Some of the more cynical of us would have seen the day I met Scotlands latest indie heros, We Were Promised Jetpacks, starting off as a bad joke...

“An African, a Scotsman and a Canadian walk into a pub....”

You can see the punchline before the joke has even begun. But no, dear readers, this is not your every day, run-of-the-mill one-liner. This is serious stuff. The real deal, if I may. Lets rewind a an hour or so...

I find myself sitting in the empty main hall of Kings Cross Scala, having just finished an interview with Frightened Rabbit’s Scott Hutchinson (read it here). Dictaphone at the ready, waiting in delight for We Were Promised Jetpacks to arrive at the venue. We were scheduled to sit down for about fifteen minutes, and talk about their debut album These For Walls, only it’s nearly stage time, and the band haven’t even arrived at the venue yet. They are driving all the way from Glasgow for tonight’s one-off gig, and, the worst has happened. No, they aren’t stuck in traffic. Their van has broken down. Their ever-so-polite publicist (yes - they have a publicist, even though the four of them are not even out of their teens yet!) tells me that they will be there soon, and makes sure I’m ok. So I sit and wait.

When the band do finally arrive, they seem in particularly high spirits, considering they have just spent the last thirteen hours in the back of a transit van. A flurry of people hurriedly begin throwing the band’s gear onto the stage in time for a quick sound-check, while the band wait calmly. I go over and introduce myself to the lads before they plug in, and they have got to be the most friendly Scotsmen I have ever met. Not even knowing me, the bands manager invites me to “go to the pub ‘n get a wee bite” In true African style, I agree.

So, soundcheck done and dusted, I, along with the band, their manager, and everyone else in tow, start making our way down toward the front door of the Scala on the soon to be never-ending quest for food. This is where I get the first moment to have a chat with frontman Adam Thompson. Looking at the band’s merchandise stall, I ask: “Who’s idea was it to have the little stickman for your bands logo?”

WWPJ: Oh, we saw that in Sweden on a road sign, or something, so thought, why not? But it was the other way round for starters, so we just flipped it over, just in case it was some kind of offensive symbol or something like that. He looks like he’s wearing a jetpack, so that suits us just fine.

With the front door to the Scala well within our sights, and the home-run for freedom and food is looking good, the bands manager is accosted by a photographer from the bands label, Fat Cat, saying that he needs to shoot some press pics of the lads. So, with stomaches rumbling, the WWPJ lads are escorted back upstairs to have their pictures taken for the next half an hour.

With time rapidly running thin, and the prospect of getting fed any time soon, the photoshoot is over, and we finally make it out of the front doors of the Scala to an onslaught of heavy traffic. So, as we stare eagerly at the little red man, I take the opportunity to quiz the lads about how they got together as WWPJ.

WWPJ: Well, we all went to school together in Scotland, and now three of us are at Uni together [only the drummer Darren Lackie is in his 20’s, and no longer in full time education]. So we’ve been friends for a long time. We’ve played together as a band for ages now, since we were about fifteen or sixteen years old.”

MD: Didn’t you guys start off by playing covers?

WWPJ: Well, we did play covers for a wee while. But that was short lived. I have to say though, when we did do covers, we blew the fucking roof off of the place we played.”

MD: Where did you play?

WWPJ: We played our old school, when we were all still at school. The kids went mental, we played a cover of Jets, Are You Gonna Be My Girl. Everyone was loving it!”

Realising how short the lads are of time, their manager decides that the first pub we come across that sells food, will have to be where we eat. But... as we step through the doors of O’Neill’s, we soon realise that the chances of getting a table are slim to none. Football is on, I think it’s a red team vs a blue team, and there are dozens of cacophonous chanting fans filling the pub to the rafters. So that food is gonna have to wait. Yates’, Wetherspoons, pub after pub, this scenario carries on for the next handful of pubs we visited, all with the same unfortunate outcome of not getting something to eat, but still the lads seem high spirited, and willing to make small talk, and just generally be incredibly polite.

After scouring the main street outside Kings Cross Station, and eventually giving up on getting anything to eat, we make our way back to the Scala, where the band are due to start playing within the next half hour. I point out a dirty little Subway where I had a breakfast roll earlier. JACKPOT! As WWPJ plough through to the front of the queue to get their Subs of the Day, I get my dictaphone out, and cross fingers that this will be my chance to talk about their incredible debut album These Four Walls. Fingers on the buzzers...

MD: So, gentlemen, do you mind if I ask a few quick questions while you tuck in to your rolls?

WWPJ: No, not at all, Frankie, what do you want to know?

MD: Well, you just recorded your album with legendary producer Ken Thomas. He has worked with some of the biggest names known to music (Queen/Bowie/Sigur Ros etc.) Were you star struck? How did it go?

WWPJ: We didn’t get much time to think about it. Ken came in every now and again. He had tinitus in one of his ears, so left us in the hands of his very capable son (and protégé) Jolian. Working with them was a real pleasure, and really natural. We recorded most of the songs live, playing as a band, rather than all doing our own separate parts and laying them over.

MD: And the album was mixed by Peter Katis...

WWPJ: Peter is a legend. He really worked some kind of magic on the album. We had it done first by someone else, and weren’t happy with it, but Peter was the guy who brought the album to life. He did an exceptional job.

MD: Do you have a release date for the album yet?

WWPJ: It’s coming out on the 15th of June, which is still a long way away, but It’s worth the wait. We’ve been playing these songs for a while, and the people who come to our shows seem keen to get it, so hopefully it will sell.

MD: What if it doesn’t?

WWPJ: We’re still proud of how far we’ve come. We’re still at university, so you know, we do have other options, but it would be great if we can carry this on for the forseeable future. We plan to make the most of the album. Not many other bands get the chance we are getting now, so we’ll just milk it for all it’s worth. [laughs]

The band came to be signed to Brightons Fat Cat Records (Animal Collective, Sigur Ros, Mum) after someone from the label was listening to some of the friends on the Frightened Rabbit Myspace page. Before even releasing a single, WWPJ have laid claim to successes, which suggest the heralding of a major talent bursting to emerge. A well recorded three-track demo was circulated, and even managed to pick up a KEXP track of the day across the Atlantic, as well as plays on national stations in the UK, such as XFM, BBC and Q radio. When asked about all the hype surrounding the band, the guys are keen to play things down.

WWPJ: We’re just taking it as it comes. Whatever good or bad. Its all just part of the fun of the experience, isn’t it?

MD: Okay, guys, before we run completely out of time, could I ask you to draw us a picture to give away as a prize on the website?

WWPJ: Yeah, sure, what of?

MD: Anything you like.

At this point, bassist Sean Smith begins drawing only what could be the most dislocated chicken I have ever seen, with the guys laughing wildly. After that, with stomachs full of ham and lettuce, and the Jetpacks lads raring to go, we make our way out of Subway, back across the road to the Scala, where the empty main hall from an hour ago is nothing more than a distant memory. As we make our way through the hordes of fans, one by one, the WWPJ lads disappear into the darkness. The next time I see them is seven minutes later, on stage, fresh faced, and still seemingly grinning about the “spastic chicken”... but that is another story, for another time.

Words & pictures > Franc Botha