An oasis of attitude in a desert of idiocy, Mogwai are one of the few bands left with something to say...

Saturday night, and 60 miles out of Copenhagen, Mogwai are about to wreak havoc on the town of Vordingborg. For 30 minutes, they've been on stage at stars, a glitzy cabaret barn in the middle of nowhere, and for 30 minutes the crowd have been talking incessantly. A bad mistake. Because now Mogwai are going to cave their skulls in.

One. Two. Three. Here it comes. Four. The band crash to the floor as one, tearing at their guitar strings, and stamping on their effects pedals. White light bleaches the stage. Wave upon wave of feedback floods from the amps. Drinks shake on the tables. So brutally intense in the volume that everyone remains rooted to their seat. Another mistake - because Mogwai aren't going to leave until they've cleared the place.

One minute ticks by, then another. You can't move for the sheer weight of sound. After five minutes, strings are hanging from every guitar onstage and still the volume is increasing. All you can hear is noise, dog-whistle frequencies ricocheting off every wall. Occasionally there's a slight respite, as members of the band scramble towards their pedals or hurl themselves at their amps.

After ten minutes, half the crowd have their hands over their ears, the other half have left. Time for reinforcements. Suddenly there are five people smashing drums. Mogwai's manager is rolling around on the floor punching pedals on and off with his bleeding fist. Still the volume increases. It is now so loud it feels like they've blown a hole in your stomach. Twenty minutes in and strobes start to flash. The band look at one another, hurl their instruments to the floor and troop silently offstage. Stars is now empty.

Copenhagen, 24 hours later. Outside, the temperature is -50C and snow is just beginning to settle on the pavement. Inside, we're huddled in the deserted bar of tonight's venue. Across the table, with thinning hair, a black tracksuit and a demonic glint in his eye, is Mogwai's Stuart Braithwaite. Want to know what elevates his band above every other group in Britain? Well, he's about to tell you. "Mogwai have always had an agenda," he declares, steely-eyed. "it's simple, really. We fucking hate everyone. I really believe in my heart that we're one of the punkest bands in the world, We deny convention and stand up against the system. We haven't got safety pins through our noses or anything, but I think punk's about an attitude, a stance against bullshit.

"Originally it was against all that stuff like Uriah Heap, Yes and Emerson, Lake and Palmer, wasn't it? Well, to me, a lot of the really pompous, pseudo-arena bands who are kicking around Britain today are just as dated and pious as those bands were in the 1970s. Frankly, they stink of death."

And he hasn't finished there.

"I think there's been a predominant cliche that anyone under the age of 21 is a no-brained, alcopop-guzzling moron and I think if there's any political stance that Mogwai have, it's that people should expect more of themselves, and other people. The whole music industry just seems to revolve around flippancy, idiocy and incompetence. That's what we're against."

Stuart gives interviews like he plays gigs. He doesn't plan on taking any prisoners.

"The thing is, if you're in a band, do you want to be cool next week or do you want to be remembered in 20 years time? It looks to me like the last decade has been chock-a-block with short-term rubbish that no-one's going to give a shit about in the future.

"The fact that we don't incorporate singing separates us from almost ail modern music that's made. I think the bare fact that we shun the conformist ways of writing songs is as radical as Bob Dylan alerting the Southern States of America to their racist ways in the 1960s. And I honestly believe that.

Want to know why Mogwai are currently the most radical, passionate and exciting rock'n'roll band in Britain? Well, there's your answer. Not only do they make music that burns the heart and lifts the soul, but they're also one of the last bands in the country with something to say. A rare commodity indeed.

The next stage of their plan to overturn popular culture is called 'Come On Die Young'. Like its highly successful predecessor, 'Young Team' - it takes its title from a Glaswegian street gang. That, however, is where the similarities end.

Recorded deep in upstate New York with Dave Freidmann, the man behind Mercury Rev's 'Deserter's Songs', it's an album of stark, martial beauty that tears apart the traditional quiet/loud Mogwai formula - replacing unfocused blasts of noise with the icy authority of Joy Division and the dense atmospherics of The Cure's 'Seventeen Seconds'. A massive leap forward, it's not bad going for a group that only two years ago were on the point of mindless self-destruction. Formed in mid-1995 by Stuart Braithwaite and bassist Dominic Aitchison (and later joined by second guitarist John Curnmings and drummer Martin Bulloch), Mogwai's ascent was steep and rapid. After a handful of brilliant 7-inch singles, they signed to Glasgow's Chemikal Underground label in 1997, where, having recorded their debut EP, '4 Satin' - they agreed to undertake their first proper tour of Britain. And it's there the trouble really began. The support on this three-week jaunt came from Macrocosmica, the new project of ex-Teenage Fanclub and Telstar Pony member Brendan O'Hare. Within days of the tour starting, his bonhomie had overpowered Mogwai to such an extent that they'd invited him to join the band.

