𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗼𝗹𝗹𝘆’𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿 - this week: In the Presence of Absence - James Hawken

Welcome all to 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗼𝗹𝗹𝘆’𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿, a series of weekly reviews by Charles Connolly - an artist in his own right. Here, Charles delves into the greatest brand new singles brought to you by the best unsigned artists on our electrifying and eclectic set of 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 playlists.

𝙄𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝘼𝙗𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 - 𝙅𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙃𝙖𝙬𝙠𝙚𝙣

Charles is filling a void…

There was a song released weeks ago. Let’s call it “wicked song”. I adored it, but I had already opted for a different song to review that week. Still though, this “wicked song” lingered in my head. I really needed to talk about it. The following week occurred in its usual weekly fashion, and I had not forgotten about said “wicked song”, but in my honest approach I still went ahead and listened to all that was new that week. Alas, another great song took its place and “wicked song” was once again put on hold. Another week passed and although I still listened to all the latest new releases, I was determined this time to finally tell the world about this “wicked song”. I went back to the New Artist Spotlight playlists to find it and refresh my memory. I scrolled up, I scrolled down. I could not find it. I even used the search function within the playlists. It was not there. Fortunately, I had written it down, so all was not lost. “Wicked song” had not let me down; it was still wicked. But I was wondering why it was not on the playlists… After delving through the New Artist Spotlight itself, I found to my horror that the artist had left the community!!! By now, you’re probably all wondering who I’m talking about, or perhaps you are sure you know. But let me throw my spanner in your works (I’m running out of spanners)… Before having heard this “wicked song”, I had never heard of this artist. NOW you’re dumbfounded. You have no idea. But the thing is, I very much doubt you had ever heard of the artist. I believe they were one of those “try it for a bit then opt out because they can’t be bothered” types. Which is a huge shame, because this song is just fabulous and so utterly unique. And get this: it’s rap! Well, sort of rap. Feels more like spoken word in rhythm. And you know what’s REALLY going to annoy you? I’m not going to tell you.

I’ll be honest. Something is missing. Ever since hearing that “wicked song”, followed by its disappearance, I have felt there to be something missing. As if nothing else could quite give me that same excitement. That thrill. I have - as always - listened to all the latest releases. Some very good, some good, some okay, and some unspeakably bad. But there was a fifth category that somehow tainted the other four categories, and ultimately left me with a flat feeling. As if nothing in music could excite me any longer. Now, of course it’s highly plausible that I was simply not in the mood, or that my mind was fully focussed on the various mixes and productions I’m working on right now for other artists. Perhaps it’s other stuff in life. But whatever it was, this fifth category brought me down. This time you’ll probably guess. Yep, it’s that old chestnut: Ay Eye. Or what I call HAL. It is completely taking over. And taking over to the extent that “artists” are even making up fake names for the official credits. Literally, a singer, who doesn’t exist, is being christened. It’s getting eerie. It’s making me feel very ill. I just can’t believe this is actual reality. That this is real life, and that this is current. That this is not an obscene prediction of the future. And yet, this is just the beginning. This is email to the internet. This is Ford Model T to the McLaren Speedtail. This is wooden clog to the Nike Adapt (a motorised self-lacing shoe). HAL is crippling real musicians; not in its output, but in its dishonesty. A terrible artist who can’t sing, can’t play, can’t keep time, and can’t write to save their life, is at least genuine. They are what they are (which I very much respect). Unlike HAL, which is not what it seems. It’s a bit like looking at a realistic 3D render of a house. It might fool you; but you can’t venture inside. You can’t even touch it. But even with 3D graphics, someone at least designed it. With HAL, no human is involved, other than to gather streaming revenue and potentially gain praise for something they did not make. What we are left with is a great big glut of soulless nothing.

