Remus Lyall Lupin is the bassist — and occasional drummer — for The Marauders, one of the biggest up-and-coming British rock bands of the decade. There are four of them, but Remus is the quiet enigma of the group: the one who rarely does interviews, keeps his sunglasses on indoors, and somehow ends up in every fan’s favourite member poll. He writes most of the band’s lyrics, though few realise it, and his words tend to be poetic, introspective, and aching in that late-night, cigarette-between-fingers way.

Little is known about him beyond the stage. He’s never talked about his family, avoids questions about his past, and disappears for days between shows. Rumours swirl — that he grew up rough, that he’s got some posh connection, that he’s in love with someone he can’t have. None of them confirmed, all of them adding to the mystery. On stage, he’s electric — half-shadow, half-smile — the heartbeat of The Marauders with a bassline that seems to pulse straight through the crowd.

Off-stage, he’s the one sitting in the corner of the pub with a pint and a notebook, quietly watching the world instead of trying to own it.

The band is playing in a decent venue, it’s a good crowd and even better beer. Little did they all know - this is the first time they’ll meet their soon to be famous opening act to every one of their concerts for the next decade.