"We just thought Brendan was a great guy," recalls Dominic fondly, in the foyer of their Copenhagen hotel, "a total laugh. He'd just get up in the morning and make sure we were completely pissed by the time it came to a gig. We were totally out of our faces every night.

"We thought we were playing the best gigs of our lives, but all Brendan was doing was taping down keys on his keyboards and putting poppers under girls noses. We were just acting like total arseholes. All we ever did was drink. I took my first ever E in Colchester. We just crushed it up and snorted it. I was so drunk I didn't even notice it. I think we split a couple of acid tabs between us as well - it wasn't anything too excessive."

The tour climaxed at London's Highbury Garage in a near riot, as a drugged and confused band invited the crowd to smash up their equipment. The next day they flew to the US to play a couple of gigs with borrowed gear. On their return they headed straight into the studio to start recording their album. A problem, Dominic recalls, because they "didn't have any songs". When 'Young Team' eventually appeared, it was built around 'Like Herod' and 'Mogwai Fear Satan' - two towering walls of feedback that were the soundtrack to their fast unravelling sense of Unity. The recording sessions had been bitter and ill-tempered, blighted by constant petty arguments. By the end of it the band were convinced that they'd blown it.

"My mum was sick", explains Martin, softly. "The last place I wanted to be was in the studio. I remember sitting at home one night thinking, 'We've papped it'."

"I think we'd been under a lot of pressure to make the record in a short space of time" reflects Stuart. "It took us about five or six weeks but we were doing all these festivals at the same time - it was just very stressful. I was mixing until 7am most days, and there were so many problems. In the end, it probably should have been one big single."

"I remember listening to it before we'd mixed it," adds Dominic, "and I just thought, 'This is terrible. It's so bad'."

Such a judgement was to prove way off the mark. 'Young Team', with its chaotic fusion of rock'n'roll dynamics and avant-noise, was released to ecstatic reviews and subsequently went on to sell 35,000 copies in the UK alone, its success, however, did nothing to ease the tensions within the band.

The arguments continued to such an extent that Dominic and Brendan secretly decided to quit the band after that year's Reading Festival. When the time came, though, Dominic couldn't go through with it, and instead a few weeks later, Brendan was booted out for talking through an Arab Strap gig. As he stormed out of the venue, he picked up a stool and hurled it at Stuart's head. He missed, but it was clearly time for a rethink.

At the launch party for 'Young Team', Mogwai made a pact. Locked in a toilet cubicle with their trousers and pants around their ankles, they vowed that their next album had to touch the heights of either The Velvet Underground's 'White Light/White Heat' or Slint's 'Spiderland' - or else they wouldn't release it. They also agreed that 1998 would be the year they took their message to the masses. Six months of touring the UK and Europe followed, accompanied by a remix album - 'Kicking A Dead Pig' - and a radical reworking of David Holmes' 'Don't Die Just Yet'. Come September, to the amazement of just about everyone (and to the mortification of their more narrow-sighted peers), they, were invited to support Manic Street Preachers. It was an opportunity they leapt at.

"We can sit in our indie ghetto, romanticise and talk about Labradford or whatever," explains Stuart, "but in the real world we're pretty small fish. If we want to carry out our plans to change things, we realised we had to go out and play to these people.

"It ended up that we were playing for about 2,000 people every night who a) hadn't heard of us and b) were deeply offended by what we did. A small percentage liked it, but mostly people were either nonplussed or horrified. I think the fact that we wear trainers and tracksuit bottoms upset them the most."

"It just became our ambition to go out onstage and abuse them," laughs Dominic, "give them the most unpleasant 45 minutes of their lives. In Wales, they were really giving us some stick and the next thing I knew I'd got my arse out in front of 3,000 people. It was the biggest cheer we got on the whole tour."

Are you glad you did it?

"Oh yes," says Stuart adamantly. "We had a great time, the Manics were really nice to us. I must say I was quite enchanted with Nicky, I thought he was a really special guy. It's not really what I want to do, though. I'd rather play to people who are into what we do."

Nineteen-ninety-eight also gave Mogwai time to regroup and begin work on 'Come On Die Young'. Aided by the arrival of multi-instrurnentalist Barry Burns, by the autumn they'd assembled its bare bones, and after much discussion, it was agreed that Dave Fridrnann would produce it at his home studio in America. "Robin Proper-Sheppard (ex-The God Machine, now Sophia) couldn't do it," recounts Stuart, "and we were scared of Steve Albini. We made our decision around the time 'Deserter's Songs' came out, we just put it on and thought, 'This sounds fine'. I remember having some phone conversations with Dave, and he just asked me how I wanted the album to sound."

