HIGH HAZELS

Quintessentially Sheffield, High Hazels’ shimmering guitars awaken a sound left in the shadow of Ewan MacColl’s factory wall, the empty milk bottle on Peter Noones’s doorstep, and the rain logged gutters of a humdrum town. Like Vic Brown stalked on the edge of a bleak esate in ‘A Kind of Loving’, and Billy Fisher skulking home after missing a midnight train in ‘Billy Liar’, High Hazels embrace the boys of yesterday; a thrall of brigade chic chiselled through vintage gear, and stirring a revival of bygone bliss. High Hazels’ music freights with tenderness for bruised souls, and narrates the sadness of lonely hearts.