Six Definitive Songs: The ultimate beginner’s guide to Richard Hawley
Back in 2005, Alex Turner accepted Arctic Monkeys’ Mercury Award by proclaiming, “Someone call 999, Richard Hawley’s been robbed.” Strangely, the only pertinent question seemed to be ‘when?’ He’s one of the good ones is Mr Hawley – one of the greats, in fact – and it’s an eternal crime yet to be corrected that he isn’t as ubiquitous as he should be. There’s no situation amid the myriad card hands of humanity that he can’t embellish.
He could enrichen an open bank vault, he could power surge the romance at Lord Byron’s Disney wedding, and he could quell a bustling riot in the Bigg Market—transfiguring the drunken melee into an animated Edward Hopper painting where puddles of spew are suddenly unpretentious 3D Jackson Pollacks, the coughed-up snot globules are rare street oysters, and starry dreamers stagger home safely on broken heels.
Hailing from Sheffield, Hawley was part of the city’s big musical punchers in the 1990s British scene with Longpigs. When they’d offered all the ample bacon they could, they disbanded, and Hawley went on to join his pal Jarvis Cocker in Pulp for a short period. Thereafter, the solo life beckoned for Hawley. In truth, that has always seemed like the world where he belonged, so singular and personal is his output. His tracks might be swirling arrangements, but you always picture Hawley alone, a drifter who becomes a one-man orchestra under the spotlight.
So, below we’re delving into his sumptuous solo back catalogue and pointing newcomers to his romantic realm in the right direction through the ages. From his first almost-tentative solo outing to his recent days proudly tackling the established greats, we’ve spanned the glorious crock of gold that he has crooned out over the years and picked the gems that best define him and his wavering journey of timeless tunes.
Richard Hawley’s six definitive songs:
‘Sunflower’
Even for born wandering souls like Hawley, going it alone can be daunting. Needless to say, he had already established himself as an esteemed artist and songwriter, but brazenly releasing under your own name is a big step that requires time to fine-tune. Nevertheless, that caution can be artistic in itself and with his first ‘mini-album’, his meek dash into the solo spotlight offered up a swathe of endearing vulnerability.
While elements of his style were certainly in place, they weren’t quite emboldened just yet, like a slicked but slightly tousled fringe as opposed to the power of a fully established quiff, so to speak. That tiptoe towards romanticism separates this early effort from the rest of his work via an aura of youthful uncertainty. As Hawley said himself, he used the mini-album halfway house to “quietly hone” his style and develop his confidence: “I was never really very good about bleating on about being a songwriter.”
All the same, the consummate songwriter he was indeed. The swell of this track might help to define that, but it is a fact furthered by the postmodernist touches. For example, following the line, “I’ve seen it in your eyes, never say goodbye, again,” with the gentle hush of “again.” Is it repetition for rhythm, or is it goodbye?
‘The Ocean’
While his lyrics are revel-worthy, his sense of melody is seamless, and his voice is velveteen, one truly awesome aspect where Hawley separates himself from many is his crafted understanding of composition. Like the best evenings, this song goes from a quiet meal to a twisting request to the Tambourine Man under the drunken stars without a key change ever announcing itself in earnest.
From the dreamy, pillow-propped beginning of a plucked guitar and rolling bassline, the song whisks you by the hand towards a wave-crashing crescendo. Taken from the masterpiece Coles Corner which truly launched Hawley as a timeless solo songwriter, the anthem is indicative of how Hawley can somehow simultaneously harness the oomph of an orchestra and all the colour that provides with the humble individualism of a soloist, turning the gaudy glow of the spotlight into alluring candle flicker.
Now, I’d never besmirch Death of a Ladies Man, I think it’s brilliant, but it seems like this is a little bit more like what Leonard Cohen had in mind when he traded in the acoustic for the audaciousness of Phil Spector all of a sudden.
‘Tonight the Streets are Ours’
It’s well-established at this point that Hawley has the world of side-street romanticism boxed off, but he also has the canny knack of packaging these into recognisable singles. The star might just about define his songwriting outlook with this effort, but he does so with a perfectly constructed structure, singalong chorus, and impetus-injecting middle eight.
With the song assembly configured to a fine art, it opens the track up to those merely delving in for a toe-tap. In this regard, you don’t have to know the streets that he sings of or have images flash to your mind of avenues stacked with homes backlit by terrestrial TV, you can enjoy it for the simple joy of pop music. The poetry and everything else he layers in merely bolsters the appeal of something any Tin Pan Alley great would’ve been proud of.
‘For Your Lover Give Some Time’
And speaking of his poetry, Hawley’s lyricism has a wonderfully lived-in feel. Lines like “You talk forever on the phone, to your mother, and with my thoughts I’m left alone,” undoubtedly come from a place of personal experience. And because he croons them out with sincerity, you can relate to it – not just because the same situation has also happened to you (it has) – but also because he paints such an expressive picture.
Secondly, this anthem from his laidback 2009 effort Truelove’s Gutter perfectly displays another defining element of his back catalogue: pleasantry. Pleasantry is one of the most underrated compliments in the music book. In an era beset by ‘edgy’ dissonance or the perceived need to chuck in avant-garde flourishes, Hawley remains happily willing just to offer up unblemished moonbeam beauty, and it soars like a good old perfect pint.
‘Heart of Oak’
For his seventh full-length solo album in 2015, Hawley’s tunes took on a more muscular approach. The pomade got stiffer, and he sheened up the leather to show that he can still rock out too. ‘Heart of Oak’ shows the shimmer chamber pop result. It is an earworm, as per usual, but it rams its way into the cranium with a stronger ABV.
With a great bit of guitar work fluttering throughout, Hawley’s honed belter retains his usual sense of melodic restraint and skipping rhythm, but this time with a flash of carefree swagger. It’s a brooding epic that could knock the socks off of Gandhi, and it musters up a freewheeling sense of revelry as it roars along. You don’t even have the time or care to stop and ponder how the invigorating guitar sounds, almost like beefed-up mandolin playing.
‘Ballad of a Thin Man’
Not many people can tackle the master Bob Dylan and improve upon his work. It’s so singular, sincere and confined to his aura of artistic authority that, ultimately, despite his ragged edges, few can polish his tune’s up without diminishing their power. Hawley somehow majestically keeps both intact, throws in a wallop of his own majesty, and the result is an improvement on a masterpiece.
In order to achieve that, you need to have not only a natural understanding of songwriting and craft but a level of self-awareness about where you fit and what you can offer the art. This feat never seems to be amiss with Hawley, who wades into music with a novelistic sense of voice, and with this 2019 effort, he bellows it out. It’s a howl that rattles the rafters in the roof of the skull without ever breaking from the saloon-door swing of swaggering jurisdiction.