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.

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.