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THE YOUNG KNIVES PRESS BIOGRAPHY 2006

Want the skinny on the best 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 nine 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.”

And how's that going?

Remarkably well. Despite their sharp, serrated edges, a run of undeniably catchy singles, 'Here Comes The Rumour Mill' and 'She's Attracted To', 'The Decision', has awoken Britain to the Knives' alt.pop charms. After years of timid Pulp-style underachievement (“We’ve all got a fear of the phone. Or, rather, a fear of rejection from A&R men,” says Henry), the Knives now have singles breaking the Top 40. And a team of managers to do all that cigar-chomping PT Barnum stuff.

Are those managers busy?

Just a bit. The "unexpected crossover sensations of 2006", as every self-respecting observer is calling them, shifted 35,000 copies of their Andy Gill-produced debut album, 'Voices Of Animals And Men', in just four weeks. It is expected to go gold by Christmas. Partly, this is down to rave reviews and the boy's hectic gigging schedule. This year, they've travelled from Ibiza (!) to the Isle Of Wight, playing V, Summer Sundae, Bestival, and squeezing in myriad TV appearances, from Jools Holland to T4. More than this, however, the album - a glorious tangle of "human weaknesses" and boss tunes - has built a slower-burning, word-of-mouth momentum, too.

How come?

The only album this year to reference both the coracle (a small wicker boat) and Loughborough (a small East Midlands town), whilst sounding like some peculiar synthesis of Pixies, The Futureheads and XTC, 'Voices...' is simply 2006's most interesting album. "We really wanted the album to stand up to repeated listens," says Henry, and it does. From the exhilarating aural aggro of 'She's Attracted To' to the perfectly-turned melancholy of 'In The Pink', from the 9-5 frustrations of ‘Weekends and Bleak Days’ to the exotic, poetic 'Trembling Of Trails', TYK have proven themselves refreshingly complex. Consequently, all year long, people have found themselves returning to 'Voices...', finding new things to love about it, their affection deepening. It has been recommended to friends and friends-of-friends. And due to a low-level media campaign, people still feel like TYK are their own discovery. "People are discovering it," says Henry, dryly, "because we haven't had any 60ft posters put up."

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. British Sea Power are TYK fans, and both bands certainly 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. We try to be authentic. 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" and subsequently saluted in The Guardian's style pages, TYK's individual dress sense is notorious. There is nothing, Henry insists, contrived about it: "I've bought stuff in charity shops since I was about 16. I'm keen on being a womble. That's the good thing about living in the London commuter belt, people have got money to burn and 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."

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 always slightly outside any scene," says Henry, "and we like it that way."

What's next?

A (soon-to-be) sold out UK tour, in October. "The assault" on Europe, Australian and Japanese dates in the planning for early 2007. "We don't know what we're doing with America," muses Henry. Logistically or philosophically? "Both. We don't know if we can be arsed." TYK, who favour an "album a year work rate", would rather crack on with the next album. Indeed, there are already a handful of new tracks and b-sides (for 'The Decision', released Oct 30th) recorded. What do they sound like? Who knows? There's talk of smoothing structure, not worrying so much about recreating the songs live, keeping it punky, playing with form, progressing the sound, and lots of other muso guff. But, Henry is deliberately vague: "I don't want to throw words at it."

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. 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 'f*ck 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.