Comebacks may be seriously in vogue this year, but whoever heard of a comeback at 23? Enter Aztec Camera, aka Roddy Frame. He positively winces at the term 'comeback', but no other description will suffice.

Silent for over three years, Frame re-emerges, seemingly much older and wiser in person; slicker and mellower in music. This week sees the release of Aztec Camera's first single since "Still on Fire", "Deep & Wide & Tall". Stalwart Frame fans may be hard pushed to recognise it as the man himself. All things Americana come to the fore and the result is either top notch (if, like me, you're a sucker for such things) or disappointingly MOR (if you're not).

1987's Roddy Frame is an intense young man who talks cryptically of his absence; neither sustaining nor refuting the numerous rumours surrounding his disappearance.

"I spent time in Manchester and London going through periods of good and bad mental health, basically. I've had my ups and downs, but all this time I've been writing for the new LP and trying to find a producer. We also toured a lot after Knife," (the last LP), "and there then came a point where I wanted to use different musicians."

The forthcoming album, entitled Love, will dispel any ancient notions of how Aztec Camera should sound.

Alternately unsure of himself ("Do you think I take it all too seriously?") and highly self- critical, Frame is something of a paradox. Sometimes old for his years, sometimes a little boy who likes to laugh at his own jokes.

"Ask me what I've got that Lloyd Cole hasn't," he says. "Three stones less."

Frame's view on the seamier side of the music business consequently comes as something of a surprise.

"I really think this album's great, whether we have hit singles or not," he says defiantly. "I wouldn't be so sure if it was coming out at the same time as a lot of good albums, but at the moment, everything else just seems so dumb."

This time around, Frame shows no trace of lyrical reticence. If you thought he was a drippy old romantic in the old days, on this showing you could be forgiven for thinking he has a future assured with Mills and Boon. Besides being something of a sentimentalist, Frame now verges on the feminist. "I'm not sure about opening myself up like this, but I'm trying to look inside and find out why men are so screwed up."

Frame's view on the seamier side of the music business consequently comes as something of a surprise.

"In America, money changes hands between record companies and some radio stations in order to have something played," he says. "That's what I don't understand now. I'm telling my manager to try and give radio as much money as possible in bribes and people seem to think, 'that's a bit funny. I thought you'd be up for the honest Joe approach'. I just think if you want a record on the radio, you have to pay for it.

"The system obviously isn't rife here but I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing. I can't really see how it's any different from any other area in the music business. Radio's crap anyway. Who listens to the radio? I can listen to the LBC Chart Show," (London's news radio station) "but hardly any pop radio. I'm sure a lot of factories have it on all day. That inane clatter. Do you wonder where there are so many murders?"

On the domestic front, having recently inhabited a modest Mancunian shack with American wide Kathy -- they married last year at Stockport Registry Office -- Frame is now a resident of London's Notting Hill. Is he ever so slightly out of touch with his native Scotland? Do young bloods like Hue & Cry and Wet Wet Wet ring any bells of recognition?

"Now, let me get this straight. Which is which? I get them a bit mixed up." (Frame has possibly singlehandedly achieved the impossible; wiping the grin from Marti Pellow's face.)

"Scottish funk's a funny idea but, by its nature, it must be better than English funk because Scottish people just have more funk."

What about fellow East Kilbride natives the Jesus And Mary Chain?

"I don't really know much about them. It sounds like I'm really out of touch but I'm not really. It's just that I don't keep up with where people buy their trousers.

"I actually think Edwyn Collins' music has gone a wee bit obscure though, to tell you the truth. He's lost the jingle-jangle, but a lot of people are getting attention in his wake. He's just grown up, but he's my pal.

"Mantronik is just the sexiest man in rock. Now, let me tell you something. I would sleep with Mantronik. And I'd play guitar with Billy Mackenzie. He's asked me to do some stuff with him and I'm dying to get started."

George Michael? "He's a pure cop-out. He doesn't try to get to the bottom of anything. George Michael is just rubbish. 'Guilty feet ain't got no rhythm'? Take him to a psycho- chiropodist."

And do the Beastie Boys insult Frame's 'male feminist' leanings?

"They don't surprise me because we know that black working class music has a history of making money for white upper middle class Jewish Americans..." (just Jewish ones, Roddy? -- Features Ed.) "I've got no time for them, though, because they pretend to be something they're not. They're a bunch of middle class softies and I'm a sensitive young songwriter and I could beat the shit out of them.

"My favorite records are all love songs and I really can't bear to hear all these Billy Bragg songs about the union. I just think, 'f**k, Billy, you play the guitar. Give us a good time'.

"Scottish groups are so much more handsome and sexy than English groups. Take Edwyn Collins -- name me someone English who can compare with his romantic spirit. What have Curiosity Killed The Cat got going for them? Just that typical English smugness."