“Höfner offered me this weird-shaped guitar. I said, ‘What the hell is that?!’ They said, ‘It doesn't have a name yet, but we want you to try it’”: Hugh Cornwell on The Stranglers’ biggest hit, hating Twin Reverbs, and his bizarro Höfner

The Stranglers helped usher in the UK’s late ‘70s punk/new-wave/post-punk movement. The band’s songs and albums remain memorable – even if former lead singer and guitarist Hugh Cornwell doesn’t think much of his playing from the time.

“I’ve never been sure of what kind of guitar player I am,” he says. “Guitar has always been a struggle because I really wanted to be a singer. I picked up guitar because I wanted to accompany myself.”

But Stranglers albums like 1977’s No More Heroes, 1979’s The Raven, and 1981’s La folie – containing their biggest hit, Golden Brown – tell the story of an inventive player. “It was a means to an end,” Cornwell shrugs.

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“I’ve never felt particularly capable. I can make it do what I need it to do, but I’m no innovator. The guitar and the voice are slaves to the song, and the song is the keynote to everything else.” But he’s aware that he and The Stranglers helped change the musical landscape.

“You don’t think of it like that when you’re doing it,” he says. “You don’t think it’s going to endure.”

“I’m very proud – and even though pride is a vice, it’s becoming more and more clear how important that period of music was. I feel very happy that I was a part of it, and maybe helped shape it.”

Since leaving The Stranglers in 1990 he’s released nine solo records, with another, Succubus, primed for 2027. “I still want to write the perfect song,” he says. “I still want to make the perfect album. I’m getting closer, and the next one will be better than the last. I’m happy about that.”

What got you started on guitar?

One of my brothers had renovated a Spanish guitar. I don’t know where he got it – probably a junk shop – but he stripped it down, polished it, and repaired it. He left when he was 18 and I was 14; the first thing I did was rush up to his room to see if he’d taken the guitar. He hadn’t!

Did you take to it immediately?

Well, I got my grubby little fingers on it, and for over a year I’d be in his room playing and teaching myself. By the time he came back, I could find my way around it. I asked him, “Do you want your guitar?” He said, “You can have it.” I guess he’d grown out of it.

Later on you became friends with Richard Thompson.

We happened to be in the same class at school. He lived very close to my parents, and we realized we both loved music. At 15 he had a rock group and needed a bass player, so I volunteered. I didn’t mind that it had four strings – who cares?!

Did you know how to play bass?

Richard taught me. My first electric instrument was actually a homemade bass I’d bought from some kid for £5. It was terrible to play, but I managed to make a sound come out of it.

When did you get into electric guitar proper?

Not until I got my Telecaster – and I’ve never played anything else on stage since, really. I’ve picked up the odd Epiphone, Gibson Melody Maker, or Höfner Razor; but mostly, the Tele is my go-to guitar. I felt the Les Pauls were too heavy. Once I picked up a Tele, I said, “This is it.” It had a sign from God that said, ‘Play me.’ So I did!

I lost my way with my sound at the beginning, since I was mostly a rhythm player. I whacked on an overdrive to give it extra body so I could play a lead line, and I was happy with that. Then Dave Greenfield’s keyboards became more to the fore, and the guitar got lost a bit.

I got a bit lost in a lot of the mid-Stranglers catalog – it’s hard to hear what the guitar is doing. The bass and keyboards were up loud, so there wasn’t much room left.

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What gear did you rely on back then?

I had the Telecaster and I started with a Vox AC30, but on advice I got sidetracked into Fender Twin Reverbs, which are horrible. I never got on with them; when I left The Stranglers I went back to Vox AC30s because I love the warmth. The Telecaster and the AC30 work so well together.

But the AC30s are very sensitive and fragile. They don’t last long on the road, so you always have to take a spare. So I moved over to the Fender Hot Rod Deville, which is great because it’s roadworthy and I could get the Vox sound.

In the early ‘80s, The Stranglers had their biggest hit, Golden Brown.

It’s the biggest song we ever did! If you look at its popularity then – and now with Gen Z using it in films – it’s become the go-to song, you know?

Did you use your Telecaster for the lead on that track?

I played the lead on a prototype from Höfner. They came to a gig and offered me this weird-shaped guitar, and I said, “What the fuck is that?!” They said, “It hasn’t got a name yet, but we’d like you to try it.” I picked it up and it was amazing. You could go up two octaves on the neck, and it was perfectly in tune!

