Want the skinny on the best (nearly) new band in Britain? Just ask...

Who? What? Where? The Young Knives - drummer Oliver Askew, singer/ guitarist Henry Dartnall and his brother The House Of Lords (yes, we'll come to that) - formed in rocktastic Ashby-de-la-Zouch eight years ago. Being young and daft they spent their time playing bad funk and Ned's Atomic Dustbin covers until, luckily, university split the band. Four years later; older, wiser and now a bit embarrassed about the Ned's Atomic Dustbin thing, they decided to reconvene by moving to that other cesspit of punk rock depravity, Oxford.

The Young Knives is a great name, who thought of it? "It came from a Scottish history book," says The House Of Lords. "I misread an etching that had three young chaps pulling a laird from his horse. It actually said 'young knaves', but knives was a good approximation."

"We definitely want to be seen as rock's answer to Robin Hood," deadpans Henry, "taking influence from the rich, arty types and making it good for the poor."

Hang on, The Young Knives, haven't I heard that name before? Possibly. In 2002, TYK brought out the optimistically titled mini-album, 'The Young Knives... Are Dead', on Shifty Disco. It led to support slots with Hot Hot Heat and Har Mar Superstar and then... nothing. Which is mostly down to the band's very English inability to promote themselves. "We've all got a fear of the phone. Or, rather, a fear of rejection from A&R men," says Henry. "Which is admirable if you're talking about being a nice human being, but doesn't get you far in a competitive business." Luckily, TYK now have managers to do all that cigar-chomping PT Barnum stuff.

Are those managers busy? Just a bit. In the last 18 months, TYK have found their wiry tales of suburban angst championed by The Futureheads, Supergrass (who they were asked to support) and Gang Of Four's Andy Gill, who flipped over their demo and ended up producing their debut EP. They have also recently signed a whopping publishing deal with BMG and hooked up with the Transgressive label (who have previously released records by The Subways and The Mystery Jets). Typically sceptical of any sign of success, Henry thought the whole Andy Gill thing was wind-up until they actually spoke: "I had to phone him up, sat in my Toyota in the car-park at work. Even having his number in your phone is pretty daunting."

How did the sessions go? "It's one of the best things we've ever done," says Henry, of the 'Junky Music Makes My Heart Beat Faster' EP. A mixture of jerky, whip-cracking (disco-punk) energy and composed, complex songwriting, the likes of 'Weekends and Bleak Days' (an ambivalent tale of crummy office jobs) and 'Kramer Vs Kramer' (about divorce, marriage guidance and friends dumping their troubles on you) revealed TYK as the perfect new band for people who like their guitar bands to be urgent, pointed chroniclers of everyday Britain, literate and slightly eccentric.

So, where do TYK place themselves on the musical map? They don't. Unless you really push them. They enjoy the "dry humour" of Pulp and Elvis Costello, but they like weird stuff like Pere Ubu too. Both Clor and British Sea Power are TYK fans, and, certainly, all three bands share certain characteristics; intelligence, musical unpredictability, wit. "We like to come across as intelligent, who doesn't?" asks Henry. "But I try hard not to write songs that try to make me look intelligent; I think we try to be honest and authentic. We're honest about our short comings."

What's with the second-hand suits and general TYK shabby chic? Described, by the NME, as looking like "junior partners in a small provincial accountancy firm", TYK's individual dress sense is notorious. But, insists Henry, there is nothing contrived about it: "It's deliberate in that we all put the clothes on in the morning, but I've bought stuff in charity shops since I was about 16. I'm quite keen on being a womble. That's the good thing about living in the London commuter belt, people have got money to burn and they just throw crazily good stuff away."

Not a band likely to be dazzled by the glittery trappings of fame, then? Hardly, TYK are still giddy about jacking in their day jobs. "Having proper boring jobs makes you appreciate it when you get to pack them in," smiles former computer-operative Henry. "Now, it's like being your own boss and really caring about everything you do. Plus, we get to go to the pub at midday."
Oli, however - despite the admission that he has no time for his hobbies (cheese, strolling in parks) - is determined to maintain TYK's work ethic: "We left work on Friday and were in rehearsal on Monday. We started as we mean to go on."

When are they moving to London? They're not. TYK have no interest in hanging out in cool bars with cool bands or doing coke with influential industry "insiders". "We're much happier ploughing our own furrow," says Henry. "The London scene isn't bad, but we're not from there. And we're not from Oxford either. We're always slightly outside any scene and we like it that way."

Instead, TYK are mainlining the seedy rock thrills of Telford. Yes, Telford. "That's the thing that I'm most enjoying," says House, "travelling the UK, meeting people, seeing places. We played a gig in Telford recently that was the highlight of the year."

What's next? A single, 'The Decision', in November. It is described, variously, as "driven, manic, menacing, poptastic". "It is," says House, "about having power and not realising the weight of your decisions."

Otherwise, TYK are holed-up with the aforementioned Andy Gill working on their debut album proper. "'Here Comes The Rumour Mill' is going to be a good track," reports Henry, of the work in progress. "It's about voyeurism or, certainly, observing other humans in too much detail. Its got a big chorus whatever it's about. I love it and Andy isn't that keen, so I'm enjoying the process of proving him wrong."

Go on then, why is The House Of Lords called The House Of Lords? Because, according to Henry and Oli, he is the band's grumpy second chamber, constantly vetoing their great ideas. House? "I am pretty aggressive about how I would like us to sound. I have no interest in becoming the next piss weak MOR band for music industry morons to cream their jeans over. But, if the rest of the band didn't agree with me, we wouldn't be doing it."

"Plus," he says, with a flourish - and to guffaws from the rest of the band, "all the best ideas are mine."

So what happens when you put your foot down? "I usually get told, quite unceremoniously, to 'fuck off'."

The message? They may be funny, self-deprecating fellas, but they're not messing around. The Young Knives: sharp young blades with a steely resolve.