Trying to interview Meat is murder. Trying to interview the band is a lot easier. It's what's called using your Loaf

Meeting the Meat is not an experience for the faint-hearted. First time I made his acquaintance I was at Abbey Road Studios on a harmless mission to look at their new gear. Studio boss Ken Townsend ushered me reverentially around the hushed corridors, showing me the fine facilities of his prized premises.

We arrived in the well-appointed restaurant, sliding open the plush door to find the hulking frame of the lovely Mr Loaf engaged in a howling, yelling full-scale argument with his hapless then-producer Alan Shacklock.

"And what's more," he screamed, "I want more fucken power. More fucken guitar. More fucken building up. Or I'll take ya fucken desk and I'll..."

Rarely have I been pushed out of a door so fast as then. "I think things aren't going as well as they might be," opined Ken coolly.

I wasn't that surprised when I heard that Shacklock was no longer producing the big man's latest Wagnerian Metal opus. But I was a bit worried when I heard I'd been detailed to talk with the Meat and his band.

There's quite a bit less of the man than there was; he's lost a few stone since the days of the mega-hit that put him into the hearts and the charts of the world — Bat Out Of Hell. There can be so few who haven't heard the monster smash (or the album of the same name, now entering its millionth year in the lower reaches of the chart, or there about) that it's pretty unnecessary to define the style that he's made his own. It was continued on the second album, Dead Ringer, again produced with the assistance of his tame studio genius Jim Steinman. But the team that had made two massive successes eventually splintered — the two egos involved could no longer co-exist and amid claims and counter-claims both personal, financial and professional they went their separate ways.

Steinman went on to produce an album which was Meat Loaf in all but voice and after a period of virtual seclusion which was rumoured to have been caused by either a nervous breakdown, a total vocal collapse or a monetary crisis, the big half re-emerged with an LP produced by grizzled veteran Tom Dowd. It was a total change from the previous production hysteria that had characterised Meat Loaf: it was a mellow, restrained, traditional production that used only straightforward instruments and a laid-back feel. Unsurprisingly, perhaps, it flopped. The vast roar of Meat fitted in about as well as a Great White in a goldfish bowl, and Midnight At The Lost & Found copped several slaggings from the press and less than several placings in the chart.

But a matter of a few months ago, it was back to the good old days of guitars, guitars, and more guitars, not to mention drums like good strains colliding and grandiose washes of overwrought strings and overdubbed vocals. Yes, another classic Meat Loaf album rolled off the presses. This time, the strongly Steinmanesque mix was courtesy of a selection of people — started by ex-Alarm aide Alan Shacklock (whose fast exit was where we came in) continued by band keyboards man Paul Jacobs, and later finished off by Mack, the man probably best known for steadying Freddie Mercury and Queen.

"We basically re-did the album," said Meat. "That first producer, he did less than 25 percent of the album. We did most of the rest.

"The secret of the Meat Loaf sound is lots of layering. Everything has got to sound big"

"There was no real problem with him, or us. We just didn't get on. He would have been better for a band that didn't know what they wanted. I know exactly what I want. There is only one way to do a Meat Loaf song and that is my way. That is the best way, that is what feels right. He just didn't come from the same place, he didn't work out with us. There was no hard feelings."

But hard feelings or not, when he left the Loaf his successor was right to hand in the form of Paul Jacobs, a personable American with a long list of credentials dating from childhood classical training to extensive experience in the murkier waters of Rock'n'Roll. Jacobs re-jigged the album to conform to the Meat mould and added a few ideas of his own such as sequencers and Fairlights. But only, he hastens to add, along with the essential wall of guitar courtesy of Bob Kulick, another long-serving member of Meat Loaf's band the Neverland Express. The two filled in the technical details that their big boss had omitted — all of them, in fact.

"The secret of the Meat Loaf sound," started Jacobs obligingly, "is lots of layering. Everything has got to sound big, much richer than normal. So we used a variety of things to get that effect. Synthesizers — one good effect is to use brass sounds on top of great big power chords from the guitar. I use internal preset number two on the Yamaha DX7.

"There's quite a lot of Fairlight on the LP, too. I was using it like an orchestra, doubling guitar parts, just doubling things up all the time.

"And on Modern Girl — where we used a 21 piece orchestra for thickening. Where Bob played eighth notes we got the cellos to double that. Real Electric Light Orchestra, Beatles-type stuff. At the end we got the orchestra doubling the power chords as well — and we used Simmons percussion and chimes on it as well. You won't notice quite a lot of that at first, because it's well down in the mix, but it adds depth really well."

So what about that snare drum sound? Everyone was raving about Jim Steinman's truly vast snare sound on Bat Out Of Hell, and there's a pretty good approximation of that on the latest tracks.

"We recorded quite a lot at Marcus Music studios, and there's a great live room there, stone walls or something, so we just stuck a mike in each corner of the room and — hey presto — there's your drum sound. Sometimes we used other devices as well, for instance a deep tuned sound on the Linn triggered by your original snare really adds a lot of solidity to the sound, a lot of bottom end."

But despite the talk of Fairlights and Linns, it does most certainly not sound like a synthesiser album. The thing that belts out of the speakers first and loudest is the sturm und drang guitar of big, bald Bob Kulick. How do you put the meat into the Meat, Bob?

"A deep tuned sound on the Linn triggered by your original snare really adds a lot of solidity to the sound"

"One trick is, I've got pretty good at double tracking guitar lines. You know, playing one and then another exactly the same so you can pan them left and right and get a much bigger sound. Apart from a few efforts — for instance on Modern Girl we wanted that Owner Of A Lonely Heart solo sound so we put the guitar through a Harmoniser tuned in fifths and a bit of gated echo — I've stuck to a pretty traditional guitar sound.

"I use a Marshall most of the time, with the occasional Roland Jazz Chorus for clean bits or Mesa Boogie and Marshall cab for a dirtier sound. But the Marshall is just ideal, really, it's such a warm sound. And I use a Jackson guitar, the Randy Rhoads model which is like a one-piece Flying V; and a BC Rich. They're real good Rock guitars but all they are is like the Les Paul idea, that old Gibson feel, taken one stage further and brought up to date. It's the classic combination, and I know I can get a good sound everytime. Just set up in any studio, use a Shure SM57 mike and that's it. No hassle, instant great guitar.

"My secret is just my attitude, I think. Whatever you are playing, lead, rhythm, whatever, just make it as exciting as you possibly can. Even if it's a boring part, get right in there and the excitement will show on the final playback. It'll come through."

"We've played together a lot," butts in Paul, "and that helps enormously. Often you get keyboards and guitars playing the same frequencies, and it just turns to mush. We're used to staying out of each other's way, so if the guitar plays high the synths go low, and vice versa. Where the guitars are really driving along I'll put a low synth pad underneath, and the way they're Eq'd keeps them separate. That's vital."

One place there definitely wasn't much separation was between that album and the Steinman sound. Didn't Jim S object to his trademark soundscapes being rebuilt by someone else?

"Oh no," says Paul. "For a start, there are quite a lot of differences between his production and mine. I've known him for years and he likes the versions of his two songs on the LP. Anyway, that is as much the Meat Loaf sound as the Jim Steinman sound — Meat's identified with it, you have to go for that area."

And a last question for the great Meat. The record is called Bad Attitude. Why?

"Some people say I have one of those — a bad attitude," he snarls, "because I believe you can do anything you want, and if you want to do something then you just gotta go ahead. For instance..."

He waves in front of my face a fist the size of a watermelon and grimaces menacingly.

"For instance, if you want to punch someone in the nose, you gotta do it. If it'll make you feel better..."