I thought, ‘I’ve never had a guitar that could do that.’ Then I said, “I’ve got a name for it – you should call it the Razor.” The shape of it reminded me of that with the sharp edges; it looked like a broken piece of glass.

How did you put together Golden Brown’s lead?

The guitar had three pickups and loads of knobs and switches, which I didn’t like too much. But I got around that and was fascinated by it, so I used it on the whole La folie album. That’s why I was able to get up there and do that intricate solo for Golden Brown.

It was very easy because the frets were very close. In order to squeeze in that extra octave, the space between the frets and the action were low. It would have been a lot more difficult for me to do on a Telecaster.

Your record label didn’t want to release Golden Brown as a single, so it must have been satisfying for it to be a hit.

We always thought it was a hit! [Guitarist] John Ellis hated it, but Dave was tickled pink because it was his music. John and I monopolized part of the writing, and Dave was very much an embellisher. He’d come up with this weird piece of music, and at first we couldn’t do anything with it – although we knew it was good.

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One day I came in and he was playing it in rehearsal. I said, “You know what? Keep that. It’s bloody good!” Suddenly we got the song written. Within 10 minutes, [drummer] Jet Black arrived, and I said, “Listen to this, Jet.” He said, “That’s a smash hit.” But John said, “I think it’s shit!”

So we had mixed opinions – but John realized that Jet and I were really into it and that it was Dave’s music, so he acquiesced. But he didn’t play on it because he couldn’t think of anything to play; it didn’t inspire him, which was fair enough.

In 1988 you released your solo album Wolf, which wasn’t a hit per se but was warmly received in America. Two years later, you left The Stranglers.

It was a big move to do that. I was encouraged by Wolf, even though it’s a bit dated now. I realized I could make a record by myself, which I’d never been aware of. But I didn’t really plan on leaving The Stranglers.

So why did you?

I could feel something brewing inside of me – I wasn’t happy. We’d spent most of our career living together and out of each other’s pockets. We knew what was going on in each others’ lives and hung out together… we were a gang. When we went onstage to make music, it was just an extension of that.

We’d pretty much got along, and even lived in a house together early on. But then, suddenly, you found yourself on the sidelines of people’s lives, and their lives became self-contained. I’m not talking musically; just day-to-day. You didn’t know what people were doing anymore.

In the years leading up to 1990, we’d meet up to tour and do music, but I felt like I had less and less in common with the people I was playing with. It was weird. It wasn’t a shared experience anymore. It wasn’t really being truthful anymore, and I suddenly felt uncomfortable.

Was there a big fallout, or did you leave quietly?

I got very despondent. I suddenly realized that the show coming up was going to be my last. Like, two hours before, I said to myself, “I can’t really see a future, so this might as well be it.” It was the last show scheduled for a while, so it was the best time.

I called the others. John, whom I was emotionally close to, said, “I can tell you haven’t been very happy over the last couple of years.” He understood, and we spent around 15 minutes on the phone. Then I phoned Jet. He said, “OK.” He didn’t even want to talk about it. It was very odd. So, that was the end of that phone call.

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Then I said, “I’d better call Dave.” When I told him, he said, “Does this mean we’re gonna have a meeting? Thanks for letting me know.”

In the years since, you’ve carried on solo. Are you working on new music now?

Yes – I’ve managed to sell enough records and generate enough ticket sales to justify still doing it. If any of those things change, I’ll stop. What I’m working on now will be called Succubus, and it’ll be coming out in 2027, 50 years after The Stranglers’ first album, Rattus Norvegicus.

Do you have any regrets?

I think The Stranglers were probably a bit too big for our boots. All of us were a bit too overconfident with hubris, and that didn’t help. I’m sure people realized and noticed it, so that’s a regret. But really, I don’t regret anything, because you define who you are by the things you’ve done. You can’t change them. There’s always positives and negatives to each decision.

I’m proud that I was part of a great musical experience – not just The Stranglers, but that whole period. I bumped into The Sex Pistols’ Glen Matlock at an exhibition of art from punk records. He said, “It’s true, isn’t it: neither you nor I had any idea what we were doing, or that it was going to create this.”

And it’s ridiculous! We were just doing it because it felt right and it was fun. You don’t think about it becoming a legacy – what you leave behind.

• Cornwell returns to the road in July.