Richard Hawley

By Brian Coney

There are few modern musicians who embody the natural suave or attract the sheer level of respect as Sheffield’s Richard Hawley. From his days with the Longpigs to his touring work with Pulp and his ever unravelling, wonderfully progressing solo career, tonight he and his band set to seduce Belfast and justify his recent Mercury Prize nomination.

With the Mandela hall packed on an otherwise unremarkable Sunday evening, Hawley, replete with slicked back, rockabilly hair and leather jacket, start straight into the title track of the newest release, Standing At The Sky’s Edge. A hugging wall of sound instantly enraptures and lovingly lulls in unison, Hawley’s brilliantly baritone, reverb-soaked vocals – conjuring the likes of Morrissey and Scott Walker – get the night off to an equally meditative and brazen start.

With another cut from his recent release, the poignant lullaby-esque ‘Don’t Stare At The Sun’ seeing the intent underlying its descending chord progression coursing majestically throughout the room, one can’t help but feel this is an ideal type of gig for a drizzly Sunday night in Belfast.

That said, whilst the first half of the set tonight is speckled with charming, dry-witted anecdotes, masterfully delivered in Hawley’s marked Northern tones (one about flying a kite with his son “off his head” on acid stands out) his impulsive decision to lambast the crowd for the brash belligerence of a select few at the back proves incredibly disappointing.

“You all must be f**king loaded,” he scathes. “You can afford to buy a ticket, only to talk the whole way through.” The atmosphere, as you might expect, wavers, withers and hangs in the balance for the next few numbers.

With Hawley dishing out the silent treatment in between songs for a period, it’s fair to say his decidedly working class brand of increasingly drone-orientated rock never suffers as a result. Having played as many as five different guitars in as many songs, he is in his realm, the majestic, perfectly paced swoon of ‘Hotel Room’ and ‘Tonight The Streets Are Ours’ prove outright highlights.

Even better, the rollicking, relatively heavy ‘Leave Your Body Behind You’, with its spellbinding, chorded textures and coursing lead guitar lines, soon summons an intensity and sense of urgency unmatched throughout Hawley’s set.

At the end, with the original air of goodwill almost completely restored – Hawley even obliging the crowd’s insistence that he “chug” a glass of red wine before saluting them – a closing triad of the The Who-esque ‘Down In The Woods’, ‘Lady Solitude’ and the wonderfully idealistic ‘The Ocean’ round off a phantasmal, altogether skilful performance that, in spite of a transitory (not to mention unavoidable) period of disenchantment, comes up good in the end.


Richard Hawley played Belfast's Mandela Hall on Sunday 02 December.