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From the NME, cover date: 30 December 2006.

December 2006. Under a charcoal-grey sky, two cadaverous figures are gingerly threading their way through the thickets and brambles of All Souls Cemetery in Kensal Green, northwest London. Their faces are gap-toothed shrines to Byronic excess, their body language a spiv-ish blur of pinstripe suits, rakishly inclined hats and expensive overcoats. To the casual observer they could be a pair of roguish undertakers plucked from the writings of Victorian gothic novelist Wilkie Collins (buried nearby). To the trained eye, however, it's the shoes which are the giveaway to their true identities as two of the greatest icons in British rock.

Damon Albarn wears the same scuffed desert boots which saw him stamp his mark on the planet with 'Parklife' as part of Blur, while punk legend Paul Simonon sports a pair of black brothel creepers familiar to any fan of The Clash's 'London Calling'. No matter where these bespoke-tailored wastrels head, it seems, their past forges a path to their future. As the photoshoot gets underway beside the grave of Colonel Frances Barber Montague (deceased 1908), street lights bathe proceedings in an eerie glow.

"I love the whole atmosphere here," enthuses Albarn. "The other day I was walking past the cemetery and I could hear singing coming from inside. After a while I realised it was a West Indian family singing a spiritual song. The rhythm sounded so incongruous, yet amazing at the same time. That's what is so special about round here. It's such a rich mix of cultures and images."

Paul Simonon nods. A keen artist (it's his painting on the sleeve of The Good, The Bad & The Queen's 'Herculean' single), he displays an encyclopaedic knowledge of the area which could earn him an extra crust as a tour guide. Having delivered a précis of the area's cultural roots - taking in everyone from the Huguenots to Spanish Republicans to Franco to the 'Windrush' generation from the Caribbean - you start to understand where The Clash's all-embracing musical outlook stemmed from. Has he seen many changes since The Clash started in '76?

"You notice shifts here and there. There are a lot more rich people living here now. But the cultural exchange is the same. When The Clash started off we would hang around Dub Vendor to buy records and then get chicken, rice and peas on the way home. Because of the mix of people it was easier to create our own little world."

"London has still got the Dick Whittington factor," adds Damon. "The best thing about it is that you can reinvent yourself completely.

From The Beatles to U2, every major group in rock history has been forced to adapt in order to survive (Oasis, of course, being a stubborn exception). In the last decade however, Damon Albarn's capacity for re-invention ranks him on a par with pop's greatest-ever chameleon, David Bowie. Having morphed from blissed-out baggyista ('Leisure') to Britpop bootboy ('Parklife') to punk-funk stoner ('Think Tank') with Blur, he remains an eager trendspotter. Effusive in praise of Klaxons ("They remind me of what we were doing in Seymour [who became Blur] - I like a bit of anarchy!") and glowing with avuncular pride at the antics of Lily Allen ("She's got a great gob on her!") it's impossible to forget his role as simian svengali of pop phenomenon Gorillaz.

A cartoon supergroup with the dancefloor clout of Motown and the visual imagination of Monty Python star and movie director Terry Gilliam (rumoured to be involved in a film about them), Gorillaz will keep Pop Studies lecturers in work for years. In the wake of such a multi-media overload it's no wonder The Good, The Bad & The Queen (GBQ from now on, OK kids?) should see Albarn return to his roots. A sun-meltingly cool ensemble made up of Albarn, Simonon, afrobeat pioneer Tony Allen (formerly of Fela Kuti's band) and ex-Verve guitarist Simon Tong, their seductive, skeletal pop noir has long been shrouded in secrecy.

"It's taken us three attempts at recording the album to get here," laughs Damon. "Before I started Gorillaz, EMI offered me a one-single deal to record some new material. It was so I'd record an extra track for the Blur 'Best Of'. The band weren't getting on particularly well at the time, and the song we recorded, 'Music Is My Radar', was quite off the wall. It ended with me singing about how Tony Allen 'got me dancing' because I was listening to a lot of afrobeat at the time. Tony heard it and invited me to Paris to play a gig with him, where I got very drunk on rum and disgraced myself."

Following a trip to Lagos in the company of Gorillaz producer Brian 'Danger Mouse' Burton where all involved got "very stoned", Burton encouraged Albarn to make a record which reflected his own London upbringing, a subject the singer had felt ill-at-east with since the seismic explosion of Britpop. The answer? The recruitment of London legend and punk icon Paul Simonon.

"I'd been a massive Clash fan since school," enthuses Damon. "The first album I ever bought was Adam & The Ants' 'Kings Of The Wild Frontier' and after that it was 'Combat Rock'. I met Paul at Joe Strummer's wedding reception about 10 years ago, so I just thought I'd give him a ring. It turns out he lives two streets away."

Simonon, meanwhile, has spent the last decade getting as far away from music as possible.

"After The Clash finished I really needed to escape from everything. Wherever I went people would come up to me and go, 'Why did you split up?' So I got together with a friend, we spanned a globe, closed our eyes and decided we'd go wherever our fingers landed. Turned out it was El Paso. Consequently, Britpop passed by me. The one thing I do remember about it is seeing something on the news about this big rivalry between Blur and Oasis. It reminded me of what the press used to do with The Clash and the Pistols, and before that, The Beatles and the Stones."

Returning to London, Simonon found himself drifting away from music, due to the birth of his son and the death of the singer with his post-Clash band, Havana 3AM.

