KEY POINTS:
The view's reputation precedes them. In the run-up to meeting the biggest band to come out of Dundee, Scotland, since The Associates (ask your uncle), the warnings came thick and fast.
"You're not going to understand a word of what they're saying," I'm told by all and sundry. "You should take a translator." "They're a bunch of rascals." "They hate journalists."
One wily music writer managed to squeeze an entire feature out of a 10-minute interview, which was halted by hungover members of the band falling asleep. Another was interrupted by one of them throwing up on his own shoes. By the time I arrive for our interview I'm expecting the worst.
What I'm faced with, are three sleepy-eyed young men, covered in mysterious scratches, scabs and bruises, milling about in their dressing room, surrounded by various hangers-on and crew members.
Drummer Steve Morrison has gone awol, but the other three each greet me with the kind of nonchalantly limp handshake a teenage boy would give to a particularly boring family friend. Which isn't surprising, since they're all aged 19 or 20. Then they proceed to ignore me, and cackle over a copy of the music magazine NME. Apart from pretty-boy bass player Kieren Webster, that is, who burns his arm with a lighter and scowls.
After a year spent on every British rock critic's "ones to watch" list, The View's moment has arrived - and they're quickly learning the pros and cons of being the band of the moment. No wonder they're looking so bedraggled.
Their sparky debut album Hats Off to the Buskers outdid everybody's expectations and hit the number one spot in Britain, after single Same Jeans took up residence in the UK Top 10.
Everybody wants a piece of The View. But The View aren't giving anything anyway.
They stare forlornly from a sofa, like schoolboys in detention. The first few minutes are excruciating. I ask them how the tour is going. "S'all right." How does it feel to have a number one album? "Amazing." Did they expect it, so early in their career? Unfailingly polite guitarist Pete Reilly shrugs, "Just hoped, not expected." Was it the best time in the band's life? Kyle Falconer: "Pretty much."
If anything, their lack of media-friendliness is refreshing - it's part of their appeal, as it were. There's no starriness here, no media training. I ask them when the band became a serious career prospect, and Kieren says: "It's never become a serious thing. Other people want it to be serious, but we don't want it to be serious."
And he's right - people are working overtime to turn The View into stars. And so far, it's working.
When I arrived at the venue at 5.30pm, a queue was already snaking its way down the street. The fever surrounding the band is understandable: they've re-ignited a tired indie scene dominated by precocious stage-school alumni. There's nothing learned about The View, nothing mannered. Most importantly, they've got the tunes - great tunes, that cross-fertilise the jangle-rock romance of The Libertines with the swagger of early Oasis.
It's not science, it's certainly not Sonic Youth, and it's not trying to be. But they mean it - and they wear that sentiment on their sleeves; in Kieren's case, on his skin. The name of his band is etched, Libertines-style, on his upper arm.
Ah, The Libertines. One mention of Pete Doherty and Carl Barat's short-lived wonder, and the band visibly soften. "I love them," says Kyle. "And we never even got to see them live ... " adds a dreamy-eyed Kieren, who finally stops trying to set himself alight. In many ways, The View are eternally indebted to Pete Doherty - and not just musically.
Kyle admits: "It all started when we played with Babyshambles. That's when we started getting a lot of people on our MySpace and stuff ... "
The support slot in question came about when Kyle approached the Babyshambles frontman with a demo; impressed by what he heard, Doherty asked them to open for his band that very night. A tour followed, James Endeacott (who "discovered" The Libertines) signed them to Sony BMG imprint 1965 Records - and the rest, as they say, is history. Including Pete Doherty, it seems.
"He's a hard person to keep in contact with," admits Kyle. "We last saw him in Fabric at a Love Music, Hate Racism gig. And he went, 'Oh you boys have been busy'."
And there was the small matter of Steve being arrested with everyone's favourite junkie, for driving the wrong way down a one-way street - but I never have the chance to ask him about it: after popping his head round the door and treating me to another limp handshake, he makes a swift exit.
Being bothered by journalists, travelling around the world, having girls fall at their feet, hit records, being arrested with notorious rockstars - it's all a long way from the Dryburgh housing estate near Dundee where all four grew up. I ask how long they've known each other, and they mumble "forever", "all our lives". They've been playing together for years, including a requisite dodgy covers stage.
"We used to do that when we went to school," says Kyle. "We never had any intention of making money off it; we just did it because we enjoyed it. We used to play Oasis and the Beatles covers ... "
The View were officially formed two years ago; they got their name from Dundee's Bayview pub, where they held rehearsals.
At the time, success seemed unimaginable. Kyle says: "I was a brickie, Pete was a joiner ... [Steve] was a butcher."
Pete, in fact, was in the middle of a four-year apprenticeship, which his parents were keen for him to complete.
"They wanted me to have something to fall back on, but it doesn't work like that, really." But they've made everyone back home proud.
"Everyone in Dundee's gone mental," says Kyle. "Dundee doesn't have success like that, not since The Associates."
But when I ask them about their plans, they look mournful.
"Make another album," says Kyle. "Going to America soon," mumbles Pete. "I feel bad about complaining about it sometimes," Kyle goes on, "but we work really hard. We want to see our girlfriends and stuff." "It's not just that," says Kieren. "We need to write more songs too."
An hour later, when The View take to the stage, it's clear this was just a spot of tired despondency. I watch them from the wings; their young fans are squashed together and wide-eyed with glee, shouting back every word of the album.
The slumped boys from backstage are nowhere to be seen. Kieren - the grumpiest interviewee of the lot - still in a wine-stained stripey T-shirt, prances around like a pixie; Pete struts at the front; Kyle sings with shuddering intensity. Steve is, well, there. And in between each song, the audience chant: "The View, The View, The View are on fire!"
The View are no performing monkeys, but they're articulate where it counts: on stage. And they're having the time of their lives.
- Independent
Lowdown
Who: The View, Dundee's Next Big Things
Where: Kings Arms, Monday (Queen's Birthday)
Album: Hats off to the Buskers out now through SonyBMG
