Richard Hawley’s eighth album begins with I Still Want You, on which his creamy baritone sounds like it has been lightly dusted with sandpaper. It ends with What Love Means, a song about his daughter leaving home, which sees those same vocal chords momentarily lose their assuredness and waver. These bookends remind us that considering Hawley merely as a nostalgia act, as some still do, is lazy: with his albums, each one named after a Sheffield locale, Hawley has created a unique, atmospheric emotional landscape out of the finest of details. Following the vaguely psychedelic-rock diversion of 2012’s Standing at the Sky’s Edge, Hollow Meadows is mostly a return to familiarly lush ground. It’s perhaps not as melodically sharp as his best work, but reacquainting yourself with that rich croon is always a pleasure.
