Tenors usually play lovers or heroes. But in the 24 years since John Graham-Hall rose to fame, singing the role of that naive innocent Albert Herring in a classic Glyndebourne production of Britten’s opera, he has portrayed far more baddies than goodies.

“Oh, you’ve noticed,” he says wryly when we meet in Leeds, where he’s about to add another — Janácek’s Mr Broucek — to a list that already contains the mendacious Mime in The Ring, the pervy Herod in Salome, the scheming Shuisky in Boris Godunov, the rapacious Monostatos in The Magic Flute and the raddled Alwa in Lulu.

“Well, it’s fun to do a character who is traditionally regarded as evil or absurd,” he says. “I love doing pomposity as well. What’s interesting is finding what motivates these baddies. Mime, for instance, probably loves Siegfried. But he loves money more, and that’s his justification for behaving as he does. Once you’ve found the justification, you’ve found the character. In fact, you start thinking like the character: you know exactly how they will react.”

So what’s the justification for his latest journey into villainy? The Adventures of Mr Broucek is a surreal comedy in which the central figure — a grasping Prague landlord — has two salutary dreams: one that transports him to the Moon, which he finds (to his disgust) is populated by arty liberal types; and the other to 15th-century Prague, with the Czechs fighting to the death to defend their Hussite faith. Broucek is condemned to death there for cowardice, but wakes just in time.

“He is an unsatisfactory, shambolic, much disliked man — very low status, wears a stained tie, gets drunk every night,” Graham-Hall says. “The prevailing spirit of his time is one of youth and rebellion. But that revolutionary spirit frightens him, and it’s this terror that comes through in his dreams. He’s good at playing the system, whatever it is.”

The “system” in John Fulljames’s new Opera North production (co-produced with Scottish Opera) will be rather different from what existed in Janácek’s early 20th-century Prague, because the young director has updated the story to the Soviet invasion in August 1968. “The opening section is set on the night before the Russian tanks roll in,” Graham-Hall says. “In the pub they are all fantasising about the Moon landings that will happen the following year, so that is recast in Broucek’s dream.

“But the Prague Spring was also the time when Czech nationalism was at its most exciting, in our lifetimes at least. Under Alexander Dubcek they really thought they were going to put one over on the Russians. Instead, they were suddenly invaded and subjugated. Which, in our staging, is what the second part of the opera is about: the fight for Prague.”

Graham-Hall came into the profession by a classic route: choral scholar at King’s College, Cambridge; then opera training at the Royal College of Music. “But I’ve got a bee in my bonnet about how opera singers are taught even today,” he says. “Acting is still not a big enough part of the curriculum. I was once told by a scientist that the brain can cope with only one thought at a time. So in opera you must get to the point where acting and singing are the same impulse. Everything needs to be joined up: vocal technique, characterisation, pointing the text, moving across the stage. I don’t think that is sufficiently emphasised in the colleges.”

Another bee buzzing inside the Graham-Hall bonnet concerns surtitles — especially where the production is (allegedly) sung in English. “I understand why it’s done,” he says. “I know many people who find going to see English National Opera a better experience now, because they can read the words. But the result is that singers are putting less and less emphasis on projecting words. That worries me, because if you can’t communicate your meaning directly, you might as well pack singing in. As soon as you get young singers to articulate the text, the whole thing lights up.”

Perhaps because he does conjure such memorable characters, Graham-Hall’s schedule is packed. He’s just done Aschenbach in Deborah Warner’s Brussels production of Death in Venice, and after Broucek he will be in David Alden’s new ENO staging of another Janácek masterpiece, Katya Kabanova. “I’m hoping to do Laca in Jenufa too — one of my dream roles.”

What other dream roles remain untackled? “Peter Grimes,” he replies without a nanosecond’s hesitation. “And Captain Vere in Billy Budd. Those Britten tenor roles are such fascinating characters, and they are written brilliantly.” Even though they were conceived for a tenor, Peter Pears, who had a highly idiosyncratic voice? “Well, every five years or so I get a review that says ‘he sounds just like Peter Pears’,” Graham-Hall laughs. “I’ve now decided to take it as a compliment.”

He’s married to a singer, Helen Williams, and has two daughters. “My eldest is 18 and singing Cosette in Les Mis on Shaftesbury Avenue. She’s absolutely not going to sing opera! My younger daughter, however, does want to, and has a lovely voice. So perhaps we will all end up treading the boards.”

If they do, his daughters might find it useful to read an as-yet-unpublished novel. It’s about an opera company — and the author is their father. Is it full of thinly disguised divas whom we will recognise? “Absolutely not a single one!” Graham-Hall says, though his giggle suggests otherwise.

Lots of sex and violence, then? “A certain amount of sex. A small bit of violence. It’s about a Russian billionaire who loves music rather than football, and wants to save a struggling opera company.”

Gosh, that’s wishful thinking, isn’t it? “It may seem so at the beginning,” Graham-Hall says. “But it’s reasonable to say that the project ends badly”.

The Adventures of Mr Broucek, Grand Theatre, Leeds (0844 8482722), from tonight, then touring (operanorth.co.uk)

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