"I'm actually really nervous," says Gavin Rossdale as he fidgits around, looking for the new Bush album. "It's going to be a bit strange if you think it's shit."

We are sitting, Gavin Rossdale and I, in the former's bedroom on a sunny July afternoon, waiting to hear the fourth Bush album. As you do. Titled "Solutions", due for release in October on new label Atlantic, and produced by Dave Sardy (last seen helming Marylin Manson's 'Holy Wood...'; Rossdale initially met with Ross Robinson, whose schedule with the new Slipknot album proved unworkable), it's 12 tracks are currently unmixed and haven't been heard in full outside the Bush organisation.

Rossdale returned home from recording his album in LA a couple of weeks ago. His current routine involves staying up until 3am waiting to download various mixes of the tracks which are sent over from LA each night. He burns each one onto a separate CD, gets in his car and plays them while driving around London in the pre-dawn. Then he e-mails his suggestions back to LA before crashing out. It is, he notes, a "fucking barmy" time.

It takes him several minutes of rummaging around to collect the 12 CDs of rough mixes together. When he has, he perches me on a set of bedside steps covered in what seems to be black fur (they're so his 13-year-old Hungarian Sheepdog, Winston, can climb onto the bed), arranges two large speakers into position, and pops the first disk into the player.

At this points everal thoughts run through your mind at once. 'This is very surreal'. 'That's an expensive looking stereo'. 'Ooh, that's a nice purple guitar resting againstt hat huge widescreen TV in the corner'. 'Phew! Winston seems to have farted.' And, ultimately, 'Christ, what exactly do I say if his album is, indeed, shit?'.

We'll get to the album in a minute. But first, a whistlestop tour around chez Rossdale. A five-storey house located on a leafy street in London's upmarket, village-y Primrose Hill area, it's the sort of place you wouldn't mind for yourself thank-you-very-much were you to win an obscene amount on the Lottery.

Unusually for a rock star, Rossdale hasn't turned the interior into a temple of tack; he's gone, instead, for wood-panelled floors, white walls and subtle rather than grand furnishings. In te lounge, a vintage blue pool table occupies half the floor space and a framed black and white photograph of Johnny Rotten hangs on one wall.

The bedroom is on the top floor. A huge '50s American fridge is plonked in the corner of the room. A remarkable series of three vast black and white photographs of a lioness hunting and killing her prey occupy one entire wall, floor to ceiling. The bed is big but, happily, doesn't have four posts attached to it. At either end of the room two sets of doors open out onto two balconies, one overlooking Camden, the other Primrose Hill. After we've heard the album, we go and sit on the second, at a stone table surrounded by plants and oriental statues.

Oh yes, the album...

Gavin Rossdale mentions something about the neighbours complaining about his stereo, before cranking it up to the sort of levels jet engines reach as they propel planes to take-off.

"It's alright," he says over the sound of a guitar exploding into life, "no-one's home at this time of day."

For the next hour, we listen to 'Solutions', Rossdale constantly shuffling his track of 12 CDs to work out the best running order. He hands me a book containing computer printouts of all the lyrics, most of which have since changed, some of which are covered in doodles and hand-written comments. While I'm suddenly reading the lyric to each track, Rossdale paces around the room, mouthing the odd line to himself, occasionally launching into a bout of air drumming. At the end of each track, he announces what the next one is, what it's about, and whether or not to listen out for a flange effect on his guitar.

What unfolds is Bush's best album yet. The first thing you notice is that the guitars sound gigantic. The second is that Rossdale himself is singing like a man possessed, minus the 'cor blimy' Cockney inflections of old. Five tracks immediately stand out: 'Speed Kills'-- formerly titled 'The Things We Do' -- is properly anthemic and destined to be the first single; 'Headfull of Ghosts' and 'Reasons' paint in big, bold brushstrokes, all angular guitars and epic hooks; 'My Engine is With You' is a furious burst of noise, the fastest thing they're ever likely to do; and 'Out of This World' is a strange, brooding, mood piece which also happens to be Rossdale's personal favourite.

Half the album sounds less like Bush than Bush ever sounded, the spectre of Nirvana banished once and for all. This, as Rossdale will enthuse is a good thing. Other tracks are more routine, constructed on traditional verse-chorus foundations. 'Hurricane' is another Jesus Lizard homage; 'Solutions' itself, 'Superman', 'Fugitive', and 'Land of the Living' are on first listen alternatively either good or initially nondescript variations of the same theme.