"I entered a period when all I wanted to do was paint. I spent all my time in art galleries. I wanted to keep away from music because I didn't want to look like one of those pop stars who dabbles in oils. But after a while I felt the urge again. I kept my eyes open. I went to see the first Gorillaz gig at the Scala [in King's Cross] and thought it was amazing. Then the phone rang..."

What did he think of Albarn's request to come around?

"My initial reaction was, 'Who's this little upstart?'" he grins. "But y'know, thank god for little upstarts."

That first rehearsal must have been a bit odd.

"It was nerve-wracking to start with," admits Damon. "He got out his bass with 'Paul' scratched on it and it was like, 'Bloody hell!' After a while you just get on with it. I must admit that when people came down to the studio in the first week I'd point over at the guitar and go, 'Look at that!'"

Even a cursory glance at the groups' respective histories suggests The Clash and Blur are natural allies. From The Clash's early isolationism (Paul: "The Clash was very much us against the world") to Blur's backs-to-the-wall NME Stage headline slot at Reading '93 (when they powered through their proto-Britpop set in the face of a grunge deluge), they share a fierce self-belief and similar musical roots.

"We come from the same musical source, The Who and The Kinks," continues Damon, "so you could say without The Clash, Blur wouldn't have existed. The way I look at it is that all groups take you on journeys but a lot of the time they end up going to the same place. The Clash are one of the few bands who always tried to do something different."

"A lot of bands create their own world and are happy to stay in it," agrees Simonon. "Whereas myself and Damon have constantly been striving to get outside our limitations and paint different pictures."

With such an immense burden of expectation, on first listen the debut album, 'The Good, The Bad & The Queen', almost feels like a sketch. After the pop overload of Gorillaz, its muted tones and subtle rhythms scream 'Understatement'. Being a record penned by Damon Albarn, however, it also comes with a relentless stream of gorgeous tunes. 'History Song' is all skeletal riffs and a pleasingly bleak lyric about the tradition of mourners clinging on to bodies from the gallows at Marble Arch - "The relatives would do it to speed up their death," smiles Albarn, "it's where the phrase 'hangers-on' comes from." 'Three Changes' sets a warbling Albarn falsetto against images of "a stroppy little island of mixed-up people". 'Green Fields', meanwhile, is a warbled love song to a lost England "before the war and the tidal wave". The result is a love letter to London in all its flawed majesty - a melting pot of race, culture and ideology where Moroccan speakeasies and Somalian-run cafés are as much part of the city as Bow Bells and grumpy taxi drivers. Was Damon not wary of writing another London-based record after 'Parklife'?

"Without a doubt. I got knocked about a bit by the fallout from Britpop. The tabloids got hold of it and everyone - including NME - went into a feeding frenzy. I started to feel embarrassed that I was articulate. I felt out of touch with what was going on. For me Britpop can be summed up by one 24-hour period. I went to a party on Endell Street in Covent Garden where Oasis were celebrating their first Number One for 'Some Might Say'. The next morning I woke up and had to go and see Tony Blair. It freaked me out. I had [Labour spin doctor] Alastair Campbell standing behind me, telling Tony which areas to stay off. At the end of it I left and went for a drink with John Prescott and got absolutely hammered. He made some strange Philip Pullman-esque predictions about the future and then I left. The rest is history. Before that night there was a sense of purpose; afterwards it got hijacked and turned into a faux celebration."

Looking back, the symmetry of Liam'n'Noel was evened up by that of Damon'n'Graham. Does he keep an eye on what Mr Coxon is up to musically nowadays?

"Of course. I listen to all his records. It's difficult because they're very personal to him. And it's strange listening to very personal records by someone you used to know really well."

What does he think when he reads comments by Graham saying: "I was dragged kicking and screaming around the world on someone else's megalomaniacal ego trip"?

"Well, that's one person's opinion. We'd just had enough of each other, really. We needed a break. Basically life is too short to continue some sort of feud in the press when there's so much suffering and hardship in the world. When it boils down to it, we've got so much in common it's ridiculous. If an alien was looking down from the sky they probably wouldn't be able to tell us apart."

Would he rule out a full Blur reunion?

"I hear stuff all the time about it happening, but until I've spoken to Graham myself it's all hearsay. But I hear things, shall we say. The door is always open."

Does this season of goodwill stretch to Noel Gallagher? Discussing the legendary Britpop cover of NME the other week Noel said: "Damon Albarn wanted to be the King Of London. He went bald trying to be me."

"I read that. I suppose that's Noel's edgy humour. The fascinating thing about Britpop is that it had such polar opposites driving it. There was such an extreme chemistry between myself and the Gallaghers. They were a formidable force - and what a great singer, far better than me. The weird thing is I get on famously with Liam, but me and Noel never talk. For some reason, the chances of him and me having a normal conversation are off limits."

You've said that Britpop won't be over until Blur or Oasis split up...

"Yeah that's true. It still reigns supreme over this country as a musical force. I can't make up with Noel. Britpop would all be over! And Heaven forbid that we'd ever admit that we've all grown up."

Oasis may have had the tunes and Jarvis the wit, but Damon Albarn was always the deepest thinker in '90s pop. And as the rain clouds gather over his beloved Portobello Road, even a cursory glance at the daily papers - civil war in Iraq, growing anti-Islamic paranoia, global warming out of control, serial killers on the loose - shows why we need pop stars like Damon and his new cool-as-f*** henchman Paul Simonon to challenge preconceptions and put our darkest fears to music. The Good, The Bad & The Queen - long may they reign.