In the studio with Kasabian: 'We never thought we'd see success again'

"A little bit of hunger is good for you," says Serge Pizzorno. "Keeps you going."

The Kasabian frontman is describing a typical day in his home recording studio.

Snacks and phones are banned, but he might screen a film in the background (typically something by David Lynch) while he tinkers with his vast array of synths and guitars.

"No distractions, four or five hours a day. I like to work fast.

"I even cut out the lunch break."

It's a big change from Kasabian's early days, where he'd "live the French poet life", staying up for three days straight, seeking inspiration at the limits of human endurance.

"That can be great," he says. "It adds to the atmosphere of a record. But for the last three albums, I've pretty much led a structured life, and I'm really digging it."

Serge has welcomed the BBC into his studio to preview Kasabian's ninth album, Act III, 10 days before its release.

To get there, you drive deep into rural Leicestershire, to a gated house where you're greeted by his wife, Amy, and two gorgeous but "unruly" dogs.

A framed photo of Kasabian's recent Finsbury Park gig sits in bubble wrap at the foot of the stairs. Serge's own artworks, including a distorted Count Duckula and a vintage apothecary cabinet, decorate the kitchen.

He shuffles in from a side room, effortlessly cool in his dog-print designer shirt, external, and leads us outside. Stepping over a pile of discarded Nerf guns, we pass through a gate into a secret walled garden.

There sits the studio, an austere black cube jutting into the countryside, guarded by a giant sculpture of a gorilla.

As we enter, a pharmacist's sign lights up with the studio's nickname, "The Sergery" (a pun stretched to its limits in 2025 when Serge became an honorary doctor of music).

In the corner, a gong sits in silence, waiting to be struck. And four bobblehead Kasabian dolls (rescued from the Call video, external) nod in unison as Serge cues up the new music.

He plays us Soulmate, a funny and affectionate tribute to Amy, powered by a peacocking guitar riff. Then it's Say You (Closer), whose message of togetherness brims with gorgeous three-part harmonies.

It's the closest Kasabian have ever come to sounding like The Eagles; and the thought of recreating on stage live is giving the musician jitters.

In rehearsals, "there are moments where it does sound like the Eagles, and there are moments where it sounds like three pissed up people in a pub," he laughs.

"What I'm going to do, hopefully, is get the crowd to do that bit."

He may be joking, but the album's focus on Tunes You Can Sing™ is entirely deliberate.

"I feel like it's not a very melodic time in music," Serge says. "So I was personally yearning for hooks and verses that are as powerful as choruses. Like an Elton John song where the melody just breaks your heart."

He goes full Elton on the single Hippie Sunshine, external, whose lairy, chanted chorus is suddenly interrupted by a twinkling piano breakdown.

"I love those 60s songs like Good Vibrations and Baron Saturday, where the middle is just a handbrake turn, and you go, 'Where the hell am I now?'" says Serge.

"The first few times you hear it, you're like, 'Oh, that's weird'. Then you get used to it, and it becomes the exciting bit, the part everyone waits for."

But the musical contrasts in Hippie Sunshine serve a bigger purpose.

The verses are a critique of soulless tech oligarchs whose algorithms dictate our lives ("the heroes are running on empty," Serge seethes). The bridge is the sober awakening, where the elite suddenly realise: "I'm a stone-cold killer".

"We find ourselves, somehow, at the whim of people whose intentions we don't really understand," he says.

"They're playing around with culture, and we don't really know why, or where it's going to end."

He sees the results in his teenage boys.

"If you just shout, 'Get off your phone, get off your phone', no-one wants to hear that.

"But you can subtly educate them that spending 10 hours on [the screen] is not going to do you any favours.

"Then they sit at a bus stop and, rather than get the phone out, they go, 'You know what? I'm just going to sit in these thoughts for a minute'.

"I definitely wouldn't have got to where I am now, without moments where I was just alone, thinking, 'How do I get out of this place? I want more'."

Unsurprisingly, he's no fan of AI.

"For it to write your songs for you, I just personally find that that's taking away the bit that I like doing. Like, why would I?"

The mistake, he thinks, is that AI companies have equated writing with tedium. For Serge the studio is a playground.

"What I've learned is that the tiny little sparks are really important.

"You don't have to be too grandiose, like, 'We need a big song we can play for the rest of our lives'.

"You just think, 'That synth in the corner looks fun. I'm gonna plug it in, mess around for 10 minutes, and see what happens.'"

Eager to demonstrate, he hooks up his newest toy (a tiny desktop synth called the Moog DFAM) and tweaks its copious knobs and dials.

"I can't read instruction manuals, but I've watched YouTube tutorials," he says, generating a growling bass line that sounds like the dawning of the apocalypse.

"You see! That's a song right there!"

To capture those moments of inspiration, everything in the studio is automatically recorded.

But Kasabian are selective about the music that gets released. Act III is a compact 10 songs. The guiding principle was that each one should be good enough for the setlist.

They've been previewing the album all summer, from Japan to Turkey. And in June, they delivered the biggest headline show of their career, in London's Finsbury Park.

It's a remarkable turn of events. Just six years ago, Kasabian sacked singer Tom Meighan, one day before he was convicted of assaulting his partner.

"The pain was unbearable," says Serge, "But we couldn't let the story end there.

"This is my life's work, in a way, so we had to give it a go."

Serge stepped up as frontman and, to his surprise, Kasabian gained a new lease of life.

Today, their shows are more theatrical and more communal, shedding (some of) the beer-soaked rowdiness of their first incarnation.

Commercially, they're at the top of their game, too. If Act III tops the charts next week, Kasabian will beat Led Zeppelin's tally of having seven consecutive studio albums go to number one.

"That's why Finsbury Park meant so much, because we never thought we'd have days like that again," says Serge.

Becoming the frontman has "changed my life completely", he adds.

Instead of drinking to prepare for a show, he runs (inspired by his wife, who is just 46 seconds shy of a championship place at the London Marathon).

"It's been a seismic shift in my whole being.

"I want people to leave these shows with memories that are laser-beamed into their brains for the rest of their lives. So it's a commitment to that attitude, and getting fit's been a major part of it."

It's hard to imagine this man, quietly sipping a cup of tea in his slippers, commanding crowds of thousands.

He agrees.

"If you saw the kid I was at school, you wouldn't be like, 'Okay, that's definitely someone that's gonna be a singer'.

"But I have no real control once I get on stage. It turns out my natural disposition is pure energy, because I just feel the music."

So, is it true he'll bring that energy to Oasis's rumoured Knebworth shows next summer?

"I've not heard that rumour," he says. "But who wouldn't do it if they were asked?"

Whatever happens, Kasabian are on an upward trajectory.

There are even plans for a 10th album taking shape on a whiteboard in the corner of the studio.

"You're naughty!" he says when I mention it. "That's what I get for having a journo looking about the studio.

"But yes, that's exactly right. The fishing rod is out, and I'm looking for a big fish."

But I thought he wanted to skip lunch?