NEIL FINN ON LAND AGAIN

He Yawns, stretches out in the cushiony hotel café chair, runs his fingers through his tousled, sandy blond hair and orders an eye-opening cappuccino. It's early afternoon, and New Zealand quirk-pop masstro Neil Finn has just awakened. But it's a rest that's well deserved. Over the past year, the 43-year-old has plowed through projects like a virtual Tasmanian Devil: scoring (with Edmund McWilliams) the film Rain; touring the U.K. with his "Band of Strangers " - local musicians auditioned day of show in each town; playing his hometown, Auckland, for a week of concerts (featuring chums Eddie Vedder, Johnny Marr, Radiohead's Ed O'Brien and Phil Selway, and Finn's 18-year-old son Liam's combo Betchadupa) released on CD and DVD as 7 Worlds Collide, and releasing a revamped version of his 2001 solo set One Nil, now titled One All (Neftwerk America) in the U.S. Is it any wonder the poor guy's exhausted?

But after a few sips of java, Finn rises to the chatty occasion. He also oversees a busy Web site, he says www.nilfun.com, which allows fans to remix sound bites from his personal files, as well as archived concerts webcast from his basement home studio. Why has this former Split Enz/Crowded House dervish-inactive on these shores since his '98 solo bow Try Whistling This-started to whirl again? Not for any uplifting reasons, he sighs. "Last year, I plunged myself into work after my Mum died. She died a year ago last October, and by January [of '01] I was flat-out doing stuff, and I had more energy for it than I've had in years. I suppose I thought it was important to do it for its own sake, to feel like you're not wasting your time here on Earth." Finn's tone quickly turns apologetic. That's why One All hasn't hit the States until now, he adds. "As you can imagine, I got distracted from the business of trying to get a record deal."

Finn turned tragedy into triumph on such One All tracks as the somber, cello-gilded "The Climber," "Hole in the Ice" (a grungy rocker with an ethereal chorus) and the philosophical "Human Kindness" and "Anytime" (in which the sandpapery singer chirps "I could go any time/ There's nothing safe about this life"). "Secret God" has a vocal melody at odds with its jittery rhythms; after a few listens, the fight sounds strangely symmetrical. How does he pen upbeat songs that never follow a primrose path?

Finn scratches his slept-on hairdo. "Part of that is by design and part of it by accident," he decides. "You do want to keep people interested in the song, but the actual core of the song isn't anything arcane-I'm not doing a John Cage or an Eno. It's popular music, it's designed to be accessible, and I wanna be able to sing my song at a party, ultimately, although I realize that not many of my songs end up in that category. ... Because I sometimes undermine that by making 'em have all those little twists and turns."

Almost as many curves as Finn's career of late. At he and his wife's 20th wedding anniversary, Split Enz re-formed for a punky impromptu session. "We did an old song called 'Maybe,' 'Dirty Creature' and 'I Got You,' and with no rehearsal it was probably as close to a disaster as you could imagine," Finn chuckles. "The whole of last year was just full of unusual treats. " Currently, he's planning to reunite with brother Tim for a one-off show as the Finn Brothers, for the annual Queen's Birthday gala in Auckland.

Finn also records/produces other artists in his home studio, a place he's trumpeted in the past for its creative convenience, even in the middle of the night. "Yes, I still think it's wonderful to have that flexibility," he yawns again. "But I don't often do that now, for one simple reason. I love my sleep too much!"