In a smoke filled rehearsal room in a beat old mill in Wigan an unassuming looking hooligan crew dressed in street casual are cooking up a fierce racket. Song after song falls out of the speakers like a souped up Sex Pistols with a dash of early Verve reverb and Oasis swagger.

It’s been a long time coming but here’s a band for the disaffected youth to get into. A band that match the sullen boredom and nihilistic pent up anger of battered small-town Britain with a fistful of big anthems. Don't let them fool you, Britain is not all fancy wine bars and radio 2 jazz pop. There are still some bands out here who walk it like they talk it. Bands who live in the real world of cut price Britain who get spat out of shit schools and left on the scrapheap but are still capable of making great art. It’s the primal appeal of rock n roll. It’s you and your mates, some amps, a lot of attitude and some loud guitars. This is the Suzukis the best post Oasis band to arrive on the scene in years.

The songs are anthems, the kind of anthems they will be singing on the terraces if we had any terraces left, it’s the beery belch of real Britain. The band don’t even know themselves how good they are. Sitting here is like sitting in Denmark Street with the Pistols in 1976 as they perfected their enormous sound. The Suzukis have got that punk rock raw power, except there is no agenda here, no freaky wardrobe; just four lads having a laugh and creating a huge wall of sound.

The Suzukis deal in street poetry. They play dumb but they are smart. They hammer out their tunes knowing the simple songs are always the best. These songs will start riots, they will soundtrack drunken nights out round shit towns, they will be classics for a jukebox generation, they are the soundtrack to a wild youth. They will form the background to the first snog, the first fuck, the first bottle of cider in the park, the first joint behind the bike sheds. They will be the soundtrack for the next generation of bored youth growing up in scrapheap UK, in forgotten towns; this is the sound of council estate Britain.
Wigan has never been exotic but has a proud musical history, from the Wigan Casino which is now one of those crappy seventies shopping precincts to the Verve there has been some cool stuff going on here. Infact the Suzukis remind me of the Verve in their early days when Richard Ashcroft was mad Richard producing intense soundscapes with the same sort of northern self-contained attitude.

Chris Veasey spits his vocals out with that kind of attitude that primetime Liam had in spades. However he has also got his own manner, a brusque northern no bullshit, hands in pockets, staring into the void stance. He claims his words are about nothing but then he would! No-one up here likes to talk about girlie stuff like lyrics and poetry; you gotta avoid the snickering contempt of your peers.

The Suzukis are also brilliant musicians. Robert Warnes is a great bassist. He’s the spine of the band. The bass really hammers it out, driving the songs along with a deep, almost dub sound, but driving like the Pistols, locking with Stuart Robinson’s sweatshod drums. Adam Bamford’s guitar hammers out three chord riffs that stick in your mind but also crank up the adrenaline pile driving the songs. There’s such a great power in brutal simplicity. The guitar is ruthless, yet sneaks off into psychedelic dub soundscapes. The sort of psychedelic finery- the classic north west psychedelia- the mystic scaly kind of stuff perfected by the Stone Roses and loved by generations of bands since then. They have that indefinable weirdness and strange twist that seems to bubble out from the least likely of bands.

The Suzukis are a real gang, it’s the classic case of the band against the world and this is their ticket out of town. The sheer power of their songs reflects this and will manifest itself in their huge wall of sound when they play in stadiums next year.

They look like the kind of street youth that the Daily Mail is so scared of and have songs that everyone is going to be singing in a few months time. And Thank fuck for that because British guitar bands have got so boring recently. Everything sounds so watered down. Where’s the anger? Where’s the adrenalin? There’s got to be a band with some kind of edge. Some kind of attitude and that’s The Suzukis.

The Suzukis are in your face and their music taps into the raw aggression that is the real England.

This is England.

This is the Suzukis.