In the back of a black people-carrier, en route to the BBC Television Centre in White City, the creative core of Kasabian is coming face to face with rock history. Leafing through The Moment, a collection of work by the iconic rock photographer Jill Furmanovsky, who is shooting the band for THE EYE, the singer Tom Meighan and guitarist Sergio Pizzorno, both 23, sit cooing with delight. There’s Sid Vicious, oozing stoned arrogance. There’s Pink Floyd’s Dave Gilmour, rake-thin and beautiful. There’s Joy Division, impossibly young, irrefutably cool. And at each turn of the page, the pair utter the same single word: “Legend!”

To many critics’ confusion, Kasabian currently elicit a similar response from young indie-rock fans. While the music press were enthusing over the art pop of Franz Ferdinand and Razorlight, the four-piece from Leicester were viewed as a passable electro-rock hybrid of XTRMNTR-era Primal Scream and the Stone Roses. The consensus was that Kasabian were little more than transient baggy beat revivalists.

With the release of their self-titled debut album in October, however, Kasabian’s career suddenly shot into overdrive. The album’s chart success sparked off a scramble to see the band live, which shifted 17,000 tickets in just six days. Their show at the 8,000 capacity Alexandra Palace in London sold out in a similar time, and in July Kasabian are headlining Hyde Park.

But how have they struck such a resounding chord with the gig-going public? “Because we’re characters,” states Pizzorno, simply. “I see black-and-white photos of Keith Richards or John Lennon and every line on their face tells a story. They had presence, like the Gallaghers. What have you got now? Other than our band, there are no characters.”

Kasabian, though, aren’t being entirely honest. From the moment they picked up their guitars, they have been acting out the rock’n’roll dream, inspired by the soap opera of Liam and Noel Gallagher.

“This band was formed because of Oasis,” admits Pizzorno. “They looked cool and they didn’t give a f***. They were interesting. If they were going to an award ceremony or doing an interview, you’d read something that made you laugh or inspired you in some way. They were real rock’n’roll stars.”

So the first step for the nascent Kasabian, who were friends from school, was to project themselves into the role in much the same way that the young, hungry and ambitious Oasis did with Rock’n’Roll Star, the first salvo from their debut album, Definitely Maybe. They clearly picked up enough authenticity to convince Liam Gallagher, who proclaimed Kasabian to be “a proper band with a cool attitude”. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the band have become notorious for their debauched exploits on tour — once again living the rock myth to the full. “We’re enjoying the hedonistic state,” smiles Pizzorno.

At the BBC to record a live performance for Tonight with Jonathan Ross, Kasabian seem anything but dissolute, however. Everything from the set to Ross himself elicits a wide-eyed “legend!” from Meighan, while backstage they are professional and sweet. “They are a very touchy-feely band,” notes Furmanovsky, between shots. But then what some label pantomime, Kasabian call romance. The electronic element of their music, for instance, comes from a love of the 1980s rave culture.

“When we were teenagers, we thought we’d be cool and rebel against proper music and own these dirty little rave tapes,” explains Meighan. “We were too young to actually go to the raves,” says Pizzorno. “It was this magical place that we never got to see.”

Kasabian offer the same mirage to their teenage fans, an instantly recognisably cipher for rebellion, danger and adventure. Whether you’ll find them offensive or tiresome will depend on how many times you have seen the same charade paraded for a pay cheque — or if you still believe that rock’n’roll should mean something more than mere entertainment.

Asked about naming themselves after Linda Kasabian, who was Charles Manson’s getaway driver, Pizzorno is suitably blank. “It’s a cool name. We just liked the sound of it.” Is it cool to be associated with a racist, rapist and murderer? “I don’t know. I just like the name,” Pizzorno replies. It’s when they’re at their most dumb and basic, when there is as little clutter as possible between Kasabian and the rock’n’roll template, that the band make the most sense. Running through a soundcheck for Club Foot, Kasabian strike a balance between a simple fuzz groove and a basic “la la la la la” chant that is genuinely affecting.

“It’s easy to be a miserable bastard,” Pizzorno shrugs. “It’s the easy way out. I want to say: ‘He’s a legend.’ I want to have my heroes.”

And so, it seems, does everyone else.

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