Music review: Glasvegas, SWG3, Glasgow

Never mind the downbeat lyrics – as far as Glasvegas’s fans are concerned they’re a party band, writes Fiona Shepherd
Glasvegas PIC: Stuart Westwood PhotographyGlasvegas PIC: Stuart Westwood Photography
Glasvegas PIC: Stuart Westwood Photography

Glasvegas, SWG3, Glasgow ***From their clothes to their indoor shades to their sentiments, it can seem at first glance that everything is black in Glasvegas world. Frontman James Allan's wounded howl treads a fine – and probably deliberate – line between painful and powerful and the band made their name 15 years ago with anthems about absent fathers and social workers.But their audience have a different take on their widescreen Caledonian torch songs, treating them as catharsis and celebration, and on this postponed hometown show, raising a new chant to the band: “No Vegas, no party”.In fairness, Glasvegas have chosen to illuminate their murky sound world with acid green and pink neon lighting, to lift the spirits with Chris Dickie’s powerhouse drums and Rab Allan’s air-punching anthemic guitars, infused with a rousing hint of Celtrock on occasion, and to stir the soul with Geraldine, their compassionate ode to key workers. They put it best themselves with the title of their 2011 album, Euphoric Heartbreak.Like Manic Street Preachers frontman James Dean Bradfield, Allan is prone to shoehorning a few too many lyrics into a melodic line; elsewhere, on the terrace indie of Go Square Go, he pares back to the basics. And somewhere in the (un)happy medium, he offers the beseeching eloquence of Whatever Hurts You Through the Night, soundtracked by distorted guitar heroics and the slow thud of drums, and the desolate Ice Cream Van, paired with funereal organ drone, crashing cymbals and an epic wall of guitar.

That Phil Spectorish wall of sound was explicitly referenced on the Ronettes’ drumbeat which heralded their biggest tune Daddy's Gone – on this occasion, it was preceded by a shout-out to the mums for Mother's Day. At the other end of the scale, they encored with an acoustic take on Flowers & Football Tops, a simple requiem for those lost to street violence.

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