Tim Rogers shares some thoughts on the best moments of his life.

Everyone should have that one band. The one you play to a potential new partner to see if you're musically compatible. And the one you play after they're gone. The one you whoop and charge your glass to when they come on the pub jukebox. The one you sing along loudly to with the car window open, as you tap out the rhythm on the steering wheel as you drive over that “…Glebe Point Bridge”.

For many, that band is You Am I. Two decades since the release of their debut album, they are revered, not just for their mere survival, but the fact that they are still a vital, working, just plain goddamn wonderful rock'n'roll unit. Over the years, the three individuals of the band have become four but, as they cram into the room, they somehow fit together like that jigsaw you never quite got around to finishing.

Bassist Andy Kent now wears the manager's hat as well. There's always that feeling you're getting tested a bit as you talk to him, but then Kent gets more cheerful in his blunt honesty as he goes. Russell Hopkinson is the affable one. He's got the stories, the collection of vinyl from bands you've never heard of and the in-jokes. Even though he's now been in the band for over a decade, Davey Lane still has a touch of the new guy who lucked-in about him. He gives more cheek now (“Yeah, I played their records to death when I was, what, about ten…”), he's more the younger brother who's come home with the hot girlfriend.

And then there's Tim Rogers: Gangly rockstar incarnate. And yet, taking the piss out of the pose at the same time. One moment velvet-jacketed theatrical luvvie, then passionate defender of the faith. Hard-drinking man, then almost misty-eyed getting sentimental about the band, the music and his family. You know, kinda like a You Am I album.

They're probably the best – and maybe the worst – at working out just why they've retained such affection, from an audience and between each other. “We're like the smalltown boy made good,” offers Rogers to start. “Got a chance to make a lot of mistakes – often in public – and to do some good things, but a lot of not-so-good things that we learnt from. And somehow got through.” He adds a typically self-deprecating kicker: “Maybe more like 'smalltown numbskull makes good, in spite of himself'.“ There's a crooked grin.

The national tour that will see them play their second and third albums – the equally towering Hi Fi Way and Hourly, Daily – seems part celebration, part congratulation and part reminiscence of a time past. And maybe just because they can. Mr Kent provides the practical explanation: “Any number of festivals had come forward and asked us to do something like this for whatever reason, whatever album. But it was never quite right. Now we think we're at a point where we're enjoying each other's company so much, and the 20-year thing, and we can do it properly ourselves rather than selling it to someone else.”

They've put some thought into these album-in-full shows. But not too much. “It's going to be You Am I slick, not Opera House slick,” laughs Hopkinson. “It's not for chin scratchers. We want to see people dance, and/or stand back and hug the person they're with.”

“It tends to be the case that when You Am I try to overcook something, we absolutely overcook something – so we'll rein ourselves in,” adds Rogers. “Our knowledge and experience have come together here. We're all products of it. Rusty's work with record labels, Andy managing the band and the financial stuff, Davey and my relationship maturing…” he smirks. “We just couldn't have done this whole thing ten years ago; it would have just had to go through so many other middlemen.”

Hopkinson takes up the thought: “We're, er, 'self-contained' now, maybe. That cottage-industry thing is kind of what a band has to be these days. And it's basically just an excuse to hang out with each other.”

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