Does a folk musician benefit from random celebrity endorsements? Julie Fowlis has recently had two: Philip Selway from the band Radiohead counts himself as a fan, while the other is someone even more obliquely related to the world of Scottish traditional music.

The latest, rather exciting PR development in the career of the Gaelic singer from North Uist has been the recent addition on her MySpace page of a quote from none other than Ricky Gervais. Commenting on her music, he says: "It's great. But I have no idea what she is on about." If this line had fallen from the hapless mouth of Gervais's famous character, David Brent himself, it could scarcely be more cringe-worthy: it begins life as faint praise and ends up as a gaffe.

In Julie Fowlis, we find an impeccable, unassuming performer who embraces the lilty, nostalgic romance of traditional Gaelic mouth music. She is the recent winner of the BBC Radio 2 Horizon Award and has spent the last few years quietly honing her musical identity. With the impending release of her second studio album, Cuilidh, Gervais's soundbite seems almost apposite to the point of prophecy, and is indicative of all that is right and indeed all that might potentially be considered "wrong" - with the singer's decision to record exclusively in the Gaelic language.

Fowlis's album is certainly an accomplished piece of work, with thoughtful arrangements of traditional Scottish songs that capitalise on the singer's haunting and technically masterful voice, but the issue remains: how to engage with this music without having the means to understand the language? In truth, the question may be rather academic. The appeal of traditional music resides in the melodies, the rhythm and the context of the live performance, as opposed to relying on immediate access to the meaning of the words.

Fowlis herself is philosophical: "It's a glass-half-empty or half-full situation, and it is difficult to know whether the language barrier is a positive or negative thing. I've always seen it as a positive thing, though it does seem to be becoming a big deal for everyone but me. I'm more than happy to sing in English, I don't have a problem with it at all, but Gaelic is what I know and what I love."

"I suppose we felt at some level that doing some songs in English would be selling out. We came under a bit of pressure on this album, and people were saying oh, why don't you just do one song in English', but then we realised we would only be doing it because everyone else wanted us to. So we decided not to give the album an English title. I think we felt it was important to give the Gaelic language the respect it deserves. We did, however, make the title short and easy to say, and put four different translations of what the words could mean. But we want to use the fact that it is in Gaelic as a strength, and not apologise for it."

Indeed, underneath the title on the cover of her album is a dictionary definition: Cuilidh ('kul'i) - noun, 1.treasury, 2. sanctuary, 3. retreat, 4. secret hiding place.

The explicit presentation of the multiplicity of meanings points to another aspect of the language that Fowlis realises could influence the character of her work, and that is the problem of translation. "I think when you translate, word for word, from Gaelic into English or the other way around, you lose an essence of the word."

A mere 2% of the population of Scotland have competence in Gaelic, and Fowlis is well aware that some listeners may be alienated. But she is keen to stress the mitigating effects of live performance: "The majority of people won't have the language, which is both a really good thing and a really bad thing. In a live situation, you are able to convey so much more. In the studio we worked very hard on making the recording as good as we possibly could, to make it sound as close to the live performance as possible."

Away from the issue of language - a preoccupation that Fowlis herself finds a little difficult to identify with - this unassuming singer becomes more passionate as she speaks of what these songs represent to her. The preservation of the tradition is one of her main priorities and the survival of the music depends on an aural transmission.

"The majority of the songs are not notated, but we depend upon the work that has been done before us. Historically, educated people from southern Scotland and parts of England would travel north and notate and transcribe the songs, preserving and saving a living, breathing tradition."

But there is a downside. "When a song is written down, it immediately becomes fixed and it becomes someone's version of that song, so you have to be wary of the accuracy of the transcription."

At heart, Fowlis is a true traditionalist, but rather than paying lip-service to an idealism of the past, she is keen to pay respect to the people who have shaped her life and sense of community.

"A lot of the music is about specific people, events and communities, and the things that are retold in the songs actually happened to these people. The world is such a small place now, everything is so accessible, and this has changed the community way of life. Not that long ago, maybe 30 years or so, people in the islands were still ploughing each other's fields and the spirit of the community was still very much alive; the community was self-sufficient. I suppose I am quite protective of the idea of maintaining and preserving a community."

It is this notion of self-sufficiency that best describes Julie Fowlis: not just in her determination to bring Gaelic song to as wide an audience as possible, but also in her concerts. Given the importance of live performance, does she enjoy it?

"I love it and I probably hate it at the same time. Before I go on, I often ask myself what on earth am I doing here?' and I'm usually a bag of nerves. I'm a pacer, too; I pace around backstage and have a tendency to get grumpy. But once I'm there and get going, I love it."