KIERAN KENNEDY does not like doing inter-views much. He makes this quite clear as he shuffles and fidgets uncomfortably while sitting in the pristine offices of Warner Music Ireland. “It’s nothing personal,” he assures me. “It’s just that I’d rather be making music, you know . . . playing music, writing music, creating. That’s what I do.”

And that’s what he’s been doing for the last fifteen years – eight of them fronting the Black Velvet Band, a rumbustious, bunch of raggle taggle, Gypsy-rockers, who’ve released two albums to date, both of which have sold modestly well while not exactly setting the world on fire. But they also enjoy the continued patronage of a major record label – an increasingly rare position for an Irish rock band to be in these days.

The reason Kennedy is obliged to partake of today’s necessary unpleasantness is the occasion of the release of another new album – this time without The Black Velvet Band. Entitled Pagan Irish and produced by Donal Lunny, it’s a more subdued, mainly acoustic affair, of the kind of organic, textured sound that has recently been dubbed “grunge-folk”. It’s also a more personal, autobiographical collection of songs than Kennedy’s previous band work. And, of course, its release inevitably begs the question ‘is the Black Velvet Band’ now history?

“No, not at all,” he insists. “The band is still going strong – we’ve toured around Europe as recently as last November and we have a new mini-album out over there, which didn’t come out here. We just haven’t played in Ireland that much recently.

“Actually,” he adds, “the band is now a real band for the first time. There was never a proper, permanent line-up in the past but we’re now a bunch of people who connect and support each other.”

Pagan Irish, which Kennedy is reluctant to describe as a solo album, came about by accident, as he explains.

“I had these songs hanging around,” he says, “and I was wondering what to do with them. Some were old Black Velvet Band songs that I hadn’t used, others were ideas I had stored away in the recesses of my mind. It was Peter Price in Warners who suggested I do an album on my own, without the band, so I called Donal Lunny, who is someone I’ve always wanted to work with. As everyone knows, he’s the busiest man on the planet, so when he eventually had some time off, we got together. He heard the songs and said he’d love to do it.

“We just started playing and that was it,” he adds. “The songs were written with an acoustic guitar and were complete in themselves. It was much different than recording with the band – we recorded eighteen songs in ten days. Nobody heard anything till it was completely finished. It was all very easy and I’m very happy with it.”

With a cover depicting a particularly demonic looking warrior-mask, partly covering Kennedy’s visage Pagan Irish examines ancient mystical themes and is chock full of religious and spiritual imagery. And with song titles like ‘Famine Gold And Virgin Land’, ‘Sinners Like You And Me’ and ‘Rattlesnake Man’, Kennedy’s songwriting explores the darker side of his own psyche as well as the hitherto repressed world of ancient, pre-Christian Ireland. So what precisely does pagan Irish mean in contemporary terms?

“It means a number of things,” he offers. “But mainly, it reflects what I am, which is pagan Irish. A lot of people I know are pagan Irish rather than Catholic Irish. Ireland is full of pagan symbolism too, we all drink like pagans for a start! I love shile-na-gigs and the whole druid thing; Christmas, for example was originally a pagan festival – a celebration of the winter solstice which was hi-jacked along the way by the Christians.

“How the title came,” he adds. “I was out one night and people were asking me what I was up to. When I said I was doing a record with Donal Lunny they were asking me what it was like – because everyone likes to put something into categories so they can relate to it. I thought for a while and said it was, a kind of a pagan Irish record. Later on I said it to Luka Bloom and he said ‘that’s a great name for an album’.”

Though a trained studio-engineer, Kennedy says that Lunny’s input in making the album was crucial in interpreting his song ideas as well as in realising the overall chilling atmosphere on the album.

“I’ve produced things myself in the past but I didn’t have a vision for doing it for this album – I just had these songs. The way it works normally when recording, is, you know in advance that you’ll be making an album and you know which songs you’re going to do and arrangements etc. but there was no pre-conceived thought about it all, we just went in and did it.”

The product of a typical working-class Irish Catholic family, Cork-born Kennedy admits to having become utterly disillusioned with conventional religion over the years.

“My parents are practising Catholics and they have doubts too,” he says. “They take what they want from the religion, which is an intelligent way to do it but they also like the idea of being involved in an organised religion which is a big reason for the popularity of Catholicism.

“At one point in my life,” he continues. “I was pretty heavy into being a Christian and I came pretty badly out of it. The mistake I made, was in trying to have a personal relationship with Jesus rather than worshipping this big man in a cloak with a white beard. It was an American-style, born-again charismatic group I was involved with and looking back on it now, the whole thing was a sham. All these people who were talking about being truthful and speaking the word of God – they were ultimately self-serving, whereas I was genuinely trying to understand the real meaning of Jesus and his teachings.

