The songs on Dan Haywood’s New Hawks are often as stark and resolute as the barren landscape depicted in the album art. There is a sense of isolation and detachment layered within these austere numbers, but there is also plenty of hope and heart imbued in the tracks as well, which provides a rich balance between Haywood’s intensely private, melancholy musings and an inherent promise that things are assuredly bound to improve. This large batch of songs (a triple-album’s worth) were first conceived when Haywood abandoned Lancaster to explore the north coast of Scotland, studying birds and patiently gathering inspiration for the record, which he began recording once he returned to England a year and a half later. There are many subtle flourishes to these tracks, but at their heart beats Haywood’s simple arrangements and plaintive vocals, which is what ultimately makes them so endearing and genuine.

Haywood is quite adept at bending his anomalous lyrics to fit both the melody and the mood of the song, sacrificing none of his unique poetic elegance for the sake of either conformity or convention. The guitar guided tracks are frequently augmented by mournful strings and understated percussion, but little else, giving the songs a natural, uninhibited quality. The minimal production also provides an expansive breath and depth to the music, which gives the listener enough space to fully process these affecting numbers, while also conjuring the rugged terrain which gave rise to these songs in the first place.

There is a hushed elegance and sprightly inventiveness to Haywood’s guitar work that is reminiscent of both Mark Kozelek and Nick Drake, but his atypical subject matter and unique vocal delivery is entirely his own, giving these songs both a worn, vintage sound while also injecting them with a thoroughly modern style. But you can’t help but hear the Scottish highlands in the warm but desolate strains of ‘Middle Nowhere,’ ‘Spate River,’ and ‘Peatshack McKay.’ Whereas ‘John’s Shoes,’ ‘Smiley Patch,’ and ‘Superquarry’ could all easily translate to boozy pub-singalongs given the right atmosphere and surroundings.

A sense of finality permeates this album as well, as if Haywood squeezed every last musical idea and lyrical concept out of himself in order to get these songs just right. He took in the scenery and the people he encountered on his travels and confidently set it all to music, but these songs ultimately seem like a grand, definitive statement as opposed to any type of lasting project. And after going through this courageously formidable undertaking, Haywood is surely bound (and probably quite ready) to move on to some other type of outlet when we finally hear from him next.

But the countrified charm that extends throughout the album is essentially Dan Haywood’s New Hawks most appealing quality, winning you over due to its deep rooted sincerity and complete lack of ostentation. And even though there are 32-songs here (and over two hours of music), it’s best to take this record in as a wholly unified work, for the lingering, pleasurable impression one gets after listening is not due to standout tracks or any obvious singles, but the underlying honesty and revealing earnestness that pervades the entire work. Haywood assembled a trusted band of musicians which helped him realize the artistic vision in his head, and he extends that same faith towards his listeners, hoping that they take the deep-rooted sentiment found in these boldly personal tracks and somehow make the stories found within them their own.