However, all of this is making me feel more compassion for - and connection with - actual talented artists. Ya know, the ones who actually write and play and sing stuff!! I still can’t believe this is already starting to be seen as the “traditional” way of making music, when less than two years ago it was the ONLY way. So. In my disheartened mood, I replayed all the new releases I thought were very good. Then I played them all again. For some reason the cool rock was not grabbing me. Neither was the folky stuff. The electronica was bumbling along without so much as the nod of a head. This HAL junk had crippled my potential for excitement. Then I came across something that rarely creeps into my Corner. Something without words. I realised it was not excitement that I craved, but rather a theme for my own contemplation. In the presence of absence, I found something that captured my mood perfectly. More than captured. We walked side by side. It was to be my friend for the time being. This piece and I shared that moment, together.

Please welcome a very charming Englishman and his friend. The man is James Hawken. The friend, is his piano. The piece is ‘In the Presence of Absence’. James is more English than I. A true countryman of the West. Cornwall, to be precise. Not an Italian/Irish/English mongrel like me. I grew up in bizzy-buzzy London. He grew up surrounded by green and a lot of air. A place called Roche. The kind of area where The Salvation Army charity shop is a destination. Where The Rock Inn holds one of the few semblings of life. The rest is fields and horses. Oh, and a great big rock. Roche is French for rock. Yes, the place was named after a rock. Probably right now the only kind of rock likely to grab me. I digress. But not really; I’m just setting the scene and giving an explanation as to perhaps why James Hawken is like James Hawken. You see, he is calm. He is relaxed. He takes the slow lane. And he is a musician at the heart of it all. Although he has been known to break out of his mould and release the odd bit of soul or roche ’n’ roll, he tends to stick with what he knows best. The musical equivalent of his soul.

Enter, his piano. I get the feeling that as soon as his fingers touch the ivories, his therapy begins. I also imagine that his fingers take him to those very ivories as soon as he awakes, a little like sleepwalking. But then, I have been known to romanticise life. And whyever not?? What probably happens is that he slumps himself into a pot of coffee, slowly glances at the piano, and mutters “bastard”. You see, he also has a fabulously dry sense of human. For it is the English way. When in such an isolated surrounding, what is one to do but laugh and play? It’s funny; while writing this article, I’ve been reading it to myself in a Cornish accent. It always amuses me when James writes ‘bleddy’ in private messages instead of ‘bloody’. The Cornish way. As if ‘bloody’ wasn’t English enough. Want more Englishness? All RIGHT, then! James was born in a bakery. Yes, he was genuinely born in a bakery. It was said that his mother had a bun in the oven. And what of his father? His father (aged 88) is a Methodist preacher. Yes, James is the son of a preacher man.

What with this religious upbringing, James were brung up good. He seems to have retained the good side of religion (morals, honesty, respect and manners), while managing to subtly sweep aside the blind fanaticism that can so easily take over. James is a man of honour and dignity, and it shows in his music. He plays with grace and modesty. You won’t find him competing with Herbie Hancock any time soon, as this simply wouldn’t appeal to him. He takes his time in making sure that each note portrays a feeling and an emotion, rather than a “look what I can do” notion. He’s all heart. A heart of ebony and ivory. But BOY, can he play. There’s something very special in the way he plays. It ain’t jazzy. It ain’t poppy. It ain’t true classical. I think the closest I can muster in my limited knowledge of pianists, is Chris Martin (another West countryman). It’s a very personal way of playing. It evokes emotion in a way that is easily translatable and accessible. But speaking of Chris Martin, another similarity with this piano, is the sound itself. It’s close and clear, but not too intimate. It remains open. It is honest.

James has written such a beautiful piece, with the most exquisite fingered dynamics. It rings true like a brand new modern bell. Simplicity is key here, in order to take you away. The strings act as accompaniment in variation. The subtle, deep bass drums are here to move you. The one cymbal roll is there to heighten your gasp. My friend continues to walk with me until the very end, when it leaves with a smile and a brief, comforting salute.

James’ father would probably say that A.I. has sinned and that it should be banish-ed. James is more succinct: “Bleddy HAL”.

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