THE sun hasn't shone for days, but he's wearing sun glasses. Darkened mirror shades is what they're like an interviewer's nightmare, however, is what they are, because by reputation, silence is a big part of the conversational deal with their wearer today, Mister Lou Reed.

Trouble is, then, that when Lou takes time to pause for reflection, all I can do is sit and stare back at myself Not a pretty sight but who said it was going to be easy? And if a name for contemptuous impatience with journalists wasn't enough to set the jitters really rolling, this day, of all days, finds the great man in a most delicate mood attributable to having his distaste for interviews rekindled on what is but the second day of a monstrous three week tour of Europe, publicising and pressing flesh for the sake of his latest album, Set The Twilight Reeling.

You don't need the benefit of pictures to imagine the scene. The face is familiar. The last remaining exponent of rock's forgettable bubble perm phase bears a sour expression. That the primary piece of material in his press pack should be a copy of the tremendously moving obituary he wrote for Sterling Morrison in the New York Times on New Year's Day is hardly out of synch with the dark nature of his recent output.

Most of his work this decade has been characterised by a predilection for death and/or nostalgia. Songs For Drella was written as a tribute to his friend and mentor Andy Warhol the almost funereal but still majestic Magic And Loss was partly written in memory of fellow New York songwriter Doc Pomus and, in 1993, there was the heavy hearted reunion of the Velvet Underground. And now this Set The Twilight Reeling. The same but different. Much different.

Light years from fame forged in the Class A haze of heroin, it appears that love has found a friend as Lou Reed's one and only drug of choice. Dedicated to Laurie Anderson, the New York musician and performance artist with whom he enjoys a mutually supportive relationship", the mood of Set The Twilight Reeling is predominantly set by a lyrical Lou so clearly in love.

WE begin I don't like interviews," he enthuses. I tell him I understand. Good," he beams. You Irish?"

I check myself in the sun glassed mirror, smiling back a hopeful smile. Better still," he replies. It's been said that the title Set The Twilight Reeling sounded like a line from Yeats. Man, that's something." Common ground Always a good place to break some ice. He shakes his head in deference. Writers like Yeats and James Joyce are amazing. With the music I'm making now, the word is definitely important. It's not the only thing, mind there are a lot of other levels on this record too. And, like the onion, the deeper you want to go the more there is.

I spent a lot of time getting the guitar sound right, for example. It took two and a half years of doing it for myself, learning the hard way, making sure everything was in place by the time I got to work on the lyrics and vocals. What I'm saying the how and why of it matters a lot. With me, it's a tunnel vision thing. When I'm writing I'll do anything not to lose focus. I don't dare go near a phone, nothing. It's as intense as it ever was, but I know how to make it easier for myself now.

There's some pretty emotional stuff on this new one. I'm happy with it. Listening back to it makes me feel good."

For someone who has added, to the basic sound of music, lines that truly resonate on everything from perfect day serenades to apocalyptic visions of New York City, thoughts on his way with words flow less freely from his tongue. He leans back in the chair, opens wide his arms and offers up a measured shrug of the shoulders.

I can write all day, really go places, then be interrupted and in a flash I'm finished for the day. I'm dead The inspiration part so simple, yet so difficult to explain. I mean, I can try but until you actually hear something, feel it and get moved by it, you'll never really know.

"We wanted this record to sound like we were in the amplifier, we wanted everybody to hear what we heard. It's meant to hit you right in the solar plexus. The best music has always had that visceral quality. It's such a powerful thing it's about freedom. In the past, I've had the experience of losing it. For this one, everything had to be right."

We're getting places. Production line interviews like these can be such frustrating affairs. Good talk is all about trust, and 45 minutes is scarcely enough for the building to begin. And it works both ways. The more stars you meet in these stifling situations, the grander their aura and the greater the fuss, the more you realise that these people are usually better candidates for protection than subjects of investigations.

Sometimes, however, on rare occasions, a meeting offers much more than we expect. Not just an empty exchange of views but an insight of sorts, something real. To hear him mention how his need for extraordinary moments in every ordinary day keeps the creative flame burning, and how his music allows him capture meaning profound "beyond the realm of speech and picture" made this particular journey well worthwhile.

Across the table, Lou's taking a break, sipping some water, extolling the virtues of a nicotine and caffeine free existence and asking me if I like his new music. Before I get to answer he raises his hand and commands me not to reply. "Stupid question," he laughs. "None of my business."

WE continue "I feel fine about my age. I don't suddenly start questioning my instinct for rock'n'roll just because I've turned so. I look at guys like BB King and think, would anyone dare ask him if he was too old? If I were a painter, my age would count for nothing.

"I want to keep playing till I finish. Apart from death, I can't envisage a reason for stopping. With Set The Twilight Reeling I've entered a new phase. In completing a trilogy that began with New York and Magic And Loss, I've also started something new, some thing fresh. It's going to continue. I'm not done."

And neither am I, but the interview is. One time check later and Lou is by the window, staring at the late evening bustle of a Paris street, five storeys below. Before he extends his right hand to say goodbye he removes his sunglasses with a measured movement of his left. Without the mask, both eyes shine with experience. One story over another begins.