Two years ago, Richard Hawley seemed all washed up, his only claim to fame stemming from his former membership of Britpop also-rans Longpigs. Now, with two excellent solo albums under his belt and a part-time job with Pulp, the Sheffield guitarist is deservedly receiving some of the critical respect he richly deserves. Lowedges (named after a small town on the outskirts of his home town) continues his recent run of form, being another collection of elegant ballads distinguished by Hawley's heartfelt crooning and faintly eerie lyrics. Comparisons with Roy Orbison are obvious and valid - and yet there's a grim fatalism about Hawley's music, topped off with a black sense of humour, that means it could only have come from northern England. And if these relentlessly downbeat songs begin to sound slightly repetitive after a while, it only serves to underline the uniquely haunting character of Hawley's music - a quality which very few contemporary artists can pull off as well as this. Beautifully restrained and lovingly executed, Lowedges confirms this perennial underdog as a musician with a very special talent indeed. Long may he prosper.

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