What did you say?

"I said I wanted it to sound like a cross between 'White Light/White Heat" 'Pink Moon' Nick Drake and 'Closer' by Joy Division. He just said, 'That shouldn't be a problem'. I thought, 'Oh good, maybe he's going to teach us how to play'."

In November, Mogwai flew to New York, played the CMJ music festival and then decamped to near Buffalo. Seven hours north and within sniffing distance of the Canadian border, they found themselves out off and alone in the small rural town of Cassadaga, notable only for its inhabitants' obsession with shooting animals.

"I went to the local store," frowns Dominic, "and they had all these plastic deers with rubber sides for shooting practice." "You'd look out of the window in the morning," confirms Martin, "and there'd be some guy with a rifle walking around, looking for something to shoot. One day we were in town and someone laser-sighted me in the face. My glasses went bright red. I couldn't believe it."

Dominic: "The first thing Dave said when we got there was, 'You might hear a few shots in " morning. Don't worry, it's just hunting season. Just be careful when you go out for a walk'. I just tried to stay inside as often as possible."

If that unsettled them, it was nothing compared with the pressure they put themselves under prior to recording.

"The night before we started," remembers Stuart, "I watched Hearts Of Darkness, the documentary about the making of Apocalypse Now, and I was close to tears. I just thought, 'Here we fucking go again. Here we go'." Actually, though, away from all distractions and guided by Fridmann's steady hand, Mogwai rapidly began to fashion an extraordinary, unique record. Although it lacks the bestial fury of its predecessor, Mogwai have sacrificed none of their attitude. The key to the LP is its first track. Titled simply 'Punk Rock:', it contains a two-minute sample from a bootleg Stooges video. The Mogwai manifesto delivered via the mouth of lggy Pop.

"Aye, it's a brilliant video," exclaims Stuart. "Iggy's on this TV show, talking to a complete idiot, and suddenly he just clicks, you can see something in his eyes. He's got self-belief like I've never seen before. He just goes into this rant about the ethics of punk rock and the respect owed to people who play it.

"He describes the feeling he has onstage. He says he can't feel anything and he doesn't want to. When I saw it, I couldn't believe it, my hair was standing on end. I mean, I can talk shit for Scotland, but i don't think I could put it as well as lggy does."

Do you think you're as angry now as when you started?

"I think when it comes to disgust with the music industry, I've just washed my hands of it," admits Stuart, finishing his beer. "There's everyone in London moaning about how they haven't got any money to sign bands and how they're having to sack people, and then spend this extraordinary amount of money on absolute rubbish like Gay Dad. I've kinda given up.

"Anyway, after I met Steve Lamacq (whom Mogwai used to castigate regularly in the press), I felt a bit of a twat for slagging him, because he's got a lot of belief in music and he does the best he can to get some good things on the radio. It's not his fault he has to play a load of shite most of the time. I can think of far better better targets than the Evening Session these days."

Such as?

"I don't know. The people who fucked up Xfm. I mean, as much good as NME can do by writing about music, there's nothing quite as solid as letting people actually hear it on the radio. To take away their independence just so they can peddle the same old shite. I find really, really depressing.

"There's loads of other things as well. The fact that people say to all these bands, all these major label shitbags that they can go and record anything they want and then they go and make this insipid, plagaristic drivel. That really saddens me too."

Do you feel you've always got to be fighting against something?

"Yes, we always have done. The whole catalyst for us making music was because me and Dominic were in our bedrooms listening to Rodan and Joy Division, and then we'd step out of the door and just get hit with Sleeper and Blur.

"We were told they were the be-all and end-all, and everyone had to be a happy chappy down the Barrel & Monkey. The venom we felt towards all these fucking cunts in tight Adidas T-shirts was the reason we got off our arse to do something." Stuart grimaces. Its not the memory of Brit more a question of Adidas. I mean, everyone knows that Kappa is the only thing to be seen in these days. Well, for Mogwai anyway - mainly because they are sponsored by them - but also because being in this group is such a rigourous discipline it requires a uniform.

"It's what full-on neds wear in Glasgow," enthuses Domonic.

"It's a whole new style movement," expands Martin. "It's called sportz goth."

"All you need is some black sporting outfits," pipes up John. "It's really that simple"

"If you want to do it in stages," continues Dominic, "start with a pair of black trainers."

Martin: "You don't have to listen to The Rose of Avalanche or anything like that. Just listen to us. We're pioneers of sportz goth."

