Music Interview: Richard Hawley

When hi-fi+ sits down with Richard Hawley in the London office of his record label, BMG, ahead of a private gig to showcase some of the songs from his new album, In This City They Call You Love, he tells us he’s recently returned from promotional jaunts in Belgium and France.

“The whole promo thing has just sped up to such a point that it’s so f***ing insane, and there’s all this internet content…,” he says. 

“I don’t have anything to do with social media. I don’t know much about it, but both my sons and my daughter have said ‘Dad – don’t… You’ll really hate it.’ 

He adds: “The thing I’ve observed about social media is that if it was an actual place – a town, a village, or a city – nobody would go. Only the nasty, crazy f***ers would get on a bus, or on a plane, or a taxi to go there.”

Like a lot of his work, the title of Hawley’s new record was inspired by an actual place – the city of Sheffield, where he was born, grew up and still lives.

The record takes its name from a lyric in the ballad People, which is one of the album’s most beautiful and stripped-down moments – in Sheffield, people refer to each other as ‘love.’

In a solo career that’s lasted almost 25 years, the velvet-voiced singer-songwriter, who also spent time as a guitarist in Pulp, has made a string of great albums, including 2005’s Mercury Prize-nominated, Coles Corner.

His latest record – his ninth – is one of his best. Several of the songs were influenced by the passing of his lifelong friend and former Pulp bassist, Steve Mackey, who died last year. 

In This City They Call You Love mostly sees Hawley shifting away from some of the heavy, psychedelic garage-rock he’s explored over the past few years, and returning to melancholy, ‘50s-style balladeering (‘Heavy Rain’) and country music (‘Hear That Lonesome Whistle Blow’), as well as throwing in a touch of early ‘60s Elvis (‘Prism In Jeans’), and some soulful doo-wop (‘Deep Waters’). 

First single and opener, ‘Two For His Heels’, is a dark, bluesy and cinematic twanger, while ‘Deep Space’ is the heaviest song on the record – an upbeat, crunching rocker that tackles the need for some peace and quiet – time and space – but also reflects on eco and social issues.

“I think it’s alright to not just have a heavy album or an acoustic album,” he tells us. “I didn’t really mind that this record stretched a lot sonically and tempo-wise.”

SH: Congratulations on the new record – I honestly think it’s one of the best things you’ve ever done…

RH: Oh, right – cheers, man. 

For the most part, it feels like a return to vintage Hawley. You’ve moved away from some of the heavier, psychedelic and garage-rock stuff that was on albums like Further, Hollow Meadows and Standing At The Sky’s Edge. Was that a conscious decision or did it happen organically?

It was just completely natural. Basically, Shez [Sheridan – guitarist, co-producer] – that poor f***er – had the job of sifting through the songs first. I trust him. There were 86 songs to go through since the last bunch – because it was lockdown, and I had f*** all else to do, I’d amassed a load of material. 

I definitely knew that I wanted this record to be voices – me, Shez, and Colin [Elliot – bassist, co-producer] – singing together, and a lot of space – musically, physically and emotionally.

A lot of big tunes demand that you pile loads of stuff on ‘em, but even the big tunes on the new record, when you actually break down the components, there’s f*** all to ‘em.

‘Deep Space’ is the heaviest track on the album…

Yeah – it is, but I actually recorded another four songs that were even heavier, but they didn’t make it. I thought, ‘Nah – that’s stretching it…’

The bottom line is that I’m a songwriter, and a guitarist and, I guess, a singer, and a producer, but, at the end of the day, the songwriter won this time. It’s like having different heads that you put on your shoulders, and I didn’t really mind that this record stretched a lot sonically and tempo-wise. 

Once I’d done it, when we were listening to the playback, it was the first time it occurred to me that, it was kind of, not musically, but in terms of where it stretches to, like an old Beatles record – you’d have some heavier tunes, like ‘Tomorrow Never Knows’, and then ‘Here, There and Everywhere’ – the gentler things. 

That can be a dangerous mix, and [sometimes] it can’t work, but, on this occasion, I think it has.

I think it’s alright to not just have a heavy album or an acoustic album. 

Before you recorded the tracks in Yellow Arch Studios in Sheffield, you worked up the songs in your home studio, Disgracelands, which is in your shed, didn’t you?

Yeah – but that was the thing… ‘People’ and ‘Deep Waters’ are just demos, but I added the backing vocals to ‘Deep Waters’ after.

Even though both those songs were dashed down quickly, the actual performances were just on one microphone, so you can’t separate the guitar and the vocals – it’s the sum of its parts.

I was playing ‘People’ to the lads in the band and our drummer, Deano, said, ‘If you add to that or change it, I’m leaving the band.’

He said it was perfect as it was – I didn’t think it was, and I was thinking we could add an orchestra or this, that and the other, but once he said that, I listened back to it, and I thought, ‘He’s right…’ After all this time, you trust people… 

I wrote the song while Shez was putting the kettle on in the house – he came up with some coffee, and I’d finished it off. It was done in 15 minutes. I said, ‘I’ve got this song…’ He said, ‘Don’t play it – I’ll just mic it up…’ 

I said I needed a drumbeat, and he quickly got this pulse thing, and I just played along to it – it was one take, and we listened back to it, and said, ‘That’s pretty good.’ 