“There was a lot of that around at the time, it was a kind of reaction against the old-style Catholicism. The Pope’s visit generated a whole revival at the time but the way I look at it now, it’s like REM coming to Ireland this year – they’ll sell a lot of records around the time of their gigs and it’ll eventually die down.”

Kennedy agrees that Pagan Irish could just as easily be construed as a timely comment on the state of the Catholic Church in Ireland, given the traumas it has been experiencing in recent years.

“I think the church here are in big trouble,” he says. “Sexuality just cannot be repressed. Priests not having sex for their whole life – it’s just fucking ridiculous, if not impossible. The one good thing about paganism is the fact that sexuality is celebrated. Sheela-na-gigs are, like, these women with their thighs open and a big vulva staring at you. Paganism is about not being afraid to come out and express yourself, not being afraid to stand naked.”

After years of performing live with his band, Kennedy had the chance to stand naked – metaphorically speaking, of course – when he did a short tour of Ireland with Luka Bloom just before Christmas.

“That was great,” he says, “I go on-stage and everyone is sitting down so quietly, listening intensely to everything you do. They were so in tune with what was happening, they wanted to hear songs and I really liked that. Just like at home playing to your friends, which I do quite a lot – it’s a real Irish thing. Luka has such a loyal following, people came in their droves to see him and it was great. And he was great too, telling me I was really good and I really needed that because I wasn’t sure that anyone would want to hear those songs – they’re not really very singalong.”

Does the current dearth of action on the live scene, especially for bands, have anything to do with his decision to play solo?

“No, not really,” he says. “For us it’s still good in Europe, but the scene in Ireland has changed dramatically. From around 1989 to 1991 there were loads of bands touring, lots of venues and now it’s changed completely – whether all the bands are just crap and no-one likes them, or whether the venues weren’t making enough money or whether it’s rave, I just don’t know. We’ve always had great shows in Ireland and there are still an awful lot of bands around so it’ll probably swing back.”

Like most bands who find success in Europe, The Black Velvet Band have discovered just how regional and uneven that popularity can be.

“On the last tour it was like that,” he says. “We did a gig in the French part of Switzerland and there were 150 people there and then we went to Germany and played this venue in the middle of nowhere and 750 people came to see us – it was amazing. A few years ago we were in Denmark and we played to 100 people then we went to Oslo and played to 2,500 people – that’s just the way it is. It can be down to local promoters or local record company support.”

Kieran Kennedy’s attitude to the business side of the music industry is rooted in his love of music, making him refreshingly at odds with the harsh commerciality which has grown increasingly prevalent within the industry.

“Terms like ‘radio friendly’ and ‘accessibility’ don’t mean much to me,” he says. “I made this album the way I wanted to. I’ve been involved in record sessions and people start throwing around that word ‘radio friendly’ and I just think, you know, that’s not my job to worry about things like that.

“I don’t care about record companies either,” he adds. “If you want to play music, play music, if you don’t want to, don’t. Talking is easy. It’s much harder to do something . . . I’ve been playing music for fifteen or sixteen years in all kinds of shapes and forms. I was very naïve for a long time but I learned eventually. It’s good learning things. It was important for me to learn how to be myself. When I was a kid I was a huge fan of music . . . and the things that drove me to play music were, firstly I wanted to be in a band as a part of a gang – I still like that idea. Secondly I needed a way out. I left school and did electronics for a little while but I wanted to be involved in that creative thing of playing and making music.”

Kieran Kennedy is married to Maria Doyle who appeared in The Commitments and who is also a member of the Black Velvet Band. They have two sons aged three and ten. “A true rock ’n’ roll marriage,” as he says.

Is it easier or more difficult both partners being in the music business?

“I don’t really know,” he says. “I’ve never had it any other way. It depends ultimately how well you know the person and how well you get on. We’re the coolest rock and roll couple! As for the kids, you get out of them what you put into them. They get embarrassed sometimes – the older one says ‘why can’t you get a normal job dad, instead of prancing around on the television?”

And finally, what about fame and fortune? Would Kieran Kennedy like to sell millions of records and tour the world?

“You mean like Prince or someone like that?” he smiles. “Yeah, I’d love the album to do well, of course I would, but I don’t stay awake at night worrying about it. I have sold a certain amount of records in the past anyway but ultimately, I make music to make music and that’s what I want to continue doing.”