Too Pure

Matthew Evans (vocals/guitar) Gwion Rowlands (guitar) Sion Glyn (bass)

The Keys are a band from Cardiff, Wales. They've released three singles - 2002's 'Gurl Next Door' this year's 'Strength Of Strings' and 'Love Your Sons And Daughters' - and they're just about to release their debut album, 'The Keys'. But as usual with these things, there's always a spot of troublesome history to get out the way. We'll be quick.

There was once a band called Murry The Hump. Formed by four college friends in Aberyswyth in the late '90s, they scored an NME Single Of The Week, were dubbed by Blur's Alex James as "the best unsigned band in Britain" and their debut album proved that they were an intelligent, literate pop band that wore their misfit status like a badge of pride.

The outfit scored a record deal with Too Pure. But all was not well within the band. "We formed Murry the Hump for fun, and it wasn't fun anymore," explains Matth. "It lost its way. There was a bit of self-sabotage going on, loads of bickering. We had the opportunity to do an album, and we took it. But me and Gwion had been fantasising about being in another band for a long time." So they split and from the disbanded Murry the Hump came The Keys.

There was a bit of soul-searching. Some dreadful names. "At one point we were going to be called Astronaut's Wife," winces Matt. But finally, The Keys - a glorious new band rocking out of step with the times, the sound of potential finally realised. Prompted by the sound of Bob Dylan, Duane Eddy, Carl Perkins, the Everly Brothers, and Leadbelly, they're the sound of pre-Beatles rock'n'roll - the clean ring of a Gibson guitar, the spring reverb of a Fender amp. Yes, The Keys write music that sounds classic, that harks back to the past. "Maybe 'authentic' is a dirty word," shrugs Matth, "But tough! I've got to love the tunes."

Tempted by home comforts, the band spread out over Wales. Gwion stayed in Cardiff. Bassist Siôn settled back in his hometown of Bethesda. And Matth chose to return to his home town of Resolven, setting up home in a house inherited from his grandparents. Resolven is a tiny picturesque idyll tucked in the Western tip of the Welsh valleys. There's a canal, and a waterfall, and a pub. There's no Virgin Megastore. But it proved the perfect place to set up kit, turn up the amps, and play some fucking loud rock'n'roll. "We're up on the mountainside, so we can make as much noise as we want," explains Matth, "We play 'til gone midnight some nights, and there's no complaints. It's perfect."

Driven by his phobia of professional recording studios, Matth set up a defiantly lo-fi home studio: analogue four-tracks and eight-track to capture the music, a whirring Dictaphone for the vocals. And with Elliot Jones of fellow Resolven band El Goodo on drums, Super Furry Animals collaborator Kris Jenkins on percussion, and pedal-steel-for-hire John Catfish supplying the country licks, it was here that The Keys' debut album took shape.

'The Keys' was made on the cheap, but it doesn't sound rough. In fact, it sounds clear, beautiful, true. 'Strength Of Strings' is the band's stab at The Great American novel - a breathless two minutes of rock'n'roll that sounded like Dick Dale and the Deltones kicking over Brian Wilson's towering sandcastles.

'Love Your Sons And Daughters' is a one-chord snarl of primitive caveman skiffle with a snarl and a grudge and a battered leather jacket slung over one shoulder. 'Gurl Next Door', a memory of sunny Aberyswyth days, of puppy love and tumbles in overgrown meadows. And the closing 'Animus' is a sigh in slow-motion, a spectral, windswept take on an old folk song that finally bows out after eight minutes of sombre reflection.

But we've said enough. If you're still reading here, you really should stop and put it on.