The fact that Hollywood A-lister Juliette Lewis decided to include herself in the name of her febrile garage rock quartet is a bit baffling.

She's always insisted that she's out for full-blown credibility, flattening any sardonic whispers about Keanu Reeves and his sniggersome Dogstar project under a tsunami of, well, 30 per cent honest-to-goodness wailing talent and 70 per cent writhing, mic-wirling enthusiasm.

And yet she has included her name, which - even without the wisely-avoided 'Lewis' addendum - smacks rather strongly of dubious PR leapfrogging.

Still, if anyone can meet with such accusations face-on and provide a convincing argument for authenticity, it's her: the cold stare, throaty snarl and obvious, unswerving passion for making the music she loves are all highly persuasive. As indeed was last year's debut LP, You're Speaking My Language.

A short, sharp burst of catchy punk-rock swagger silenced a few critics, even if it failed to fully ignite the rest.

And so the march continues, Lewis's "I'm a rocker, not a bored actress" colours nailed firmly to the mast.

She's convincing more important people than critics, too - when drummer Jason Morris jumped ship on sessions for imminent second album Four On The Floor, his stool was filled by one Mr Dave Grohl. Now, if only they could squeeze his name in...