Pop: Giant leap into the Dork
Busted flushed - and James Bourne set up a new band. It may be a winner, says Dan Cairns

When Busted were on Friday Night with Jonathan Ross last year, the presenter ridiculed James Bourne by comparing him to an oriental monkey. The trio's chief songwriter grinned back like, well, a monkey. Lacking the chiselled public-school looks that endeared Charlie Simpson to the band's fans, Bourne had, he says, become used to the stick. 'I'm a lot harder than people think. You have to be.' So, he got on with doing what he believes he does best - writing insanely catchy punk-pop songs - and, when Busted split up last January, he formed a new band, Son of Dork, to perform them with.

Squirming on the chat show was, he laughs, 'what Jonathan Ross has always wanted to see'. This doesn't mean the mockery hasn't sometimes hurt. I ask him if he felt underappreciated in his old band, expecting, from such a seasoned pro, studied nonchalance and a media-trained parry. 'Massively,' he answers. 'Hugely. It's hard to see other artists getting more credit. Jamelia was nominated for the Mercury prize. She's just a singer. I play loads of instruments, write songs and I'm a singer - and I've sold more records. They wouldn't have dreamt of putting us in that category. Artists who don't come close to what I do get the credit because they're 'street'.

The 22-year-old says all this without a trace of anger, though his amiable countenance darkens when he recalls a recent encounter at a London concert venue. 'A lot of people come up to me in the street and give me a hard time,' he says. 'I was at a gig, and this ugly rock chick comes up and starts shouting, 'You don't even write your own stuff, you can't even play the guitar.' It's so hard, but you can't hit girls. It's the most angry I've ever been. Ever.' Then he says, 'I'm a millionaire because of my songwriting', which seems to cheer him up.

A famously perfectionist workaholic, Bourne got his new project up and running - new material, auditions, recording sessions, first single, video, debut album - in just nine months, which is lightning quick by the music industry's tortoise-like standards. His drive is matched by his pragmatism. 'Sometimes you've got to make big-picture decisions, and for me that was not going solo. Me on my own on my acoustic guitar just isn't as exciting to watch as a band going crazy and jumping up and down.' So he steamrollered on, though he admits to feeling anxious, even with a fat new record contract in his pocket. 'It was scary. My management was saying, 'We want it out this year. If it's not, they're not going to be as interested.' I've really felt the strain.'

Bourne placed anonymous ads in the music press, omitting any mention of Busted and describing the venture as inspired by 'bands like Green Day and Blink-182'. Thousands attended the auditions. Given, admits Bourne, '10 seconds, if that', to impress, some got the hump, and said as much. 'They had to play through a clean amp, and one guy was like, 'You want a Green Day band, and we're playing through a clean amp?' And I was thinking, 'God, even if he was Hendrix, I couldn't put him in the band, because he's an a-hole.'

The four musicians he eventually recruited are all super-accomplished - and all, tellingly, have poster-boy good looks, including his co-front man, Steve Rushton, who, at 17, is a year younger than Bourne was when Busted first hit the charts. Although Bourne says he was 'really apprehensive about being in a band with four other people', he was the member of Busted most reluctant to see the group split, and seems intent on replicating its dynamic. Matching record sales wouldn't hurt, either.

To judge by Son of Dork's debut single, Ticket Outta Loserville, and their blitzkrieg of an album (produced by the former Pixies and Foo Fighters mainstay Gil Norton), Bourne has once again found the magic formula. It's worth remembering that, just before Busted split, they were climbing the Most Added to charts on American radio and music television, and seemed poised to break across the pond. With a more muscular sound and hooks flying thick and fast, Son of Dork - named after a scene in the American geek movie Problem Child - could see the job through.

'I think this could be a lot more successful worldwide,' says Bourne, reverting to the type of marketing speak that must thrill his label, but causes nonbelievers to wince. (Perhaps Bourne is simply being more open about his ambitions and methods, where other, invariably indie musicians murmur about credibility and secretly decide to sell their grandmothers for a hit single.) 'This is spelt out so clearly to the American market. You have to do that to get it across.'

The stench of purist snobbery that hung around Busted, increased rather than dispelled by the millions of records they sold, may well carry over to Son of Dork. American acts such as Fountains of Wayne are critics' darlings, their sugar-sweet power-pop cut, fans would argue, by drops of acid that are absent from Bourne's work. While it's true that his songwriting can sacrifice subtlety and shading for the brutal simplicities of the singles chart, it does seem wearyingly British that so naturally gifted a tunesmith should still be forced to justify himself. 'I put a lot of effort into what I do,' he says, 'but I don't take it seriously.'

I must look unconvinced, because he continues: 'I don't go into interviews and say, 'I'm this awesome songwriter.'' A pause. 'Well, I did at the beginning, and the record company was like, 'Just shut up; nobody cares.' So I stopped.' Will SoD be nominated for the Mercury prize? Probably not. As to whether they deserve to be: are you kidding? This is Britain, for heaven's sake. James Bourne makes great pop music: lack of credit where credit's due.