"Yeah, concludes Dominic. "It's brilliant."

Three hours later, the band are taking sportz goth to the Danish. Live at the Purnpehuset (Copenhagen's venue of legends), the band are proving yet again exactly why so many people have succumbed to their charms. For an hour, they play a set that's as deft and as fragile as any they've ever attempted, as they fuse the strung-out rock'n'roll of Spiritualized and Primal Scream with the taut post-rock atmospherics of Labradford and Low. They end, though, in trademark style. Tonight, joined by their road crew, manager and NME's snapper, they launch such a vicious and lengthy assault on 'Like Herod' that when Dominic finally leaves the stage - the last to do so, after almost half-an-hour of chaos - he finds that blood is seeping from his ears.

In the dressing room afterwards, there's a manic atmosphere. Mogwai might be Britain's most uncompromising avant-punk space-rock noise band, but - unlike most revolutionaries - they're not po-faced about it. Exhilarated and excited, they've already got one eye on the future. "I think 'Come On Die Young' is the first time we've felt proud of a record we've made, but I still don't think we've done anything as original as (My Bloody Valentine's) 'Isn't Anything' yet," smiles Stuart, modestly.

"The next thing I want to do with guitars Is to become more like Nick Drake. He was a visionary and I want to learn how to be like that. One thing we're not going to do is to sit on our laurels. In fact, tomorrow I'm going to go home and write four songs that we can play on our tour. Right now, I'm ecstatic because we can do what the fuck we want."

He's right. By refusing to compromise Mogwai have worked themselves into an untouchable position. And they're determined to enjoy it. The excesses of the Brendan O'Hare days haven't disapeared completely. When we bid them farewell a few hours later on, the scene's every bit as devastated as a venue after one of their gigs. Stuart's standing in the middle of the room trying to convince anyone Who'll listen that he's the reincarnation of Jimi Hendrix. In the far corner, Barry, John and join are slumped on the floor giggling hysterically. And the fast thing we hear as we head for the door is Martin telling his bemused manager about the new skill he's just acquired:

"l'm talking through my feet, I'm talking through my ankles. When I see a dog, I say, 'Woof'. When I see a cat, I say, 'Miaow'.'

We wave goodbye.

'Miaow," says Martin.

Miaow, we reply. See you on the other side.


Mogwai's guide to those that sold out and those that didn't...

NO SELL OUT

Iggy Pop
"He was the true master of punk and the greatest singer the world has ever known. 'The Idiot' is my favourite album by him, but The Stooges 'Fun House' is the most primal rock record I've ever heard. He's also the greatest performer, and it's highly commendable that he isn't dead. He sells beer? So what? Everyone's got to pay the rent."

Stanley Kubrick
"He just never compromised. His films have got a tremendous asthetic to them, you can always tell they're his. They've got a very stripped down, unemotional feel to them. He excelled at so many types of film

Batman
"The greatest detective who ever lived. He's on a crusade to avenge the death of his parents, which is very noble, and he's not afraid to break a few heads. I like his style. And his outfit. He's very cool."

Johnny Rotten/Lydon
"He's probably the wittiest man who ever lived. I've never seen him in a conversation with someone where he hasn't reduced the other to the size of a maggot within seconds. I'm happy for him to make as many bad records as he wants now, as long as I can lsiten to 'Never Mind the Bollocks' and 'Metal Box', and watch him take the utter cunt out of Terry Christian on television."

Joy Division
"They were the purest musical group. They were inspired by the Sex Pistols, they went out and learnt to play, and took on influences like Kraftwerk, using them in a way that had never been done before. They're one of the only bands who really did pick themselves out of the gutter, before going on to make the most fantastic music. They summed it up by calling their first EP 'An Ideal for Living'."


SELL OUT

Blur

"The copying of Spiritualized on their last single, 'Tender', was on of the laziest and poorest pieces of music I've ever heard. Still, no change there. They just put musicians to shame."

Oasis

"Although Oasis have made some very, very good records, they've done a U-turn on the way they present themselves. At the moment, they seem to be the token oiks hanging about with the Aristocracy. It goes against everything that people liked about them in the first place."

Glasgow Rangers Football Club

"We just hate Rangers. They're Rangers. That's all there is to it."

Boyzone

"An industry has grown up selling shit to kids, and I think Boyzone are the most obvious example of that. The kids deserve better."

Add N to (X)

"They're art-school pretentious numpties, who seem to think they've invented the wheel when all they're doing is a Krautrock-ish version of what Gary Numan was doing in the '80s. I saw a documentary about them on Channel 4, and all they went on about was how the shape of buildings around them affected their songs. They give musicians who try to do something a bad name. People will think we're like that and we're not."