Brighton’s The Kooks are that rarest of pop entities: a scuzzy, fresh-faced group to fully restore your faith in the holy grail of English singer-songwriting stretching from Supergrass via (early) Blur to The Kinks and beyond. Their songs are crammed full of incidents on buses, bedroom mishaps -more of which later- and stinging teenage putdowns which will strike a chord with anyone who’s ever found themselves fumbling for clues on the sofa, but they’re also blessed with a cheerful irreverence most record companies would prefer was preserved in amber rather than rampaging across the nation’s venues. It doesn’t end there. Pin-sharp and scarily young (guitarist Hugh usurps Jared Followill as the youngest man in rock, having just turned seventeen), they also possess record collections which date back to the dawn of time.Album out in 2006