“I’m never touching red wine again.”

Sitting out here in the sunshine, you’d almost think Robyn G. Shiels was telling you the name of a new song. If, that is, it wasn’t for the broken jaw he is nursing. Or the combination of painkillers and antibiotics he spends a good part of the chat necking. No, let’s take him at his word – come Christmas, probably best to buy him chocolates.
The Kilrea man has a reputation for blending dark poetry, death country and reprobate living far removed from the god fearing/straight edged niceties of many local musicians (hands up if you can imagine Two Door Cinema Club penning tunes like ‘I Go To Funerals’, and threatening to take hammers to the knees of hecklers at his gigs), but here he is: tee-total, clean-headed, looking determinedly forward. And, you have to say, a shining kind of role model for the beneficial properties of a two-week spell in hospital.
“My mate had just broken up with his woman and rang me up: I’m going out to get fucked up and wallow in self-pity. You’re just the man, Shiels.”
We need not dwell on the subsequent course of the evening. Suffice to say: it ended with Robyn in a ward at the Ulster Hospital, semi-conscious and the proud owner of a double fracture and a set of spanking new jaw plates.
“It was no fucking joke,” he says, stating the obvious. “Intense pain and eating steamed fish for a month. Fuck’s sake.”
Given the degree of damage, and the extent of its impact on his day-to-day life, it’s perhaps churlish to speak of the effect the injury has had on his musical career. However, there’s no getting away from it – the momentum Shiels had been building over the past decade seemed to be reaching critical mass at the start of the year. To suddenly find it grind to a halt after being told that singing was impossible; it’s hardly a surprise that it ushered in a period of soul-searching.
“When you hit 40, you need to ask yourself questions,” he says. “So I did. I’d sold my shop to give this a go – but where had it got me? And here I was – fucking jaw wired up, not able to sing. You want to keep a clear mind at times like that.”
If singing wasn’t an option, though, neither was drinking. And for a songwriter who, over the years, has gotten much mileage from booze-fuelled carousal – sobriety posed its own challenges.
“Aye, it fucking did,” he admits. “ But in hindsight, the jaw was maybe not the worst thing that could have happened to me. I took stock. Became a recluse for the first time. Stayed away from shite gigs and stewed in my own hatred. Tough at first, mind. Loss of the confidence, loss of the reason. But since I stopped drinking – ‘moment of clarity’, you say? It’s just a case of getting my arse in gear. This needs to be done, that needs to be done. I’ve cleaned up and suddenly I’m more optimistic.”
What helps is that the songs are getting better. You want proof? Then cast a glance no further than ‘Look What You’ve Done’ – the guy’s new single – a petrified slice of pitch black folk that leaves you in no doubt of why Shiels has slowly picked up an army of devoted followers.
“David Holmes loved ‘Hello Death’. Stuck it on (the movie soundtrack to) Cherry Bomb. There are ten thousand hits on YouTube. It’s taken on a life of its own. Got this one wee bastard from Sweden: ‘Here Shiels, can you get this tune on iTunes, I illegally downloaded it. By the way, when are you coming to play here?’ I replied that I was sticking it on iTunes now, and I’d be able to afford playing Sweden if people bought the fucking thing instead of illegally downloading it. But thanks for the encouragement, you wee cunt.”
Encouragement too has come with the last-minute success of long-term buddy, Danny Todd. After years ploughing a similar furrow to Shiels, Todd’s Cashier No. 9 have spent a dream-like twelve months recording in LA with David Holmes, being snapped up by Bella Union, and collaborating with everyone from Hugo Nicholson to the guy who played harmonica on Elvis’s Comeback Special.
“It’s given everyone a boost,” Robyn admits. “And I couldn’t ask for a better PR man than Todd. And to be fair, there’s a whole load of cunts out there willing to give me a hand. There’s (Ben) McAuley. Works his balls off down at (Oh Yeah’s resident studio) Start Together. Gets a day off last week and gives me a call: ‘Get your arse down here, Shiels.’ We end up recording a couple of songs. Rich Davis – I met him when Heliopause played at Folk Sake at The Black Box one night. I asked him to make a video for one of my songs. Had no money, he was up to his arse in other things, but two years later, we get there. And it’s fucking brilliant. It’s good having good mates – giving you a boost, giving you a kick up the arse when the occasion calls for it.”

The Great Depression EP is out now.