Which just leaves the closing 'Float' ("That was inspired by the painting on the wall behind you," notes Rossdale, nodding at a picture of a white figure, well, floating) and the ballad 'Inflatable' ("Sentimental Central," offers it's writer). The former is undoubtedly a grower, it's melody seeping out gradually through it's meandering lines. It's equally clear that the latter is the weakest of the 12 songs by some distance.

It is, though, and intense sense of relief that you can tell Gavin Rossdale that, no, his album isn't shit. In fact, it's very good.

Largely written in the room in which we're sitting, 'Solutions' is an important album for Gavin Rossdale and the other memebers of Bush (guitarist Nigel Pulsford, bassist Dave Parsons and drummer Robin Goodridge). The simple facts are these: 'Sixteen Stone' and 'Razorblade Suitcase' sold many, many, millions of copies in the US; third album 'The Science of Things' didn't, it sold a million, a perceived failure of reasonably catastrophic proportions.

"I was obviously sad that it didn't have the chance to be heard by enough people ," says Rossdale. "I don't consider it a turkey in any way. What happened was that I was stuck between two places. Confused about how rock bands would come to make their third records, and where to go."

Rossdale, who'd been hanging out in London with mates listening to and working on lots of dance music, wanted to integrate this into the Bush sound. The others didn't. The two parties ended up camped in different adjoining studios; Rossdale and an engineer adding programming and beats to half of the album's songs, the others and their producers ensuring the other half were meat-and-potatoes rock with no fancy nonsense.

"I came back from London really positive and tried to get everyone to embrace this thing," says Rossdale now, concluding not entirely necessarily, "and it was a disaster."

He has other reasons why he thinks the last Bush album 'failed' -- stuff about the label and a terrible misguided US touring itinerary, which he'll paitently outline but which is nevertheless "all boring, it's bollocks and fans don't need to hear about it".

The end result of it all is that 'Solutions' has a lot riding on it's shoulders. In the background, Bush have new management and a new label to help it on its way. But the ultimate responsibility for its success, or otherwise, rests squarely on Gavin Rossdale's shoulders. He, after all, writes all of the songs. Which would be enough to keep most sane people awake at night.

"It's only when I'm asked about it that I really think about it," he insists. "I guess I must like it, I don't mind the responsibility." He stops, fiddles with his hair and decides to say some more. "Sometimes I do feel like I'm too much the point person. At the moment, I'm spending four hours a day dealing with the artwork, but no one really comes round to help. The others pop in now and again to go yes or no -- often no -- and then everyone leaves. "Everyone does what they want. If people wanted to be at the studio more often, then they should just be there. The fact is, they don't. I just want to get it to a point where I can present it to them. It's just really hard, getting five peole to sit there and decide where an embryonic idea should go. Can you imagine how hilarious that is? We have a really good way of working, though, and everyone's really happy."

We'll come cack to this 'everyone's happy'/'no I'm not that chuffed, actually' contradiction in a minute, after a few observations about Gavin Rossdale himself.

He is, as Harry Enfield's randy old ladies would note, a very, very nice man. He is also quite sickeningly good looking, but hardly ever makes eye contact -- he stares at the table, his hands, the bumble bee buzzing around his head, anywhere, in fact, but at you. His speaking voice veers from well brought up English to broad Cockney to trans-Atlantic phrasing within a sentence. He swears more than anyone else I've interviewed, but never sounds entirely comfortable doing so (he says "cunt" in a way that suggests he'll be slapped).

He was brought up by his father, a doctor, but also has a "great relationship" with his mother, who moved abroad when she was a teenager. Both parents are "brilliant". His best memory of childhood is the freedom of "having a bike and staying out until 11 at night." The worst experience was the car accident his Aunt Maggie was involved in when he was 13, which left her permanantly brain damaged.

"There were plenty of traumatic things," he says quietly. "But that was the most residual. It still reverberates today."

His favourite new band are At the Drive-In, who's guitarist Omar Rodriguez popped into the studio while Bush were recording. He's also on speaking terms with Puff Daddy ("I take the piss out of him all the time"). The only two times he's been bowled over by celebrities were when he was spotted by veteran glam-rocker Alvin Stardust and England's World Cup winning captain Bobby Moore when he was growing up.

For the record, he has spent every all but 10 days of the last nine months with his girlfriend, Gwen Stefani.

"It was just getting stupid," he says of the extended periods they had frequently spent apart. "It was like, 'What's the point?'. So we both made the effort. I've seen her more than I've seen anyone."

If there is any underlying tension in Bush it is surely in Rossdale's role as sole writer/focal point, and the extent to which both he and his bandmates accept this. Read what Rossdale has to say about the situation over the next 15 minutes or so and make up you own minds just how rosy things are in the garden.

Do the band find it difficult to wait around for you to finish writing?

