My long search for the enigmatic Mr Burton has led me into the mystic bowels of old Chinatown, deep underneath the cobbled streets of San Francisco. I find myself nestled into the darkest corner of the dingiest, dank opium den. Behind a stained curtain I am introduced to Mr Chen, who, im told has information on the whereabouts of Jack. “Jack Burton, yeah I know that guy. Lots of trouble, nice hair though. And if you see him, tell that asshole he still owes me a truck” A puff of smoke crawls across the brim of Mr Chens hat, it slithers into the air taking the impossibly conspicuous form of an arrow, pointing towards a badly lit corridor to my right. “More you find down there” he adds, in an increasingly creepy tone. Only then do I first gaze upon his eyes. They are bright green and menacing. Am I meant to follow? What kind of old-world GPS is this? Having ingested countless ‘Choose your own adventure’ book in my misspent youth, I choose to take the chance and follow the signs. Some say Jacks mother was an Amazon warrior and his father was a god damn circus lion, others say he fell from the sky like a meteorite and landed in a wig and singlet store. His origins are many but they all imply the same stark fact. Jack Burton is an everyman with extraordinary powers. His diamond sharp jawline and impervious bouffant hairstyle are stuff of legend, and he has used these unique powers to fight unknowable evil across infinite realms. Somewhere along his path he swapped his fighting swords for writing chords, a calculated move to throw the gargoyles, vampires and exploding martial arts champions off his scent. He has hid in the depths of deep disco, forever distancing himself from his past…until now. As I cautiously meander towards the corridor and push aside the shadowy bamboo curtain, I am faced with a black wall, and on it is written in chalk “Don’t Ya Wanna See?”. Underneath the hastily scribbled double entendre is a hulking shadow. It lurches forward and under the dim light I make out a familiar face. It’s Mikah Freeman wearing little more than a trucker cap and shit-eating grin. “It’s me man! How do you like my new jam?” Mikah’s new passion project is inspired by the erotic frivolity of the 60s, caramel-smooth funk of the 70s and digital uprising of the 80s and 90s. Jack Burton is the result of one man diving into a figurative kaleidoscope of sound and being reborn with a tech-nine machine gun and a mullet. ALL THINGS ASIDE, IF THIS EXPEDITION HAS TAUGHT ME ANYTHING IT WOULD BE THAT IF YOU AREN’T LISTENING TO A BURTON RECORD, THEN YOU AIN’T GOT JACK.