Richard Hawley brings his 20th anniversary celebration of (probably his greatest album) Coles Corner to London’s Regents Park Open Air Theatre for a memorable and poignant evening amongst the trees and under the stars.
(Before I start, a small warning that anyone who prefers their music reviews to be light on personal slant should look away now.) When the opportunity to see Richard Hawley in Regent’s Park came up I jumped at it for several reasons. First, I’d still not managed to get to one of this undersung, unique, much-loved Yorkshireman’s live shows and, finally, here was my chance. Next, I’m very familiar with this particular hidden gem of a theatre, and this is the first time I’ve ever heard of a music concert being staged here. It’s generally known for its Shakespeare season and various musicals, and it’s a stunning place to come and sit and watch theatre on summer nights, with barbecue and blankets, against a backdrop of greenery. It’s been a while since I’ve visited though.
Finally – morbid alert – my actress mother appeared in many shows here over many years and some of her ashes are scattered here. So. A special chance for me to combine my love of this artist (which goes back to early Longpigs days) and his gift for nostalgic melancholy, this work of art of an album, and this magical theatre, whilst saying a quiet hello to my brilliant mum.

Before the main act gets underway, MT Jones from Liverpool undertakes the task of skilfully entertaining the slowly filling amphitheatre with just his voice and his guitar. With his high-waisted slacks, he fits well with Hawley’s ‘60s styling, bringing a timelessness to his soulful, jazzy, RnB-fused songs.
As Hawley and his band, plus mini orchestra, arrive on stage, the strings soar for the start of title track, Coles Corner; latecomers scrabble in the dark to find their seats (the seat numbers don’t seem to have obvious logic, which adds to the charm of the place) and, as we brace ourselves for a run through of this arguably faultless album, we know immediately that tonight is going to be very special indeed.
Hawley’s laid back velvety croon wraps itself around the theatre like a fur stole – at one point he actually apologises that his voice is too deep. No such thing. The audience visibly reclines and lets it all wash over them – the upbeat Americana country of Just Like The Rain, the shuffling faded glamour of Hotel Room (with that plaintiff “here in my arms…”), the Roy Orbison-esque Darlin’ Wait For Me. All of this leads us to the first peak of the night, in my view probably the best live version of The Ocean I will ever hear – transportative poetry and atmosphere building into a heart-rending crescendo, with a Hendrix-level guitar shred, and when “here comes the rain…” finally comes, it feels almost impossible to bear.
A couple of minutes to recover, and we’re treated to some of Hawley’s delightful between-song banter when he tells us earnestly that the next song is dedicated to double bassist Danny Thompson who died a few days ago and “will always be with me”. At this precise moment, a helicopter flies over and he instantly quips “and there he is!”. As he asks us to “make some noise for Danny”, the first notes of Born Under A Bad Sign come in, perfectly timed. “What are you like? You’ve had a right life…” It’s a fantastic tribute to his friend.
As we move through the vintage Johnny Cash sounds of I Sleep Alone, we’re thrust back into the early ‘50s, before being overwhelmed by the emptiness and hopelessness of Tonight. Not for the first time, the thought occurs that this album is actually perfect.
Hawley tells us “It’s quite calming here isn’t it. Apart from the helicopter…” as he morphs into Johnny Cash – or is it Hawaii Elvis? – or is it Dolly Parton? – with (Wading Through) The Waters Of My Time. Personally, this one starts to hit an emotional nerve for me, with some lyrics that could easily drag me down a rabbit hole. But it also brings a long-forgotten memory of laughing with my mum at the whole of Blue Hawaii – especially Elvis singing Rock A Hula Baby and Angela Lansbury’s facial expressions – which brings me back to now.
Before tonight’s album closer, Who’s Gonna Shoe Your Pretty Little Feet, Hawley tells us that his mum taught him this song. There’s also a story about Joe Cocker being his godfather, coming round to their house (which was opposite a graveyard, next to a butcher and a taxidermist) to sing songs with her. It strikes me it’s nice that his mum’s here too.
Another guitar change after Tonight The Streets Are Ours, courtesy of “Gordon, the finest guitar tech in his price range”, and more spells are woven with Don’t Stare At The Sun featuring another epic guitar solo from Hawley.
Standing At The Sky’s Edge, title song from Hawley’s Olivier Award-winning musical, feels like the offspring of Mark Lanegan and Robert Plant – intense, didactic, dark. Another absorbing performance and, yet again, I’m full of regret that I missed seeing the musical.
Another blissful strings crescendo builds with the utter romance of work of art Open Up The Door – it’s impossible to resist and we don’t want this evening to end. But end it must: “You’ve been motherfuckers” and “Haven’t you got any second homes to go to?”
After a quick foray into Morrissey-infused tracks Alone and, with another lean towards Elvis, Is There A Pill?, Hawley ends this beautiful show with a stunning performance of For Your Lover Give Some Time, pulling inexorably at the heart strings one last time, leaving us (well, me at least) wrung out and spent.
No question, hands down one of the best concerts I have ever been fortunate to witness. Which, being here, in this magical place that is so special to me, is as it should be.
“Don’t search for me in lands of gold
I won’t be there I can’t get old
Don’t hope for me the stars have died
I’ve slipped into the past”. (Wading Through) The Waters Of My Time
Follow Richard Hawley on Facebook | Instagram | X | Website
And MT Jones on Facebook | Instagram | X | Website
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All words and photos by Naomi Dryden-Smith: Louder Than War | Facebook |Twitter | Instagram | portfolio
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