Richard Hawley sledges in to woo the crowd

The discrepancy between the singing Hawley — Sheffield’s answer to Chris Isaak, with a celestial baritone crooning midnight laments of love and loss – and the talking Hawley — a stand-up Northern comic in the Phoenix Nights mould, cracking Bernard Manning “my old missus” jokes – has always been one of the charms of the late-blooming singer and guitarist.

Spending his twenties working in the shadowy backrooms of pop, writing and performing with the likes of Robbie Williams and old friend Jarvis Cocker, Hawley has decisively emerged in the past decade as a unique and critically acclaimed solo artist.

Until Terry Wogan’s recent retirement, Hawley was perhaps the only act you could hear on Radio 2 in the morning soothing the Togs and then catch late in the evenings on indie stations, beguiling youngsters with his hip retro rock. But while the bequiffed and sharp-suited Hawley is undoubtedly in thrall to the early decades of rock and roll and his heroes, Elvis Presley and Roy Orbison, he is by no means a cuddly fifties tribute act.

Underneath the cloud of dry ice and dark blue light swirling across the stage, Hawley and his four-piece band delivered emotionally evocative music crafted with minimalist precision — timeless lullabies for grown-ups that still you with their mellifluous beauty while their tender mantras work their way under your skin.

This is in large part due to the more sparse direction of Hawley’s latest album Truelove’s Gutter. Open Up Your Door and For Your Lover Give Some Time practically pinned the audience to their seats with the slowly quivering weight of Hawley’s bared soul. Hawley may on the surface sing silly love songs — something he tried to deflate with humour — but underneath they are anchored in a darker sense of vulnerability and loneliness.

Thankfully by the end Hawley dropped the stand-up routine and let the music speak for itself, ending on a suitably epic rendition of The Ocean and a well-deserved standing ovation.