black Hearts (On Fire)', and future AOR staple 'Seventeen' (think two teenagers in love meeting up at the roller rink before heading down the highway in his dad's Studebaker).

The sunny 'Goodbye Hollywood', Crowded House wannabe 'Let Me Out', and psychedelic ballad 'She Holds A Grudge' (which should have Noel Gallagher consulting his copyright lawyers), provide some respite from the ballroom blitz ? but not enough to avoid comparisons with the ultimate '70s pastiche band, The Darkness.

By three albums into their career, Jet's magpie boys really should have a sound of their own.