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Back in the fabled days of yore, when rockers wore
Brill cream in their hair and two-tone wingtips on their
feet. Back when it was still acceptable, if not positively
de rigueur, to be accompanied by an orchestra. Back
when music was still recorded by geniuses in midnight
studios, where electric signals were shot through vacuum
tubes and copper wires and burned onto acetate, back
when music was still pure, that's where Richard Hawley's
music lives.
Stepping from his bed in the still of the night to scratch
out vague melodies of contrition and woe, Hawley is
a man haunted by the memories of a bygone era, of trips
to the market with his mum, of bingo halls in Blackpool
on holiday and Scotty Moore licks learnt at his father's
knee. Like Kronos himself, Hawley manages to step back
through time and capture the essence of what made such
luminaries as Buddy Holly, Roy Orbison and Scott Walker
legends.
Of course, Hawley is no misty-eyed dreamer sadly reminiscing
about the days back when. Rather he's a modern man about
town, living in Sheffield and playing guitar in one
of Britain's most celebrated bands of the last half
decade — Pulp.
But Hawley isn't standing in Jarvis Cocker's shadow
any more. With the release of his new solo album 'Late
Night Final' (Setanta), Hawley not only steps out from
the shadows, he confidently strides into the limelight
with a collection of songs so elegant and graceful as
to recall the best jazz, country and western and rhythm
and blues artists of the 1940s and '50s.
But no matter how beautiful the finished product, the
seeds of the songs themselves were wrung out of dreams
deep in the night.
"Half of them I was half asleep," recalls Hawley from
a recording studio in Sheffield, "and I'd kind of wake
up in the middle of the night and these bloody melodies
would be in my head, so you kind of have to get out
of bed and work the fucker out. Sit down, work it out—I
just threw them on a Dictaphone tape and then I'd go
back to bed, because once it's out I can go back to
sleep." Whether they're the stuff of dreams or just
one man's attempt to recapture the golden tones of yesteryear,
Hawley's songs ache with sincerity and shimmer with
the glittery shine of moonglow on lame´.
The album's opening cut, for instance, Something Is...!,
spins a lovelorn tale of two star-crossed lovers into
a danceable novella in shuffle time. "Yeah, I'm leaving
on the next train that's blowing round the bend," sings
a cavalier Hawley to his would-be lover, "and I'll be
there by the morning and I won't be back again." While
Love of My Life sweeps out of the closet of Hawley's
mind, a whispered melody trembling with tremolo, pinned
to the earth by a lone cymbal gently swishing in the
background.
But whether he's lamenting the cold wind that accompanies
restless spirits as they shamble from town to town or
singing of the simple pleasure of listening to the rain
with his love, Hawley treats each song with the delicate
care of a journeyman craftsman turning simple melodies
into eloquent statements that communicate lifetimes
of meaning with the subtle shift of a plaintive chord
against a few notes pecked out on an old piano.
"I'm not interested in fashion. I really despise the
idea of glamour," sighs Hawley, explaining the album's
guiding principle. "The only brief, without sounding
cheesy, is I wanted it to sound romantic."
Mission accomplished. Like a woman who understands there
is something sexier about leaving a few things to the
imagination than putting everything out for show all
at once, Hawley's songs hint at the edges of faded memories
and half-recollected dreams with faintly familiar wisps
of melody and a lexicon full of American cultural references
to create a palette of classic sounds without stooping
to mere mimicry or outright plagiarism.
"It's quite ironic that the thing I went into the studio
with, a world weary thing I thought no one was going
to like, was the right thing in the end," confesses
Hawley. "It means I was right, that that kind of stuff
fundamentally means more to people than the stuff that's
just churned out."
Quite so. But Hawley's path to solo success was nearly
left undiscovered until an extra week's worth of studio
time was converted into a personal challenge to see
if the perennial sideman could cut it with his own songs
using his own voice.
"It was kind of an accident," explains Hawley. " I'd
got some studio time left over after a session, so I
went in and wrote seven songs in seven days to see if
I could do it. Initially, I was looking for another
singer, and then I just got really, really drunk and
I sang the Coming Home thing. The next day I heard it
back and I thought, 'Not too bad.' Because I've never
really ever sung in my life, I thought people would
laugh. But I'm quite chuffed because not too many people
are actually laughing."
Released in Europe this past October, the album has
won rave reviews from such tastemakers as NME and The
Guardian, and has been well-received in Germany, France
and Spain, where Hawley has been playing concerts and
festivals to support the new record.
Nevertheless, Richard Hawley is philosophical about
his achievement.
"I went on tour with Frank Black and the Catholics and
I was shitting myself. I just thought, 'Christ, there's
all these hardcore surf punk kids and they're just going
to hate what I do,' and they loved it. And that, fundamentally,
that's what it's about: I've done it and now it exists." Live in February - UK Dates
Fri 22nd - Manchester - Hop & Grape
Sat 23rd - Sheffield - Leadmill
Sun 24th - Glasgow - King Tut's
Tues 26th - Portsmouth - Wedgwood Rooms
Wed 27th - London - Cargo
Photography : Joe Dilworth.
Relevant Sites
www.pulponline.com
www.richardhawley.co.uk
Richard
Hawley Myspace
Richard
Hawley Biography
Allan Martin Kemler for Crud Magazine© 2001
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