Richard Hawley is the kind of Englishman who can put back an entire bottle of red wine during the course of an interview and somehow become more eloquent with each glass. Given the choice, he prefers pints, but there're none in the house and after a day of Christmas shopping for his two kids, he's in need of a drink.
Born and raised in the industrial sprawl of Sheffield, Hawley has the no-bullshit demeanor of a working-class guy matched by a sharp wit and a disarming sensitivity. His father was a steel worker/musician who played with the likes of Joe Cocker while slaving away at the job, and he instilled in his son both a sturdy work ethic and a passionate love for music. As a guitarist for Pulp and former member of the Longpigs, Hawley has been playing since the age of six and listening to music for as long as he can remember.
At 34 he has decided at last to branch out on his own with a solo debut, Late Night Final (Bar None). The album is full of ambience, his smooth crooner's voice laid atop strangely familiar melodies, dreamy, loping tracks that bring to mind names like Orbison, Morrison and Cash. Hawley's not afraid to sing about love or loneliness, and he does so without pouncy drama. His songs have the same simple, straightforward masculinity as that of his musical heroes, proving that sometimes a man can cry (or coo softly over his 18-month-old baby, or love his wife or read poetry) and still be a man...and a better man at that.
My recent call to Hawley began with him in mid-laugh.
[Laughing] I'm sorry, I'm laughing because my wife just came up with my son and he's wearing a little Santa hat. He's 18 months and he's looking so cheeky! That's not very rock 'n' roll, is it?
It's beautiful. Fuck rock 'n' roll.
You're calling from America?
Los Angeles.
I haven't been there since 1998. I'm really looking forward to going back. Last time was the first time and it was really interesting. With the vision I had had of America in my head, which I know is long dead and gone, it was strange to actually go and see America. I got freaked out by the Midwest. It was like living in your own episode of Roseanne. Actually that was more like the cartoon version of it. The reality of it, all these malls full of really aggressive skateboard kids. I would hunt out the most dodgy places to go. I remember the first day I landed in NYC, I took a cab to Bleecker. For me, that was the place where Bob Dylan and the rest were discovered.
And now there's the ubiquitous Gap and Starbucks.
Right, not what I expected. I am a tourist, after all. But I think even Americans are tourists in their own country. I think I've seen more of America than most Americans. I had the wrong idea of what it would be like, of course. The spirit of America to us is like this Budweiser blues ad, and what I learned on going there the first time was that the spirit did not exist in a marketing campaign, it exists in individual houses and individual streets. It comes down to who you are as an individual. I sound like a politician, don't I? But the thing about these marketing campaigns is not only that they generalize, but also that they teach you to want something that you don't really need.
What exactly was your vision of America?
I'm speaking generally of course, but in general, we, the English, want to be you. We want to buy the Budweiser ad and the McDonald's advert. But the free toy is generally crap, and that sums up fame in a way as well. Stupidly, I expected America to be stuck somewhere in 1958 or something. But one of the first times I was there I had a great experience despite that. I was there in L.A. with my wife and I had this very Spinal Tap moment?except she's not a pain in the ass and I'm not an asshole, hopefully. We were in a jacuzzi on the rooftop of a hotel, drinking wine, and we sat there and there were all these hummingbirds and the sun was setting and I just looked around and said, "Fucking hell, I just entered Nirvana."
I have that moment at least three times a day.
Now you're the politician. It's like Jim Morrison said, "She lives on Love St." They were the last great old-time band, the Doors. Something about the way Jim sang.
He was a crooner.
Exactly.
So tell me about this solo album. Was it frightening to have to take full responsibility for your own music?
Do I sound frightened? It's the calm that makes you creative. Seriously, if I may be... When you reach that kind of middle ground, you become calm. I've been in bands before. I've been around the world touring. I've been playing guitar since I was six years old. My dad used to play with Joe Cocker, they used to fit gas radiators together. They were in a band, Vance Arnold and the Avengers. Joe was just the drummer and my dad played lead guitar, and to make money, they fit radiators together. Joe and my Uncle Frank were friends as well. Frank was in a band, Dave Berry and the Cruisers, who were a big 60s band in England. Then things kind of simmered down and the 70s arrived and there was no money, so my dad took a job in the steel works and he raised three kids, but kept his music love alive. When American rock 'n' roll exploded in England in the 50s it really was like an air bomb going off to British culture. I don't want to sound like a dinosaur or a sociologist of whatever, but everything came out of that, the Sex Pistols were influenced by the Stooges and the Stooges were influenced by the Americans before them and that leads to little old me.
I've been playing sessions and playing with people for years... My tenure with the Longpigs finished rather unceremoniously and I got left with literally a few days in the studio on my own. And I thought, "Hell, fuck it, I'll try to write some songs." I had seven days and I ended up recording seven songs for a mini-album. One song each morning. I'd write the lyrics on like last night's pizza box. I played them to a friend who ended up being my manager, and it was kind of like after a completely pissed-off night, and when he heard them he was like, "Play that again." I wasn't sure what I was going to do with it. And blah blah blah, and that ended up getting good reviews, and I got a record deal for the next one, and here I am talking to you.
Seven days and seven nights? So how long did it take you to do this album?
Thirteen days. There are 11 tracks on it, and I must apologize because it took two days more this time.
But that's amazing.
It's not, though, if you keep yourself open as a person. It's difficult not to get influenced by the outside. We're bombarded all the time, by advertising, media, you know?you should be richer, you should be more beautiful, you should be slimmer. And I don't really care about that. I don't give a fuck, you know what I mean? I'm happy just to sit here and listen to my Hank Williams 78s.
To me the album is evocative of a certain place. It's cinematic. In a way it makes me nostalgic for a place I've never been.
The thing is, I've never been there either. In Sheffield I grew up in a really dodgy place. I don't want to whine that up or send it up, but it's the truth. My dad had the choice of an abattoir or rock 'n' roll. When I was growing up he would tell a story about the very first time he heard rock 'n' roll which was "Heartbreak Hotel" by Elvis in a transport cafe and he said the sound of it just changed his life. Because England was so staid. And my father loved that music so much. I mean what I say. The thing is that I hold with the idea of being sincere, and actually saying what you think, isn't dead. There's irony in what I'm about, but it's not tongue-in-cheek. You can make music without being a pain in the ass. You can be serious without taking yourself too seriously.
How was it making an album without Longpigs or Pulp? Did you enjoy the process more or less?
I've been playing with Pulp for years and I've known them nearly all my life. It's relaxing to play with them, it's fun and they're supportive. They've been there for this, they've encouraged me.
What's happening with the new Pulp album?
Do you really want to know?
Label bullshit?
Label bullshit, baby. Whoops, sorry to call you baby, it's the wine. They're not interested in British bands. They're just interested in, like?
Limp Bizkit.
Exactly, Limp Dick, what the fuck is that? Hendrix pisses on them from a great height. I'm sorry. It doesn't infuriate me. I understand why they do it. It's the return of the 80s?meaning it's shite. I just think that the corporate pig cannot sustain itself much longer. My grandfather told me this once?"softly, softly, dirty monkey." You know what I mean?
I have no idea what that means, but it's somehow profound.
It means have patience. I mean, despite everything I bitch about, I'm happy, and the main name of the game is to be happy. I never thought I'd do this, release a solo album, let alone be happy with it. I'm just trying to create something beautiful, it's as simple as that.