Drenge, first over the hill and leaders for what a few commentators are calling the return of grunge music, still live with mum and dad.

Given the sound made famous by Nirvana was filled with vitriol about the boredom of youth and small-town suburban life, the current set-up has surely helped fuel Eoin and Rory Loveless’s groaning, moaning, brutish sound.

“I didn’t like growing up in Castleton,” says Eoin matter of factly, speaking from high up on a moor in the Peak District near Sheffield.

“I decided taking a gap year was what I should be doing with my time. And when I spent most of it unemployed I got angrier and angrier, and the more gigs we played, the angrier and louder we got.”

The Loveless brothers – Eoin 21, Rory 20 – grew up in the seemingly sleepy Peak District village famous for its caves and caverns and a slurry of cement works.

Eoin trotted up to university in York after his gap year but jacked in the studies a year later when interest in the band brought a deal with Infectious.

At the same time, Rory had been doing an art foundation in Chesterfield and the siblings used to meet in Sheffield to rehearse.

“It was so difficult to meet up. As soon as we got the record deal we stopped what we were doing, finished the album and we’ve been touring since then.”

All the touring means home is, for the moment, the nation’s Holiday Inn Expresses.

“We pretend we are travelling salesmen and our only job is to play music,” continues Eoin, wandering about on the hilltop, next to a mobile communication mast, with the wind gusting down the phone as if he were lost in the Arctic tundra.

“We exist as all the other men did, but we just don’t wear suits or polo necks with the name of our landscaping company on it.”

There’s a long blank as a gust muddies the line.

Eoin is saying something about Drenge’s debut record, made with only guitars and drums and vocals as instruments, as being an attempt to make themselves heard.

“It was the easiest way to make the most amount of the noise possible. At the beginning that was definitely the aim. It was something for us to do and it was a way to get rid of the frustrations we both had about different things.”

The notion of the honeypot village is obviously misunderstood. Eoin sings about creepy old men with young girlfriends, mutilated animals and the oppressive stench of manure.

Drenge is the Danish word for “boys” and was chosen because “it didn’t have any connotations, is not an English word and sounded onomatopoeic. Also, we just liked how horrible it sounded.”

The self-titled debut has been lovingly received by the music press.

It’s come as a surprise to Eoin, who says the industry missed a trick by ignoring another Yorkshire band, Pulled Apart By Horses.

“I didn’t think people liked rock music. I thought it was the least fashionable thing you could possibly listen to, which is partly why we’ve been making it for the past three years.

“It’s strange and it’s weird how all the reviews seem to pick up on the fact that there aren’t that many bands playing loud, in-your-face guitar music.

“It’ll be Eagulls next,” he adds. Though don’t start bandying around words like “movement”; despite the grunge tag, Drenge will stay well clear of that.

“Eagulls play a lot better and louder and distorted and more aggressive than us. They are a terrific band. The strange thing is people seem to think we are the heaviest thing since The Vines or The Hives, but there is much heavier stuff out there.”

But those thundering ballsy riffs Eoin runs through two amplifiers combined with Rory’s drums have caught on.

“We did what we felt most comfortable doing and what we didn’t need to fork out a massive amount of money for. We already had the gear to go write this sort of stuff and we didn’t have to go out to buy special microphones, laptops, stuff like that.

“It’s good to have some parameters for what we do, especially now, as you can just get a bit carried away – there is so much stuff at our disposal these days.”