If you live in the semi-posh London suburb of Finchley, the chances are you'll already be aware of Busted. They're the three lads who moved in down the road in March - the ones responsible for the all-hours parties, the distant thump of top-volume music, and the gentle scent of unwashed dishes drifting through the spring air. If you're new to Charlie, Mattie and James, hold onto your hat: Busted are finally ready to do to the charts what they’ve already done to North London, armed only with their own brand of infectious, boysterous, balls-out guitar driven pop, with the axe-flailing cheek of Blink 182, the pop nous of Max Martin, and the best line in haircuts since Kelis last went for dinner with Lily Savage. (Which, in case you're wondering, was last Friday. Kelis had pie and mash.)

Time for some introductions. First up, James Bourne, an 18-year-old Virgo from Southend-On-Sea with two brothers and one sister. He's delicately, carefully spoken - but don't let that fool you, this boy can party with the best of them. He's as obsessed with *NSYNC as he is with Blink 182, while the alarmingly athletic chap’s spare time is spent surfing, playing tennis, and shooting pool. His dream is to sit down and write a song with Michael Jackson.

Then there's Ipswich boy Charlie Simpson, the youngest of three brothers, with the sort of modellish good looks you'd usually expect to find staring out from a billboard fronting a well-packed pair of Calvins. With tastes centering on the Deftones and Jimmy Eat World, Charlie's still only 16 (note to publicans in the Suffolk area: you've been had), and is Busted's resident posh crumpet. He dimly recalls being busted for smoking. The punishment: detention.

If you're after a bit of rough, Mattie Jay's every inch yer man. The 18-year-old Kingston boy's already had a garage single out (‘Sunshine Lover’, a collaboration with Miles Slater, on Genius Cru’s label), and has got the word geezer running through him like some extravagantly coiffured stick of rock. The sort of outspoken guy pop needs more of - he's like The Streets meets Jamie Oliver meets a little Johnny Rotten. All mouth, plenty of trouser. Obviously he’s lost count of the things for which he's been busted, but you can be sure of one thing - for every bust there's a whole catalogue of roguish misdemenours that will forever go undetected. A lifelong obsession with West Ham has equipped Mattie with the ability to look failure in the face; hardly something he'll be calling on in Busted.

The how-did-you-meets are fairly simple: Mattie met James at a gig.  The two hit it off straight away and decided to form their own band.   They needed another member and placed an ad in the music press.  Enter Charlie, accepted into the fold at the end of October last year.  They gelled, they bonded, they wrote, they recorded..., and by March 2002 they were signed to Universal.  No faffing around in 'development' for this lot: Busted came ready-formed. What you see now is what Busted are - three lads with a xxx and an ear for a killer tune. And for Matt, it fits in nicely with his haircut: "Now I can look like a dick," he guffaws, "and go 'Aha! Well it's my JOB to look like a dick!"

And there's no mistaking - if you want tunes, Busted have 'em by the lorryload. Minimalist noise fiends take note: ignore this lot at your own peril, turn away and you'll end up steamrollered by the sopisticated teen musings of these boys' aching loins. Debut single 'What I Go To School For', whose crashing guitars and high-octane pop choruses could teach Wheatus a thing or two, is a classic example. It isn't about GCSEs, an all-round grounding in society, or after-hours macrame classes. It's about teachers... Or one teacher in particular. Miss Mackenzie. "I fight my way to front of class, to get the best view of her ass / I drop a pencil on the floor, she bends down and shows me more". You get the idea. The boys are naturally reticent about naming their own individual

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