How do you build a reputation in the music business? Sara Villiers traces the story of Rico

DOZING in the garden recently to the soporific sounds of Radio One, I was jolted awake by what can only be described as an explosion over the airwaves. Guitars screamed against an insistent thud as a menacing voice growled and shrieked a litany of pain; it was an articulate, lingering contrast to the lame-brain bubblegum pop of the afternoon playlist and made me sit up and take notice. My attention was further sharpened when Jo Whiley husked: ''That was Attack Me by Rico.'' Could it possibly be Rico Capuano from Paisley, my mate's wee brother?

I'd last seen Rico back in May 1994 when he was putting his tonsils through a strenuous workout and leaping perilously across a stage at a gig in the Arches, and record companies were twitching around his band, Perfect World. Success seemed imminent and Rico's confidence was raised - high enough to instigate a brash publicity campaign which involved sending out tongue-in-cheek ''Glasgow Survival Kits'' to London scouts and to promote the ''showcase'' gig with posters which darkly proclaimed Kurt Cobain Isn't Coming. But, as is the way for so many muso hopefuls, the hints of contracts and suggestions of the big time melted into the mist. Elusive fame slipped from his grasp. I hadn't heard much about him since, didn't even know if he was still singing and writing, having lost touch with his brother, Tomaso, who had moved to London.

A few inquiries revealed the songster who'd punctured my lazy-day lull was, indeed, Rico, embarked on a solo career. Older and wiser to the ways of the music biz with a maturer, denser sound, a contract with Chrysalis, and an album, Sanctuary Medicines, on the way.

They say that suffering ennobles, and past disappointments have certainly polished his art. Attack Me was inspired by the irritation at being ignored. The Rico sound is in-your-face noise terrorism, with lyrics liberally laced with neurosis, partly forged from frustration but buoyed with effervescent energy. Dogged self-belief and continual musical experimentation mean Rico is now living the life he'd long set his sights on; all-night sessions in recording studios; supporting The Fall; a raucous gig in Amsterdam culminating in a punch-up between rival roadies; hearing, with delight, that lyrics from a taster CD of his forthcoming album were being sampled in cutting-edge clubs. And even national recognition to the shape of Jo Whiley's approbation . . . A dream come true?

Yeah, but sometimes a nightmare. Frankly, he's far too sussed to be overwhelmed by current attention. ''I'd heard Attack Me on Radio One once, too. Right afterwards they played that awful theme tune from Friends,'' he grimaces. ''I was just horrified and thought god, I can't listen to this.''

For a lad attuned to DJ Shadow, The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, and Tom Waits, The Fall proved more illustrious company; a 12-gig tour round England in May was illuminating. ''I'd heard all the horror stories about them but they were OK. I mean I saw Mark a few times and he is mad, but the experience was brilliant.'' With near-masochistic relish he relates a highlight of the tour when he walked onstage to a hostile crowd in Brighton. ''We had a couple of glasses chucked at us,'' he says with the glee of one who has endured the equivalent of a rock'n'roll christening. ''Our guitarist just picked one up and chucked it back.''

Individual control rests with Rico; he grouped a band together for the album, and to tour. Tomaso is on board not for nepotistic reasons but because of musical like-mindedness and multi-talents. He's not only the bassist, but also designs all Rico's artwork. A former media designer with a high-profile career, he walked away from Fleet Street without so much as a backward glance when Rico signed with Chrysalis.

Major companies beckoned after hearing the fruits of an intensive period which occurred when Rico abandoned drumming for other groups, focused on producing local bands in a Paisley garage, and set about writing, recording, and producing his own songs. Wary of being let down, he trod carefully, taking advice from a management company and signing to Chrysalis only after negotiating a deal which allows him a lot of control in the way he is marketed. Perhaps wincing at that failed attempt to generate buzz back in 1994, he is firmly against any hype campaign, determined that his reputation will build through word of mouth.

That's a ploy which paid off at T in the Park earlier this month, when he opened the Radio One Evening Session stage to a heaving crowd. ''It was awesome. I thought there would only be about 50 people in the tent.''

Possessed of devilish, sultry good looks, he's also insistent he won't exploit his appearance and publicity pics deliberately obscure his face; in one case his handsome features are grotesquely distorted behind a blown-out speaker. ''It's not about what I look like, I don't want anything but the music to be a focus,'' he says shortly.

A single, Smokescreen, was released this week. Sanctuary Medicines is in the shops on August 9, His mum, Cathy, and dad, Tommy, who have steadfastly supported his musical endeavours, must be proud of their boy? ''Well, they don't really get it,'' he laughs. ''My mum's checked out the CD and told me she likes it. I'm like, err, no, mum you don't. There's no way on God's earth that you like this. But, you know, I'm singing on it, Tomaso's designed it - well, she has to like it.'' Fortunately, a lot of other people like it, too.

Rico's ambition - not to be famous or recognised but to make a full-time career out of his passion for creating music - has been fulfilled. He might have to get used to lots of Radio One airplay.