Renowned miserabilist Paul Heaton, who famously broke up The Beautiful South a few years back because of "musical similarities", tells Tony Clayton-Leaabout going solo, becoming even more opinionated and the difficulties of continuing to make pop music as a 46-year-old

HERE'S THE scenario: you're the lead singer and main tunesmith in a very successful band whose songs are played every day on radio around the world. When music programmes such as Top of the Pops(bring it back, we say!) were in existence, your face was regularly seen by millions. People whistle along to your tunes and despite their decidedly down-home nature, they are taken to the collective bosom.

That's the scenario, but here's the thing: you can walk down the main streets of many cities without being troubled by autograph hunters or hassled by the paparazzi. Children don't scream at you; more mature people may nod but don't engage you in conversation. There are various reasons for this, but the main one is that you are a miserable bastard with acid for blood.

Cue words from Paul Heaton, formerly of The Beautiful South, now out on his own, plugging a fine solo album called The Cross Eyed Rambler. He knows he has something of a reputation in relation to his pop-star image and public persona, and he seems keen to make no amends whatsoever. (On the other hand, he interrupts the conversation to say hello to his new bin men; he's recently moved house and wants to make sure he gets off on the best footing.) But, then, this is the member of a band whose CD sleeve credits once listed the following: "No thanks to God - he did fuck all."

Famously, The Beautiful South split up a couple of years ago due to "musical similarities", quite the most honest reason we can think of for canning a successful career. Going solo, then, was an obvious move, yes?

"I felt I had to," says Heaton, having sorted out his bin collection day. "When you're over 40, it's too late to be in a pop band, which was what The Beautiful South was, in my opinion. You can be over the age of 45 in a rock band, but not in a pop band."

He starts to chuckle. "There's something sinister about people of a certain age being in a pop band. An old rocker in a leather jacket seems fine to me. The Rolling Stones, U2, and so on, can do that, but I've made pop music all my life, and old guys in pop is sinister to me."

Heaton's fan base comprises a relatively niche bunch of people who listen to skilfully crafted pop music with an acerbic edge, a healthy dose of cynicism and a realist emotional punch. Does he think that more casual fans might wish he were more commercial?

"If you're the kind of songwriter that wanted to change your style of writing or totally deny your past, then that's when it can become tricky. But because I've pretty much stayed the same, most people who like me have liked me for most of my career. The only problem I face in that way is that people may want to hear stuff from the past, which I haven't been playing at all. I don't see that as a problem. And, in general, I feel that the people who have been to the solo concerts so far haven't found it a problem, either.

"What I've discovered is that if I totally ignore the past, then people concentrate on the new material more, whereas if I played a past song, I feel it would overshadow the new material, even though I feel the new material is strong. At this stage, I think it would be a mistake to throw in an old song."

Heaton name-checks Ian Brown, Paul Weller and Morrissey, whom he reckons have forged their solo careers "correctly, in that they initially denied their past in order to establish themselves as a solo artist. Once established, they started performing the occasional album track or single." That's the way he intends to go. "Some people would shout out for me to sing a Beautiful South song almost as a tease; they'd be cheeky, but certainly not as a way of saying we want our money back."

With Heaton you always got the impression that he cared little for the pop star experience; essentially, he's an urban folk singer-songwriter, a resolutely north of England bloke who struck a seam of silver with his ironic lyrics, laconic delivery and one-time prodigious intake of alcohol.

A self-confessed late starter ("I reached puberty at a ridiculously late age - I couldn't go into a shower at school or even in college," he tells The Ticket, which doesn't really know where to go with such an admission), Heaton says he never felt he was matching any of the artists whose songwriting he liked, yet definitely thought he was gaining ground on them. Plus, he adds, "as I get older, I become more opinionated. I've maintained my position on certain things over the years, and some people view that as being oldfashioned."

If he hadbecome a pop star, Heaton says he would have been unhappy. He recalls the initial success of The Housemartins (the Hull band with which he started off his music career). "There was a period when we'd be on the telly a lot and in magazines such as Smash Hits, and it became quite painful.

How? Well, everyone knows you as Paul Heaton, the guy on the telly, and very few know you as Paul - your mate. I used to come back from touring and I'd look in the mirror and try to remind myself that the guy looking back at me was in fact me, and not some construct of someone else."

Presumably, new solo albums that refuse to carry on up the charts have further consolidated Heaton's stance on the value of being honest with yourself in an industry that often depends on artifice. His view on CD sales, or lack thereof, is similarly constructed.

"Any person who is successful has always had periods of drought," he reasons. "So the album not selling in bucketloads doesn't really bother me; you just keep knocking at the door. There is always somebody that wants to listen to you."

• The Cross Eyed Rambleris out on Universal. Paul Heaton plays Spring Airbrake, Belfast (Nov 12), Academy, Dublin (Nov 13), Dolans Warehouse, Limerick (Nov 14), Cyprus Avenue, Cork (Nov 16) and Róisín Dubh, Galway (Nov 17)