We all know about Richard Hawley. He comes from Sheffield and is a great mate of Jarvis Cocker, with whom he used to play guitar on occasion. He may be a mate of Joe Cocker as well - who also came from Sheffield - but that has yet to be established.

Richard has positioned himself in the role of a post-modern crooner, which is to say he sounds like a synthesis of those geezers from the old days. At some point in his career with Pulp, Richard decided that he would go it alone with a vocal style pitched somewhere between Dean Martin and Roy Orbison.

The fellow has pulled off the trick awesomely well. If you do yourself the favour of purchasing the CD of Coles Corner, then you might experience a baritone at the height of his powers. The title track of Coles Corner is one of the best sad songs of recent years.

Unfortunately, Richard Hawley has no stage presence whatsoever. The moment he starts crooning for the public, all is lost.

There may be, among the guitar fraternity, a certain frisson to be had in watching someone swap from acoustic to semi-acoustic to flat-out out electric - I may be hallucinating about that last bit here - but the fact is that a person who stands on stage and attempts to justify the price of admission has to do some stuff.

There was a chap in the audience who heckled. He was quelled with Sheffield steel. The problem is that the fellow in the audience was right. Richard Hawley does not quite know what it is that might propel him into the condition of stardom. There is work to be done here.

We live in times when pop music can be seen to be rubbish. Here is a man who can turn that around.

What is actually required here is a manager of clear vision and, God forbid, a video director who will somehow turn Richard Hawley into Michael Jackson.

This is a man who is nominated for a Brit, has been denied by the Monkeys, and will eventually get his bread and dripping.