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You waited three years to release a new album and then came back with "Medusa," an album of covers, in 1995. You caught considerable criticism for that.

Well, yes, I had to, of course, and they were absolutely right. I couldn't [write], and I didn't want to. Because, you know, I'd had the [one] baby and then I had another baby and I just thought, "Well, I'm going to do this. I think I've done enough records now, and if I did a decent cover version, it's all right."

Of course I knew I was going to get flak for that, but there's another perverse thing about me in that I know people will give me flak. It's par for the course, and I come prepared for that. I'm the most severe critic and so is Steve, so let's have a bit of understanding: and that is, you don't do it for people to love you. You don't do it for people to hate you. You do it for yourself.

Was there rhyme or reason to the songs you picked? For example, you'd been a fan of "Whiter Shade of Pale" since your teens.

Every time I hear that song -- I heard it two days ago -- I love it. That song's great. So many of the songs on this album are amazing. At least I have good taste! They're all good songs, man. Steve did come with some suggestions: "No More 'I Love You's' " is an amazing song. Kind of genius touch. It was a brilliant, brilliant song. And there's a Paul Simon song, "Something So Right": [Quotes lyrics] "When something goes wrong, I'm the first to admit it/I'm the first to admit it, but the last one to know." There you go; what a songwriter. Follow that. There's nothing like that nowadays. Who can stand shoulder to shoulder with Paul Simon?

Why didn't you tour behind either of the solo albums?

That was all because of my babies. But I did come out; I did brave the Atlantic. We did a few appearances. At one point, I'd been away from my daughter for about a week, and it was disastrous. I felt like part of my body had been cut off and was on the other side of the world -- I couldn't bear it. I think I was even still breast-feeding. Sophie [Muller] was with me on the plane going from New York to Los Angeles, and I was just like, "Give me the Valium." I don't normally touch anything like that. She was normally the one who had the panic attacks on the planes. I drank vodka, cried, had my head in her lap all the way to Los Angeles, and after that I just had a significant fear of flying because I wasn't with my kids. I just never want to be away from my kids like that. It's not healthy.

In the late '90s, you and Dave reunited to play a retirement party for John Preston, an RCA executive you'd worked with. How did that come about?

We had a phone call from his wife, whom we'd known for a long time, asking if we could come and play. They had red velvet curtains, we came out, and it was a very nice moment. It was like the fairy godmother came and waved the magic wand and turned the pumpkin into the carriage. There are a few times in life when it really is Disney.

Did it feel like you hadn't been apart?

It was like anything that happened had to happen. We either had to go to therapy for 10 years and sort it out: "I don't understand you. Why are you like this?" "No, no, no; you don't get me." Or just get back together and play.

We started writing songs again, and we didn't know we were making an album. And then halfway through, Dave [asked], "Are we making an album?"

After "Peace" was released in 1999, you both decided to tour and split the proceeds between Amnesty International and Greenpeace. Why?

I said to Dave, "If we're going to do this, let's at least open people's minds to the possibility of some things." We have [so much freedom], and we take it for granted. We don't vote. By and large, democratic countries have that privilege, whereas non-democratic [countries] do not have that and individuals will be tortured and will suffer for having said whatever. And when I understood that and when the penny finally dropped with me, I thought, "Well, yes, we have to do this." We wanted to tell people that they could join these organizations to empower [themselves], to be proactive and be an activist.

It's part of the responsibility of fame. And having said that, you also have a responsibility to the cause that you're trying to further. For example, dear Sinead O'Connor had all the best intentions in the world [when she tore up the Pope's picture on "Saturday Night Live"], and for her, it was a powerful statement -- something that was very liberating for her. Unfortunately, it backfired on her. I think she's an immensely powerful individual.

You've been working on a new solo record, your first since 1995. It's been such a long time. Did you think that maybe you wouldn't make another album?

Yeah. I became very disillusioned. I loved doing "Peace." I loved doing it. But "Peace," I stumbled into that. But I'm so removed from popular youth culture.

But you can't turn off the muse, can you?

Sometimes the muse abandons you and it's what you call the fallow period, and it could be a long time.

Clearly the muse returned. On first listen, what I grasped from this new album was a sense of peaceful acceptance in the lyrics, whereas there was a lot of anger in much of Eurythmics' material.

Yeah, there was a lot of anger. I've developed a new skill. I didn't know I had it. Kick boxing. I've been doing it the last few months. I just have to share it with all of you [Laughs]. I don't know whether there's [aggressiveness] in me. I love to explore that dynamism. And it doesn't hurt anybody.

Maybe you've kick-boxed the anger out of you.

Well, for the time being [Laughs]. Yeah, it's an ongoing process

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