When I last spoke with Damien Dempsey earlier this year, he recalled a recent chance encounter with Shane MacGowan at a Heathrow Airport bar. "He said he was worried about me and my acoustic guitar with all the James Blunts of the world running around," he said. "He encouraged me to buy a leather jacket and an electric guitar, which I did."

It happens to the best folkies. In the same way that Dylan strapped on his first electric guitar in the 1960s, Dempsey is amplifying his powerful songs with screechy feedback and crashing drums on the fantastic To Hell or Barbados.

Dempsey clearly heeded Shane's advice in spots. The record has a modern rock, guitar driven feel to it.

Lesser folk singers would be intimidated by the wall of sound they have to warble through, but like the boxer that he is, Damo bobs and weaves through the riffs with the greatest of ease.

To Hell and Barbados, released this week in digital format and on CD form later this month, opens with "Maasai." His voice raises to high pitches not seen since Robert Plant screeched the blues with Led Zeppelin.

"When I die/I want to die not in a home for the unknown/when I love I want to love not like a swine with no spine but love like a flower loves sunshine," he wails about the ancient tribe that "co-existed with Mother Nature." Damo says it's also a song about the old warrior spirit of the Celtic people in the liner notes.

While Damo is adept at calling attention to the ways of ancient people, he is also an expert journalist. His last two releases have commented on the "negative vibes" that come with the Celtic Tiger prosperity in Ireland, and he continues that on Barbados.

"Serious" is a pensive college rock ditty inspired by stories Damo heard about drug dealers dropping free drugs into the mail boxes of people trying to get clean. The track is a spoken word seduction that consists of a conversation between a silver tongued dealer and a potential new client.

"Ah go on, a little bit won't hurt/go on/give it a blast/ in 10 seconds you'll feel fantastic," says the dealer. Damo replies, "I think its f***ing mad/that s*** killed my friends' mom and dad." The dealer wins, the mark gets high, and Damo wails, "This is serious/I'm afraid of the devil in the shade/I'm scared of the devil in my head." It's a riveting track that elevates Dempsey's gritty street poetry into the league of Eminem and Chuck D.

Dempsey recently relocated to the Irish enclave of London's Kilburn section to escape the crazy Dublin life, and that quiet vibe illuminates the track "Chase the Light." It's a clever track about respecting your elders and not forgetting your roots.

"My next door neighbor is 81 and I make sure I listen when he speaks/people like him should be brought to schools and paid to talk 'cos they've so much to teach/he laughed one day when he heard say I worry about 29/son he said step out of my head/if you want to swap I wouldn't mind being 29 again," he sings.

Did you think that Damo was getting soft and introspective on us? The epic title track clocks in at almost eight minutes, and it is a phrase Dempsey nicked from the title of a Sean O'Callaghan book about the 50,000 Irish sent to Barbados as slaves during Oliver Cromwell's conquest in Ireland.

"All the yachts and champagne lavish/I still see a lonely child watch the stars/all aboard your evil deeds that many still condone/you sent us across the sea to be owned," he sings over an acoustic strum.

Dempsey uses the new electric sounds to great effect in his arrangements. "Teachers in school/some are wise and some are fools/but they're also on the stereo" he states before playfully slapping "bubblegum pop and bubblegum Hip Hop" on the sunny reggae of "Teachers."

"Your Pretty Smile" is another wicked reggae track that displays the tough guy's romantic side, and like "Chase the Light," it displays a deeper side than the rebel folk we heard in previous CDs.

Like every album before it, To Hell and Barbados promises not only to be a huge hit for Dempsey, it will also weaves him tighter into modern Irish history as one of the greatest songwriters of his generation.

To Hell and Barbados might have been a nightmarish journey for the Irish under Cromwell's rule, but it is a trip that pays many dividends for the listener.