A PHILOSOPHICAL joust lies behind the title of arch cynic Dylan Moran’s new live show, Yeah, Yeah. Is it supposed to be negative, York Twenty4Seven asked?

“Well, there was this philosopher, J L Austin, who wrote a book called How To Do Things With Words, where he said there was no incident of a positive making a negative, but another philosopher replied ‘Yeah, yeah’! I don’t know what Austin said next,” says Irishman Dylan, on his mobile phone, as he makes his way through the streets of his adopted home city of Edinburgh, even negotiating the purchase of a cup of coffee at one point in the conversation.

Dylan will be in York on Thursday, curmudgeonly as ever in his latest blast of stand-up knockdowns on the theme of ageing, children, religion, relationships and the absurdities of life.

“It’s not called Yeah, Yeah because I’m feeling negative. I just like that JL Austin story. It doesn’t mean that the show is anti-anything or that we’re all doomed, though you could be forgiven for feeling that,” he says. “But it’s up to everyone to decide if they’re not doomed.”

What is Dylan’s verdict? “I’m not sure there is a way out. Maybe it is time to accommodate life being life like the painting The Scream and just getting used to it,” he says.

“It feels like we’re living in molten times; we’re certainly in interesting times, and you can never stop writing your show as you look up and everything has changed in 20 minutes.

“That’s why I didn’t know where I’d go with this show….you have to keep your antennae stiff and you know you’ll have to keep changing it, otherwise you’d have a barrel organ that you’d turn and squeak out the same tune again and again.”

Dylan used to be annoyed at his depiction as a curmudgeon, but he is not so grumpy about it these days. “People will see what they see. If they want unconfined sunshine, consult Bonnie Langford,” he says.

“I’m not advocating misery as a modus operandi, but someone unrestrainedly gleeful at this moment would come across as odd or insensitive.”

He does not consider Yeah, Yeah to be driven by topicality.

“I talk about things that don’t just matter today but always matter: your family, your children and your relationship with those who matter most to you, and your mortality. That’s the stuff that’s never front-page news, but is the unseen life between the big events, because it’s daily life that occupies most of your time,” he says.

“It’s the chores that you’re doing, or looking after your children, that feel like they’re sustaining you and eroding you at the same time: they’re the chains of familiarity. That takes up the main part of what I’m doing in this show.”

Dylan frankly has had enough of the news of the day.

“I don’t want to hear any proselytising. I want to get away from what’s happening in the world, back to the domestic scene,” he says.

“I’ve been a news junkie with it going in one ear and out the other, but it’s so tedious and such a static scene as everyone knows what’s wrong, and it’s total bull and transparently wrong, but what I’m interested in is how we deal with it.”

Dylan does not look to ram his opinions down people’s throats.

“What I hope my comedy does is make things clearer. It’s not to give people a set of opinions, but to clean the windscreen,” he says.

Comedians appear to be everywhere in 2011, filling theatres, spilling over from chat shows to political debates. “I guess there’s never a shortage of talking heads. Comedians are cheap and cheerful,” he says.

“But I don’t know if I’d go on Question Time. I haven’t really thought about it, but I have mixed feelings about punditry.

“In Ireland, there’s a whole tradition of telling jokes in pubs; everyone was a pundit, everyone was yacking, so everyone had an opinion, so it took me a while to understand that the British like their comedy to be structured.”

• Dylan Moran, Yeah, Yeah, Grand Opera House, York, Thursday, 8pm. Sold out.