The Vines' last tour ended with a court case and three years in recovery. The View are Britain's most riot-prone new rock explosion. So whose ideas was it to put them on tour together?

Welcome to the surprise package of 2006 -- The Vines' comeback tour. Last time it ended in handcuffs, a doctor's note and a three-year holiday, this time they've gone and brought Britain's wildest four-piece along. As far as support acts go, you'd be safer with a bomb full of snakes on a plane than The View, who specialise in turning gigs into riots and making Pete 'n Carl look like Will and Grace. One thing's for sure, they're not star-struck by their tour hosts.

"I don't know much about the Vines," confesses Kyle Falconer, broccoli-headed singer of Dundee's barnstormers. "Could you fill us in?"

So NME re-tells this cautionary tale to an eager audience. In 2002, led by Craig Nicholls, a sexy, rageful stoner with a McDonald's fetish and honours from The Muse School Of Space Cadettery, The Vines' grunge-pop debut 'Highly Evolved', was all-conquering. But live they were about as together as a K-hole full of conga eels. In 2004, a disappointing second record (the spectacularly mistitled 'Winning Days'), nomadic touring schedules and too much dope, appeared to signal the end as Craig was taken to court for assaulting a photographer at one of his gigs and subsequently diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome. Their star had not just sunk; it had exploded in a napalm tsunami of skunk psychosis and tragic failure. One face in our audience looks shocked. "What do you mean he smoked too much weed, man?" gawps The View's drummer Steve Morrison. "I smoke loads of that shit, I didn't know it could fuck with you."

Dope habits aside, the two bands share many traits: meteoric hype, unpredictable live shows and trojan digestive systems -- minutes before The View are due onstage they're gobbling pizza at a rate Craig once devoured Big Macs.

"We just watched The Vines soundcheck and they looked wicked," says Kyle through a mouthful of pepperoni and beer. "He was dancing about all over me gear," adds moody, pin-up bassist Kieren Webster. "I left him to it -- i t looked like he was in the zone." With tonight being The Vines' first UK show since his diagnosis, Kieren and Kyle's glimpse of Craig Nicholls is as close as anyone in this country has come to seeing them in years. In contrast it'd take a megatronic elephant to derail The View's clattering tour machine of spunk and booze.

"Whenever you're on a tourbus with them it's like The Lord of The Flies meets The Bash Street Kids," says 1965 Records' James Endeacott -- who, having discovered them as well as The Libertines, knows a thing or two about bad rock star behaviour.

“They’re the funniest people in the world, but also the naughtiest. Whatever they do, it always involves things which should be illegal.”

Too true. The last time NME saw Kieren, he was being chucked out of the VIP room at a Justin Timberlake gig for upsetting a bouncer, while their single launch party a few weeks ago had to be broken up by the law.

“It was a riot!” Kieren laughs. “Too many people showed up and they wanted to cancel it, but everyone started singing, ‘We shall not be moved’ until we started playing.”

“The police turned up,” lead guitarist Pete Reilly continues “but they fell over in the rush and we managed to steal ourselves two policeman’s hats!”

And where The Vines have one iconic figure, The View have a pair. Kieren and Kyle are a songwriting partnership that’s rooted in shared experience and expressed in punk-rock poetry. Tonight, they take centre stage in Nottingham with incomprehensible charisma (we’re not being colourful, their Dundonean drawl is peanut-butter thick). ‘Wasted Little DJs’ may have cracked the Top 20, but it won’t be on its own for long. ‘Superstar Tradesman’ bounds round the set, with Kyle’s youthful lungs exploding with emotion, while ‘Skag Trendy’ sees Kieren taking centre-point, bouncing his way through its drug story. Unflappable and cocky, they bitch at the crowd. “Smile! It can’t be that bad living in Nottingham,” shrugs Kyle, before flinging himself into ‘Wasteland’’s punk-rock whirl.

If the crowd are hushed, it’s in nervous anticipation over which version of The Vines is going to turn up. The chest-beating rock titans of 2002? Or the braying and unpractised band of 2004? It takes five seconds to figure out.

“Rawareorr!!!” explodes Craig Nicholls, darting onstage like a demon and diving into ‘Dope Train.’ Three minutes of pogoing later, and as the song melts into a fizz, one voice pipes up: “Welcome home!” “Thanks,” replies Craig pulling hair from his eye. “It’s great to be back.” He may be heavier than the whippet we once knew (an effect of his Asperger’s medication), but, squint as he hurls himself into ‘Outtathaway!’, and you can still make out the crazed punk-child performances of old. And gone are Craig’s indecipherable wails, the attacks on his bandmates and the unfinished songs. In their place is a lightening bolt of a show.

“Tonight was OK,” mutters The Vines’ guitarist Ryan Griffiths, post-gig, as both bands mingle backstage, “but we can do better.”

Perhaps he’s right, but for a band playing a 20-song set when five was once an ordeal it was miraculous. Craig is feeling positive too.

“Last time we were here we played some good shows and some bad ones. We’re trying to make up for the bad ones, and tonight it went well, I think…thank God.” 

“It’s a relief to be back in England,” he continues with a wry smile. “It’s like starting again. It’s all very emotional.”

Out back, The View are toasting life with the gaggle of Scottish support that trails their tours. 

“They’re really good live, aren’t they?” Pete says of the headline act. “They’ve got the tricks. We just plug in and play.”

In fact The View have just found out they’ll be plugging along side The Vines at the Carling Weekend: Reading and Leeds Festivals on Saturday, after being crow-barred into the line-up at the 11th hour. The coming weekend will also provide the new band with their very first taste of bad press.

"Fuck it, that review was wrong”, fumes Kyle over NME’s coverage of their Reading performance, three days later backstage at London’s Forum. “It said we didn’t pack the tent, but it was mobbed both times.”

The Vines are also in a reflective mood tonight. “It’s very weird being the older band,” say Craig. Ryan: “You can’t prepare anyone for a life like this. You’ve got to jump in at the deep end.”

Craig: “Last time we toured things went mad. Since I was a bit mad to begin with, I went totally mad. But now I feel good.” 

Why not? They’ve dispelled four years’ of shitty vibes in two days. 

Fast forward two hours, and the Forum’s roof is billowing as every kid inside empties their lungs into grunge-pop choruses. Having spent two hours before the show daubing stars on his face, Craig emerges onstage at rock o’clock in a cape, before setting the venues masonry quivering with bulldozing gonzo smashes like ‘Get Free’ and a climatic ‘Fuck the World.’

“We want to be bigger than we were before,” Craig grins later. “But mostly we just want to put on some amazing rock ‘n’ roll shows.” Against all odds, The Vines and The View have done just that.