I left it, and then we got into the studio with the lads, I played it to them. They all went really quiet after, and I thought, ‘F***ing hell! Is it shit?’

They all said I couldn’t mess with it – it was perfect as it was. 

I don’t want to say this record was easy, because it wasn’t, but it was one of the easiest records to record. The hardest thing was selecting the songs because I had so much material.

On this album, you’ve worked with your regular band, some of whom co-produce with you. Have you ever been tempted to work with an outside producer to see what would happen?

No – a producer, ostensibly, works for the record company, and they’re ultimately answerable to them to produce something with commercial value.

I know how to do that on me own – I don’t need help with it. That’s not to say that producers are a bad thing – they’re often a very essential component to a record. 

Maybe in the future, when I’m farting dust, and I can’t decide whether I’m having a piss or a shit… I don’t know.

The first single, ‘Two For His Heels’, is a bit of a red herring – it has this dark, cinematic and bluesy sound, which isn’t representative of the album…

I don’t think any of the songs are representative of the album – there’s not one of them, apart from ‘People’, possibly… You could randomly choose three of them to play on the radio, but none of them would represent what it is. 

Where did the inspiration for ‘Two For His Heels’ come from?

We live next door to an old family social club and there are loads of old blokes in there who play cards – cribbage. When one of them has a boss hand, they shout out: ‘One for the Jacks and two for his heels.’ 

I asked about it, but because of my complete ignorance of the game, it just sounded like surrealist poetry to me – it was bizarre. That was the starting point, and I just twisted it into an eloping song. 

It has some dark imagery in it – a howling dog and a city at night… 

Yeah, and there’s the threat of murder in it… I made that [song] up on an old Mexican instrument that I bought called a Bajo sexto, which means ‘sixth bass’ in Spanish. 

I bought that instrument with Steve Mackey, who I’ve dedicated the album to because we’ve lost him. Me and him met on the first day of infants’ [school]. Losing him influenced a lot of the songs – ‘Heavy Rain’ and stuff like that. 

As you get older in this life, loss becomes an increasingly big component of living.

Several songs on the album mention the passing of time, or getting older… 

I don’t want to be thinking about death all the time – it’s not particularly the greatest motivational force on Earth, but the older you get, the realities of it come crashing in through your door, whether you like it or not. 

It’s unavoidable. I’m a writer – I write songs… It’s not that I’m predatory with those situations, but you have to go with what you experience and what you know. 

Losing so many people that matter to me in such a brief period of time is something that you can’t ignore. Losing Steve was one of the most hideous things that’s ever happened to me and his family and friends – he was a huge component of who I am as a person because we’d known each other for so long. 

You mentioned ‘Heavy Rain’ – I think it’s one of the most beautiful songs you’ve ever written. It could’ve come off Coles Corner…

Well, that’s not a bad thing. It’s like a lot of artists … Johnny Cash, Charley Pride and Charlie Rich… the apple of what they were didn’t ever fall too far away from that tree. What they do is what they do… You wouldn’t go and see Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry if you wanted to hear some classical music. There’s a lot of width in terms of what I can do, but what I want to do is more important.

I’m a songwriter and how the songs are performed and executed is definitely under the branches of a certain tree, but there are lots of different colours to it – the influences and stuff – but, ultimately, I’m not going to be writing the most legendary hip-hop song you’ve ever heard. It’s not what I do, so it’s no great surprise – and I don’t apologise for it either – when I write something that could’ve appeared on a previous record.

On this album, you played a guitar that belonged to Scott Walker, didn’t you?

Yeah – that was a massive thing. Scott was a mate – he was someone I met when he produced Pulp’s last album, We Love Life, and, for a multitude of reasons, he and I clicked. It was to do with music, but other stuff as well – we had a certain sense of humour which both of us understood.

His manager rang up on behalf of his daughter, Lee, and the timing of it couldn’t have been more fitting… It’s a Telecaster – and she had it delivered to me three days into the recording of the record. 

There are only three or four guitar solos on the album – I didn’t want to stretch to twiddling and psyching-out on this record – but once I started playing that guitar… It’s a great guitar… I didn’t just play it because it was Scott’s, but that was obviously a huge component… It was pretty f***ed actually, and my guitar tech, Gordon, had to sort it out. Once he’d fettled it, as we say, that was the main guitar on the record.

Do you still write songs by singing or humming ideas into your phone while you’re out walking your dog? 

Yeah – I just wrote a song in Paris while I was on me own in my hotel room. I was trying to avoid getting pissed, which sort of worked…

It’s a constant thing – I don’t necessarily think it’s a talent, it’s probably more of a mental illness. It’s just something I don’t analyse – it’s best not to. 

All photos by Dean Chalkley

In This City They Call You Love is out now on BMG. 

www.richardhawley.co.uk

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