Few artists of recent years have a body of work as consistently spine-tingling as
Richard Hawley. Far from being a man out of his time, with his 50s obsessions and Roy Orbison croon, the former Longpig and Pulp acolyte seems to have set the bar for others, inspiring the songwriting of his peers and his apprentices alike (see The Last Shadow Puppets and Alex Turner's questionable quiff). He could be forgiven for resting on his laurels and making an(other) brilliant album of whiskey-filtered ballads to his beloved Sheffield, all of which makes his new album
Standing At The Sky's Edge even more invigorating. Angry, loud and downright lascivious in places, the first song to stand out on initial listens is this one, a call to arms to reject the trappings of urban life and get down and dirty in the sticks. Amid buzz-saw guitars and squealing feedback, Hawley keeps his cool but a bead of sweat can be on that bequiffed forehead. Bracing stuff.
From: Standing At The Sky's Edge - out on Monday 7th May
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