If this band really were dogs, they wouldn't be the kind that sits ups and begs or preens itself on a cushion. No, they'd be the scruffy mongrels who run up to you and start humping your leg and nipping at your heels. It's no surprise that these adopted Londoners will soon be supporting Paul Weller - their sound is a dead ringer for the early Jam, all punky guitars, snarling vocals and a nervous energy that almost makes you want to stand back from the speakers for fear that frontman Johnny Cooke is about to start throwing punches. Their songs, meanwhile, are short, sharp bursts of vitriol that rail against both people and places, often with more passion than imagination or insight. These Dogs may have a certain scruffy charm, but they've a long way to go before they're going to win best in show.
