Hamish Hawk – ‘A Firmer Hand’ album review: a noir indie musical
THE SKINNY: The gallows surely loom larger for the man not yet sentenced than they do for the already condemned. With disquieting captivation, Hamish Hawk sits on the precipice of those two dispositions on his third indie album, A Firmer Hand. He happily flirts with his own damnation, then scuppers that deeply personal sabotage with sordid glimmers of hope, resulting in a schismatic album, lauded over by an honest but unreliable narrator and presented in wickedly brooding tones.
Technically, it’s his fifth album if you include his other two releases as Hamish James Hawk in 2014 and then as Hamish Hawk & the New Outfit in 2018. That’s a digression that seems important to bring up. Because with the latest moniker now seemingly suck in place, the Scottish songwriter suddenly seems liberated enough to expand his sights to less comfortable horizons. Throughout A Firmer Hand, Hawk defiantly punches out lines you’d be wary about writing down in invisible ink in your personal diary.
A decade on from his debut in earnest, that ‘revealing’ sentiment is the crux of the development at play. The musicality stays true to his anthemic indie ways, injected with a dark, noir drama that the themes implore. The tracks are driven by reliable walking basslines, a sign of his desire to explore elsewhere as his lyricism wanders into new climes. Textured layers of guitars and synths do enough to build dramatic backdrops, waltzing with the words without ever stealing the spotlight from his foreboding baritone. But the spotlight is a shadowy one, like a candle in a closet.
A Firmer Hand is a record of opposites: erotic and revealing yet universal and welcoming, it’s full of complex depth yet pointedly blunt, hooks are as commonplace in the music as unfulfilled promises with pop tropes playfully subverted. Yet, the deftest trick of all is that this dichotomy is not the product of uncertainty but an album that knows itself so well it’s daring itself to dart out of the closet stark naked.
Full of character and play, A Firmer Hand is an entrancing noir indie musical delving into the flaws of a modern man whom you begin to suspect isn’t all that troubled—like a crooning reinvention of Patrick Bateman who wouldn’t hurt a fly but would happily torture his own psyche with thoughts that turn towards the feverish.
For fans of Sprinkling a pinch of sugar into your tea on a Saturday morning and suddenly thinking of yourself as a Machiavellian libertine.
A concluding comment from George Orwell: “The fatal flaw in my Big Brother prognosis was not realising that nothing would be sacred in the 21st century anyway. Hamish has, effectively, accepted all cookies and to hell with what his mother might think.”
A Firmer Hand track by track:
Release date: August 16th | Producer: Rod Jones | Label: So Recordings
‘Juliet as Epithet’: Squandered opportunities and self-destruction are the tender subjects that sweetly welcome you into the record. Putting ironies aside, while the themes might be dense and daunting, Hawk skims them along like a stone over water with a stunning beguiling vocal melody. [5/5]
‘Machiavelli’s Room’: It is a title that happily decries, ‘I’m a literary songwriter’, and that depth is brought to you on a brooding groove. It doesn’t quite have the same strength in its jab as the opening round, but the complex, obfuscated lyricism keeps you dazzled. [4/5]
‘Big Cat Tattoos’: A swaggering beast of a tune that sees Hawk lay down his trademark lyricism over a beat reminiscent of the Pet Shop Boys. Darkness and attitude add a Berlin energy to lovely lines like, “You with all the modesty of big tech in boom, I tire of you, honestly, when you swan around the room.” [4/5]
‘Nancy Dearest’: A 1979-esque mix of tremolo tones and brutalism creates a schismatic retro feel. Meanwhile, a glitchy electronic solo showcases the experimental edge of the instrumentation. [4/5]
‘Autobiography of Spy’: In his trademark cascading style, the words flow thick and fast, all cut with a dark intensity. Broken love, an excerpt from a lost Bond diary, a poem to the entrapment of authoritarianism, you can read it how you like, and you’ll read it many times over, captivated by its mid-era Arctic Monkeys-like snare. [4.5/5]
‘You Can Film Me’: “I’ve lived so long my heroes are the absolute worst” is one of the most quipping lines on the record and showcases the canny way that Hawk throws out crafted one-liners that draw you into his deeper mess of thoughts. It’s this performative air that dominates the track as the musicality serves as an energetic bed for his oration. [4.5/5]
‘Cristopher St.’: A little 90-second bridge cleverly placed to break up the instrumentation that was just about to threaten to get samey. It’s an allusive tale of fleeting imagery that whisks up snippets of peacoat-clad walks as the mist lifts off the Leith. [4/5]
‘Men Like Wire’: After the cosiness of ‘Christopher St.’, ‘Men Like Wire’ lands like a cold shower after a sauna. And Hawk sings of a similar impact, feeling quashed by intimidation. The guitar tones are searing, gearing towards a chanted chorus. [4/5]
‘Questionable Hit’: There are pressures in every art form; even saddened indie songwriters have to worry about their roots showing through the dye. With a comical, haunting decree, Hawk takes a mellow, bass-driven moment to air his grievances with his craft. It could just do with a little more hi-hat. [4/5]
‘Disingenuous’: Thundering toms and shooting Dave Davies sliding stabs, create a dynamic arrangement as the Scottish songsmith extolls his anxieties about falling foul of disingenuous shysters that may well simply be invented by his psyche as convenient excuses. [3.5/5]
‘Milk an Ending’: The sweetly constructed key changes lend the song and anthemic edge. Drums drift out of syncopation, helping to hammer home the schematic theme of the record. But for the first time, you wonder whether a tidier, more classic cut might have sharpened the suit, so to speak. [3.5/5]
‘The Hard Won’: A pulsing melody repeats as Hawk laments, with words that are perhaps a little too low in the mix, flirting with repetition as tension builds. It’s a tension that Hawk is happy to hold onto, staying true to the discomfort that makes for such a disquietly captivating album. [4/5]
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