Youth, said George Bernard Shaw, is wasted on the young. And to hear the 26-year-old Matty Healy gleefully celebrate that an unusually sensible stage time in Seoul will allow for an early night in bed, you can’t help but agree.

“Hey, we’ve been flying all over Asia all week – you try it!” he laughs, emerging from the doldrums of the AX arena in the South Korean capital. “We went out massively in Japan the other night, and we’re all still trying to get our heads together. It was a full-on Tokyo night.”

OK, so maybe he gets a pass. The frontman of The 1975 isn’t one for doing things by halves, anyway. Their eponymous debut album, though weighing in at a hefty 16 tracks, shot in at the top of the UK charts in 2013 while making a serious dent in the US and global markets. The band promptly clocked up 195 live shows the following calendar year – “though we counted it as 210, when you include unofficial gigs,” Matty reports. Boasting a fanbase as loud as it is large, and a who-gives-a-fuck attitude that’s nothing if not eye-catching, perhaps it’s a phrase from another Irish wit that fits best; the only thing worse than being talked about…

“My only fear is provoking ambivalence in people,” states Healy. “I’d rather people be angry and hate me rather than be bored of what they’re hearing. My fear is people watching us or listening to us and not being moved at all.”

On that front, the singer has little to worry about. Only shoving a fistful of marmite down people’s throats could match the sort of reactions I received when telling folks I had an appointment with the louche teen idol. One friend got so excited she lost her proverbial shit; another reacted with the disdain normally reserved for the non-proverbial variety.
“It’s not my prerogative to make people understand me,” he shrugs. “I have quite a strict door policy on my band, where if you don’t have enough time to invest in my band, then I really don’t have enough time to invest in you. But regardless of whether you’ve heard of my band or not, there’s thousands, if not millions of young people who look to us for a sense of empowerment.”

Say what you want, but the man speaks the truth. Just days after our chat, the band would be introduced by Bernie Sanders on Saturday Night Live; for the purposes of context, their slot as musical guests fell between Selena Gomez the week before, and Kanye West the week after. Their tour of Australia and Asia kicked off a clear two months before the release of their second album, yet saw ‘Sold Out’ signs throughout the region being put to good use. And anyone still in any doubt of their popularity is welcome to hit the North Wall later this month, where 3Arena will be taken over by diehard followers.

Despite all this, their mouthful of a sophomore record I Like It When You Sleep, For You Are So Beautiful Yet So Unaware Of It isn’t the party album a newcomer might expect. It might be jam-packed with ’80s inspired pop tracks that will spend so long in your head they’ll earn squatter’s rights, but that bombastic swagger is in stark contrast to lyrics that paint the picture of a troubled soul.

“Listen man, I’m not totally fucked up but I’m not alright,” remarks Healy with his trademark candour. “I’m just trying to figure everything out, and that became this record.”

A record which, notably enough for a man admired by so many, is tinged with loneliness.

“I think that’s my life, really. Even when surrounded by people, I’m terrified of being alone. People think I might be too honest or forthright when I talk about things, but it’s mainly because I live in my own world. There’s a perception that being frontman of a band comes with this new social group, where I’m fucking best friends with Gigi Hadid or Naomi Campbell. In reality, most of my mates are either in The 1975, or work with The 1975 – so I feel quite safe in saying whatever the fuck I want.”

Quite. Healy also feels comfortable in saying what he wants in flowing monologues, as though picking at a loose thread of conversation sends thoughts unspooling. Perhaps that’s why he likens the experience of writing the new record to “opening Pandora’s box”.

It doesn’t, though, go far in explaining the bizarre twilight zone inhabited by the Manchester quartet. Their range of influences swings from disco funk and R&B to indie rock, yet their fanbase is pulled straight from the One Direction demographic. They’re too young to remember the ’80s, but if there’s an album this year that bears a stronger reference to Peter Gabriel, Prince and The Four Tops then it’ll be a surprise. Matty himself is sensitive and intelligent, yet every teen’s mother’s worst nightmare. And for a bloke who openly confesses to feeling alone, he flings himself into isolation with reckless abandon; on tour, yes, but also when making I Like It...

