ALTHOUGH THIS SUCCESS seems fairly meteoric for a band that only formed in March 2006 (“I’m Not Gonna Teach” debuted at No. 11 on the U.K. charts, while the considerable Stateside blog buzz has yet to translate into gaudy numbers), their roots go back over a decade and span several guises. Reggie, Snow, and Holmes have done time together in sundry ska, Southern-rock, and punk bands, but despite the varied genres, all of the pre–Black Kids outfits had something in common.

“These were faith-based rock groups,” Reggie says, bleary-eyed over coffee and OJ in their hotel bar in Manchester. “Jacksonville is a huge Baptist town.” In fact, their Christian-rock past was highly lucrative for several years, netting them a “shit ton of money,” he says, at sold-out 700-capacity venues such as the town’s Murray Hill Theatre. (Curiously, this admission hasn’t yet sparked a hipster backlash the way the revelation of Cold War Kids’ similar history did.) But it wasn’t until they called the two girls in and formed Black Kids that the march toward modest secular glory began in earnest. “We had aspirations to play outside the town,” Reggie says. “We wanted something to leave behind, a properly pressed CD of some sort. But that was about it.”

A quiet, pensive guy, Holmes puts down his sandwich and copy of The Brothers Karamazov to wax surprisingly nostalgic for his time as a local newspaper reporter in Jacksonville. “I could have happily done that for the rest of my life,” he admits, adding that his favorite part of working on Partie Traumatic was editing the liner notes.

For a while, it looked like Holmes would be filing provincial stories on lost dogs and town planning until retirement; Black Kids were playing the same two venues again and again, and were losing patience. However, a breakout performance at last summer’s Athens PopFest in Georgia hinted at the hype to come, and by the time they hit New York for the CMJ Festival in October, the momentum was palpable. For a band that had only played a handful of gigs, it was perhaps inevitable that these performances couldn’t live up to expectations. An amp broke; the sets were unpolished; the blogs, skeptical. And yet there was the Wizard of Ahhhs EP: four perky lo-fi pop gems posted on MySpace to silence the naysayers—more than some artists manage on a whole album.

Crucially, the band members did what they could to ignore the online-hype maelstrom. “No one wants to be a buzz band,” Reggie sighs, slouching in his chair, clearly weary of this topic. “People get incredibly caught up in things that we’re just not interested in, like blogs and hype and how music is distributed. We could care less about all that stuff.” However much the band protest, though, the write-ups—both positive and negative—are hard to ignore. Reggie admits he reads them sometimes, but says he “trusts [his] own judgment.” He says he derives some pleasure from “irking” people and finds it creepy when the band receives gushing praise. And he’s not afraid to let a little playful smugness puncture his modesty as he gauges the differences between Black Kids’ reception at home and abroad.

“American fans typically tell us post-gig, ‘ That was fucking awesome,’” he says. “While English fans tell us, ‘That was fucking wicked.’”

“I TEND TO STICK TO AFFAIRS OF THE HEART AND GROIN. NINE OUT OF TEN POP SONGS ARE ABOUT PENIS AND VAGINA.“ REGGIE YOUNGBLOOD

The Kids play Sheffield, June 9, 2008

THAT BRITAIN SO far has fallen for Black Kids harder than America may well have something to do with the Anglophilic appropriation on display throughout Partie Traumatic. Recorded in 17 days (“We needed about six more hours,” Holmes half jokes), the album was produced by ex-Suede guitarist Bernard Butler, who’s worked with Duffy, the Libertines, and the Cribs. Snow and the Youngbloods grew up feasting on the British indie rock, like that of Oasis and Pulp, that crept onto MTV more than a decade ago. When I tell him “I’ve Underestimated My Charm (Again)” is pure Jarvis Cocker, Reggie says, “That’s not unfair. I stole quite a bit from that man.”

Robert Smith is the robbery victim more commonly cited in Black Kids descriptions; the album is redolent of jauntier Cure records like Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me, blending upbeat arrangements with self-deprecating lyrics, but Reggie downplays that parallel. “Anyone who’s conscious of pop music knows their singles,” he shrugs. “But not once has anyone sat down at rehearsal and said, Okay guys, like in ‘Disintegration,’ I want this. I’m surprised no one’s mentioned the Rentals—we’re not as heavy as some of their songs, but we loved the first record, blatant pop with synthesizers and boy/girl vocals.”

Partie Traumatic is being released in the U.S. on Columbia, a scenario that once upon a time would have been considered a dream ticket but could now seem antiquated and potentially even detrimental to a young, independent-minded band on the make. “Sub Pop wasn’t calling,” Reggie says. “Matador wasn’t calling. Merge wasn’t calling. I’ve always wanted to be on Merge, but they weren’t having it.”

They seem comfortable with their new home; Rick Rubin’s association with the label, plus its heritage (Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen) and its willingness to take

chances on younger acts like MGMT were all selling points. Unsurprisingly, Black Kids won’t reveal the size of their advance, but it’s less than they were offered elsewhere, and they’re not worried about the pitfalls of going major—if they’re dropped, they’re dropped. “We just want a semblance of a career, something to look back on and be proud of. A cute little catalog to peruse in our old age,” Reggie says. “Which will be our mid-30s.”

Lyrically, their debut isn’t exactly life-changing, as he is the first to admit. “I tend to stick to affairs of the heart and groin,” he says. “Nine out of ten pop songs are about penis and vagina.” Not a particularly Baptist sentiment. “We do take some of those spiritual themes [from our former bands], but they’re looked at from a different perspective. So instead of a song about how two people are waiting until marriage to have sex, it’s about a guy who’s desperately trying to get a girl to compromise her purity.”

If you want a further pointer on how they approach the whole sex-before-marriage issue, you only need catch Holmes’ smirk as he recounts the multitude of conquests the band notched up on their recent American tour with Cut Copy. Ali, on the other hand, promises she hasn’t gotten laid at all on this U.K. trip. (“Not yet,” she says with a wink aimed worrisomely in my direction, three minutes after we first meet.)

Outside Academy 3, a gaggle of civilians have crowded around the tour bus. “They really appreciate our output, and they just want to express that,”

Reggie says of the burgeoning groupie contingent, “but that hasn’t always manifested into hand jobs or anything.” Four taxis arrive to squire the band and a few lucky output-appreciators to a gay electro club somewhere in town. Oblivion beckons, followed by the trip to Lancaster tomorrow and the chance to do it all over again.

GE T MORE WATCH AN EXCLUSIVE VIDEO INTERVIE W WI TH BLACK KIDS AT SPIN.COM/ BLACKKIDS