"I don't really know. I think they just enjoy their lives. We finished touring last summer and then I started panicking. It's not really a restful time for me because I think I should write a few songs before having a break. So I write from September to November and then we start rehearsing. Even though it seems we've been away for a while, for me it's an ongoing thing.

"They probably have the holidays that I would have had. Then Nigel has his solo record. He's got a studio and he's been doing some really guitar-heavy music. A lof of Nigel's songs are really good, but they're better when he sings them for himself.."

A Pulsford song was ear-marked for Bush a few years ago, but Rossdale insisted the guitarist should sing it himself. He refused.

"That was the last time anyone offered anything up," Rossdale says. "And the other two, I don't think they really care. I don't know what they do -- they have a nice time."

What's the process once you've finished writing?

"Well, four of the new songs I did demos for, but the band hate me doing that because it excludes them from the original idea when it's first committed to tape. I understand; they want to put their character on it.

"So we go through these laborious rehearsals where everyone's trying stuff out. They want it as bare-boned as possible from me -- I bring a chord structure, my parts, and a drum machine. I tried to be as open as possible on this record, because I got in so much trouble on the last one for demoing it up. This one was, like, 'Okay, we'll go the long way.'

"It's really hard in bands, because if you improve and get better you want to be more autonomous. It's ironic, but you get less colaborative as you get better at what you do."

How difficult is it to let go of the songs and turn them over to the band as a whole?

"It sort of works... In knowing that everyone is so good and trying to get the best out of them. No-one is shy about saying if they don't think something is good. There haven't been many instances of... Nigel, as usual with a lead guitarist, wishes he could mix a record with his guitar only and have the rest of us slightly in there."

You talked of a solo album a couple of years back...

"Every time I think of doing it... Sometimes you can get tired of the band process. You have to write the songs and rehearse them, and it's six months' work. And I just have this overflow of stuff. I'd love to one day make a chill-out record, where I don't have to be all-out rock. It's that thing of wanting to escape from who you are for a minute. But there's no plans right now."

Are you confident about the new record's chances?

"I think it's the best record we've done, I know that much. But it's a weird position to be in, because I don't know who our contemporaries are in England or in America. Most gone. There's not that many alternative acts.

"People have been playing me different bands... You know that band Cold? People played it to me, and it was weird seeing how much they sounded like us. The good thing is, it's not done badly. My girlfriend heard them on the radio and thought it was me! That's a funny feeling."

A couple of hours have elapsed, and Gavin Rossdale has a photo shoot to do, a dog to walk, artwork to approve and more mixed tracks to wait for at 3am. We decide to close with a handful of random questions.

What makes you laugh?

"The banter in the room when it's going good with the band. Ali G. Woody Allen. And somebody sent me a video of 'Trigger Happy TV'. 'I'm on the mobile!'. That really made me laugh my fucking head off!"

And what makes you cry?

"I don't know about exactly crying, but always leaving home or going away from here. Leaving my dog makes me depressed for about a week. I just feel guilty and shitty. The irony of my life is that I like living in one place; I'm a home-bod, and I'm never in one place for long. I like to be in London hanging out. To be a musician and not want to travel is a difficult dilemma."

"Like any Englishman, all those typical world injustices. I went on a trip for Jubilee 2000 (end Third World debt campaign -- Ed) to Tanzania. I witnessed stuff there and a level of poverty that was devistating. We went to this one hospital, a children's ward, and as we walked in this little girl died of malaria. I don't know about just sitting down and weeping about it -- you just feel really shit. I was only there for 10 days, but I felt so guilty because I couldn't wait to leave. I couldn't deal with that degree of poverty."

When did you last get roaring drunk?

"There was an absinthe night recently. That's maniac stuff. After the third one I don't remember anything, but I think I had a good time. Apparently, I was really funny."

What was the worst chat-up line you've ever used?

"When I first did a video before Bush, I went up to this really cute girl and asked her if she wanted to be in my video. I can't remember what she said, I just knew I was being a sleaze bag by asking her."

What do you dream about?

When I'm away I dream about my dog and where he's at. I've got a really healthy sense of persecution, so I'm always dreaming about running and escaping or being chased. I don't know what that means, and I don't intend to go to a dream analyst to find out."

Fancy a spot of word association?

"Sure, go ahead."

Sex.

"Magic."

Death.

"Yes."

Love.

"Full."

Evil.

"Everywhere."

Guilt.

"Yes."

Cheese.

"Sandwich."

Marriage.

There is a slight pause of many seconds. Then he smiles.

"Rings," he says.

Anything else to confess?

"No. Nothing. I'm a blameless individual these days. I hope."