“It was a very introverted experience, to be honest with you,” he explains. “When people know who you are there’s expectancy, and there’s definitely fear of getting it wrong. The ideal sophomore record is one that’s going to take everything great about the first, but see it both distilled and evolved. We decided that the only thing we could do was shut ourselves away, not have any outside influences, and simply make something true to ourselves. It’s an easy thing to say ‘oh, we’ll just do our own thing’, when in practical terms that’s quite different. But that’s what people want to hear, because that’s where the truth lies.”

The word ‘truth’ is never too far away when chatting with Mr. H, and when it does take any sort of hiatus, its close pal ‘honesty’ is never too far away. It’s not highfalutin nonsense either.

“Most people my age, and in my position, probably wouldn’t write about the death of their grandmother, or the postnatal depression of their mother. Because why would you? It’s not really appropriate. But that’s what I thought was real about this album.”

You’d certainly struggle to find another band with an audience consisting largely of teenage girls so willing to wear their hearts – and flaws – on their sleeves.

“The important thing is there’s an overall context,” he says, when asked to consider some of the more potentially controversial subjects broached on the album. “It would be different if every song was exploiting being a teenager – because, you know, when you’re that age everything is the fucking apocalypse. So if this kinda drunken guy comes out on stage saying ‘it’s alright to feel suicidal’? Well, that can be empowering, but you have to understand the demographic you’re speaking to. Kids are smart, too.

“Whenever I talk about my behaviour, be it drugs or stuff like that, it’s always with a profound sense of disdain. I’ve never fetishised drugs, or the notion of suicide. What I’ve said is that I think about it. And of course I’ve fucking thought about it, because I’m a person. But like I say, it’s with disdain, because anybody who’s been involved with drugs or has had an issue with them isn’t going to be fond of it, and they shouldn’t be. But as long as I know how I feel, I feel safe to talk about it.”

And the reaction that might get – particularly from those on the outside looking in?

“Young people understand that. Young people aren’t stupid,” says Healy with a hint of exasperation. “It doesn’t piss me off when people think we only have one type of fan. But it pisses me off when people assume that teenage girls – for example – aren’t as smart, as consumers, as some crusty 45-year-old North London liberal. There’s a knowing recognition of my life and the way I feel on this album that replaces the naivety of the first record. That was about the desire to better myself. This one says, ‘this is just who I am, and I’m alright with that now’. I’m alright with that sadness – and our fans get that.”

Doesn’t sharing so much with the world take its toll?

“Sometimes it catches me,” Matt admits. “As soon as I’m really upset about something I try and write about it, because it gives it context and therefore becomes a form of catharsis for me. I can deal with it a little bit better when it’s objectified in a three-minute song. I hate the idea of losing a loved one and one part of my brain is like, ‘ooohh, hello you got a new song here!’ And that’s not what it’s like. In that moment, I’m as human as anyone else, but my way of dealing with it is writing about it.”

He smiles: “I suppose I’m lucky I’m a music producer at heart. There are times I forget that I’ve just told 5000 people I’ve thought about killing myself; I’m thinking about melody, I’m thinking about the performance. I don’t worry about going on SNL and pouring my heart out, I worry about the guitar not having the right tone. Exposing myself to America will be fine - it’s the intricacies of it that concern me.”

We’ve already run way over time, and Hot Press could do without a few thousand Korean teenagers getting rowdy if we delay anymore. Matty is chilled and polite as he heads back to prepare for the gig; yours truly, to be honest, has been a little taken aback by one of the more honest musicians you’re ever likely to find.

“Maybe I’m living my life as an open wound,” reasons Matty. “But it’s only the things I choose to tell people. That’s what I need to remember.”

And that, perhaps, is his truth: rarely pure, and never simple.

I Like It When You Sleep, For You Are So Beautiful Yet So Unaware Of It is out now. The 1975 play The 3Arena on March 24.