JACKSON REID BRIGGS AND THE HEATERS: what a goddamned mouthful. What a bloody earful. Punk rock n roll without the spit shine. Jackson Reid Briggs, after a year or two playing solo & exiled from his home, adrift in the worlds most liveable city needed a backing band. Sandwiched somewhere between his hometowns The Saints and Neil Young at his most ragged, playing in a dirty old pub on the outskirts patronised by locals only... ...but where Young’s horse is ‘Crazy’, Briggs’ is deranged, rabid and thirsty. The inmates have taken over the asylum. A group of drinking buddies cobbled together by Briggs, some musicians some just miscreant, together they make a cacophony that’s somehow even louder than its 6? 7? (it’s hard to tell when they’re all flailing about up there) members. A sum that grates on your parts. Since 2000 and something, Briggs and his heaters have been concerning fans and horrified onlookers alike, from Brisbane to Paris, Belgrade, Tokyo and back to any bar in Melbourne that’ll have them. They may fall down on stage, but my goodness what a beautiful racket.... 
 Photo by Raw Journey