Richard Hawley, Hammersmith Apollo, London, review: Ruminations on love and loss leave the crowd enraptured

Hawley’s weathered croon adds to the vulnerability of his nakedly romantic couplets

Shaun Curran
Wednesday 24 February 2016 17:34 GMT
Comments
Richard Hawley’s northernness courses through his songs
Richard Hawley’s northernness courses through his songs

Your support helps us to tell the story

This election is still a dead heat, according to most polls. In a fight with such wafer-thin margins, we need reporters on the ground talking to the people Trump and Harris are courting. Your support allows us to keep sending journalists to the story.

The Independent is trusted by 27 million Americans from across the entire political spectrum every month. Unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock you out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. But quality journalism must still be paid for.

Help us keep bring these critical stories to light. Your support makes all the difference.

“It’s OK, we’re from the north”, Richard Hawley reassures before he’s even struck a note, lest anyone forget that the bequiffed, double denim-clad troubadour before them does a great impression of a one-man Sheffield tourist board.

Even without his infamously disarming onstage patter (“if this fucker doesn’t get you down, nothing will”), Hawley’s northernness courses through his songs, which are invariably sentimental ruminations on love and loss, desire and guilt.

Eighth collection Hollow Meadows (once again named after a South Yorkshire landmark) recalls the luxuriance of breakthrough Coles Corner, and provides tonight’s emotional sucker punches. Piano ballad "Tuesday PM", a blunt recounting of a relationship long-since disintegrated, is worthy of Nick Cave, while "What Love Means", about his daughter leaving home, is devastating in its simplicity.

His croon, as well-worn and comforting as an old leather boot, has weathered slightly, yet it only adds to the vulnerability when he sings such nakedly romantic couplets as “you’re precious to me/like Blake’s poetry” on the rockier "Heart of Oak".

“Text me when you get home,” he says before "The Ocean"’s squall of noise crashes over everyone, sending people for the exits emotionally spent, yet enraptured.

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in