“DUBLIN? THAT’S in Ireland, isn’t it?”

It might not be a guarantee of a place on The Krypton Factor but that remarkable piece of geographical deduction means that at least a few of Ginger’s brain cells have survived following his latest bout of rock ‘n’ roll excess. You don’t need to have a PhD in medicine to realise that the dreadlocked Wildhearts frontman is not a well person. The seismic activity in his head measures a good 8.3 on the Richter Scale, his face is the stuff George Romero movies are made of and there’s enough fur on his tongue to warrant a cat licence. Out of morbid curiosity, how many hangovers has he had this year?

“Er, how many days have there been?” he chuckles rhetorically. “The Wildhearts have always believed in working hard and playing hard – though not necessarily in that order – and as we’re so busy at the moment, we’ve gotta make the most of our leisure time!”

I would assume this dedication to recreational pursuits explains why Ginger’s right-arm has spent the past six weeks encased in a plastercast which, instead of the usual autographs, has the word ‘Ouch!’ emblazoned across it in big black letters.

“I’m a Geordie. I’ve got a bad temper.”

Not good enough.

“Shit, this is embarrassing. What happened was that there were a few things pissing me off and rather than getting rid of that through the music, I decided to challenge the kitchen to a boxing-match and the kitchen won on a technical knock-out. It’s still bragging about it to the bathroom!

“So, I bust my forearm and had to be rushed off to hospital. Some gigs got cancelled because of it but I didn’t mind because they were a bit dodgy.”

As you’ve probably deduced from this introductory ramble, The Wildhearts are dumb, brash and horrendously clichéd. Add to that song titles like ‘My Baby Is A Headfuck’, ‘Greetings From Shitsville’ and ‘Why Don’t You Shut Your Mouth And Use Your Fucking Head Instead?’ and you’re talking serious Neanderthal Spinal Tap-isms. Thankfully, none of that matters, because The Wildhearts also happen to be the most glorious balls-to-the-wall rock band this side of vintage Motorhead.

“We’ve never set out to offend anyone, though,” retorts Ginger who appears unsure whether I’ve been slagging him off or paying him a compliment. “In fact, we’ve had very few complaints about the lyrics because they’re not vicious or nasty, they’re just the way we and a lot of other people talk. Take ‘My Baby Is A Headfuck’, for instance – the bottom line is that it’s a bloody good pop song.”

Considering that it sounds like The Ramones on a speed binge with the Beach Boys, how could it be anything else? A gung-ho classic of elephantine proportions, it also features one of Mick Ronson’s last studio performances before he succumbed to cancer.

“I’m not being melodramatic when I say that working with Mick Ronson has changed my life. Sure, he was an influence beforehand, but actually meeting the guy and seeing the way he operated made me realise that you don’t have to be a jumped-up little brat to be a rock star. Everyone fell in love with the bloke the moment they met him and when it came to doing his solo, he just picked up my guitar, didn’t bother changing any of the settings and got it note perfect first time. The term gets abused but Mick Ronson really was a genius.”

And are The Wildhearts hoping to line-up alongside Def Leppard, Ian Hunter and various ex-Spiders at the Ronno tribute in April?

“The Hammersmith Apollo gig? Well, if Mick was running it – which obviously he won’t be – I’m sure we’d get invited but the way it’s shaping up, I don’t think we’re going to be rock starry enough. Which is a shame because I’d love to do it.”

They may have to wait a bit longer before they add ‘international jet-setters’ to their list of boasts but as anyone who copped The Wildhearts’ commendably yobbish Top of the Pops debut last month will testify, they’re not far off grabbing a place in the rock hierarchy.

“‘Caffeine Bomb’,” enthuses our star-in-the-ascendent, “went top 20 solely on the strength of our fan base. It didn’t get any radio airplay which is why it pisses me off when people say, ‘oh, they’ve been hyped’, or, ‘oh, they’ve sold-out and gone commercial.’ The reason we’re starting to sell records is that we’ve stuck to our guns, come up with some good songs and treated the fans right. I’d love The Wildhearts to have a number one but only if we’re calling the shots.”

Although the metal fraternity have claimed The Wildhearts as their own, a quick glance at the variety of t-shirts and haircuts populating their gigs demonstrates their immense crossover appeal. Now that the punks, rockers, grebos and crusties have been joined by the Smash Hits brigade, are they worried about losing their street cred?

“That’s all bollocks,” he replies wearily. “Whether it was Alice In Chains or Manic Street Preachers, we’ve always picked up fans from the bands we’ve supported and now that we’ve got our own following, they’re more interested in music than image or scenes.

“I suppose I come from a metal background – and there’s a lot of hard rock stuff I like – but I’ve always hated sexist lyrics and that sword ‘n’ sorcery crap. There’s been a debate in one of the magazines about whether Therapy? are ‘metal or not?’. What the fuck does it matter? And what the fuck does it matter if some kid comes to a Wildhearts gig wearing a 2-Unlimited t-shirt?”

Before we leave Ginger to stir a catering-pack of Resolve into his Bloody Mary, could he enlighten us as to how he felt when his former employers, The Quireboys, got the bullet recently from EMI?

“I don’t know the full story,” Ginger stresses, “but I suspect they started listening to the wrong people and when you do that rather than following your own instincts, you tend to get into trouble. I might put ‘em down but I’ll always be grateful to The Quireboys for showing me how not to do things. I learnt an enormous amount from their mistakes and that’s probably why it’s been going so well for The Wildhearts.

“Actually,” he adds with a sly grin, “I was quite looking forward to a spot of rivallry with The Quireboys. I had visions of us bumping into each other at parties and having a giant free-for-all. That would’ve been fun!”

Ah now, Ginger. Remember what the kitchen did to you!

• The Wildhearts play the Dublin Rock Garden on March 29th.