It’s grim up North apparently (by default this includes Scotland)….not the North people not from there know about, the REAL North, the places that used to be there….they are still there but out of sight.

That’s why Glasvegas have instantly become a special thing to cherish, Glasvegas are giving people a voice, the lyrics will resonate with every disaffected teenager or older folk dissatisfied with the lot they’ve received, the places they will just about exist in,

the towns where the grey only fades to black, something the crap kids of crap 80s pop stars last relevant in October 1983 and middle class toffs in ironic rave bands could never do.

With Alan Mcgee onboard, a man with a knack of bringing working class music to the masses, from the Mary chain and Primal Scream to Oasis (94 - 96 only), they must be doing something right. The North embraces their own bands with all their heart from The Beatles and Smiths through to Arctic Monkeys but not Pigeon Detectives. This, Glasvegas’ debut propels them into that very higher echelon of bands with ease and immediate effect with it being crammed with great tunes.
“It’s my own cheating heart that makes me cry” is the stand out, a sorrowful whiskey sodden Christmassy epic in the vein of ‘Fairytale of New York’ which lies just on the right side of Snow Patrol whilst the soaring guitar work on ‘Lonesome swan’ is as invigorating as it is heart-breaking and unashamedly anthemic.

Obviously well informed in musics rich past, they filter in cheeky little cribs with great flair such as Phil Spector girl band sounds throughout the album, Velvet underground and Mary Chain feedback fuzz or even The Cars AOR classic ‘My best friends’girl’ on rip roaring opener ‘Flowers and football tops’ which culminates in the sweetest shoegaze noise and a hazy rendition of ‘You are my sunshine’ to sneaky pieces of ‘twinkle, twinkle little star’ or mentions of ‘Morning Glory’.

The subject matter goes from songs about social workers; the glorious ‘Geraldine’ to run-away dads; ‘Daddy’s gone’ to teenage murders in their Native Glasgow; ‘Flowers and football tops’. The most startling of their tales is the genuinely disturbing ‘Stabbed’, a spoken word piece
backed by Beethovens ‘Moonlight sonata’ with lyrics such as “I’m gonna get stabbed, you don’t want to stab me cos you dont know my family or our capabilities”, it’s genuinely troubling on each listen.

They are of course being hyped to high heaven but for once, the hype is to be believed. With enough true realist grit the Scottish are so good at, ‘Glasvegas’ already be ranked up there with all the other great debuts, this could be the great shake British music has needed for over a decade.