Coles Corner

It’s a certain unique kind of person who finds themselves on the Christmas card lists of both Robbie Williams and Scott Walker. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Richard Hawley exists in a category of his own.
The Sheffield lad has followed a unique and quixotic career path thus far – playing guitar for a number of indie underachievers (like The Longpigs), skirting the edges of popularity as a part time member of Pulp (just as their star was on the wane), and then, to earn a crust, delivering respected session backing for various members (exiled and incumbent) of the Heat aristocracy. Did you know he was the guitarist aping Frusicante on All Saints’ version of ‘Over The Bridge’?
A 36-year-old dad who leaves his home town of Sheffield with all the enthusiasm of a man walking towards the gallows, he provides a singularly unsexy example of the modern celebrity musician.
Which, it must be said, is one of the reasons why Hawley is so wonderful.
His previous two albums – Late Night Final and Lowedges – drew a frightening poignancy from their honest portrayals of wee hours, could-have-been-a-contender, anguish and doubt. They were records that had been round the block, missed their bus, and were now wondering if the route had been cancelled. And because of this, if they found you in the right (or, indeed, wrong) mood they soon became friends for life.
And now we come to Coles Corner, named after a famous meeting point in Sheffield where Hawley’s mum and dad first hooked-up.
From the opening title track, with his deep, all-enveloping blanket of a voice, Hawley is eager to tell of how “The traffic of life is flowing,” and it’s a prospect that Coles Corner delivers in spades. His oft mentioned debt to the likes of Roy Orbison, Glenn Campbell, Elvis, Lee Hazlewood and Chet Baker is very much to the fore here, and the lush, warmly melancholic character (all reverbed vocals and florid string arrangements) of the songs provides the perfect backing to his tales of loneliness, wasted talent and bruised idealism.
It’s uniformly brilliant – perhaps the closest any artist has come so far to matching Lambchop’s peerless Nixon – but a special mention must go to ‘Ocean’, a sweeping, tidal wave of a track that could rival anything released by Dennis Wilson, and the lilting ‘Born Under A Bad Sign’, in which Hawley seems to serenade his younger, feckless self, with all the careworn love of a fearful older brother.
It’s maybe too early yet to mention records of the year, but hang around Coles Corner for long enough and you’ll find it difficult to look elsewhere.