Heart of a Punk Soul of a Rasta

It was the best of times and the worst of times. 839 days since last I saw GLASVEGAS and here we are again at the SLADE ROOMS Wolverhampton - "The Slade Rooms a low slung backward sloping blackened doss house with two pillars to obscure the viewers already vague view - its rubbish - I love it!"

First the worst of times - waiting for an hour and a half listening to an unrelenting barage of 50's & 60's Doo-Wop pop. Every track with the same bass line every track with a "Baby" in there somewhere. You'd have thought they could have at least played "Baby I love You" by the Ramones to break things up. But no, it was echo leaden 60's crapola or nothing - it wasn't inspirational it was saturational. Then came a pause in the blanket bombing as Gillian Christie took to the stage. She was well outside my musical remit but still I found myself clinging to her like a life raft - the alternative was no alternative.

I'm told that if you listen to Radio 2 in the am (that's the morning to you lot) you're bound to find acoustic female folk pop in abundance - so I'm told. Gillian Christie had decent batch of songs, a decent sound, and a decent voice, and with her Gibson and capo in constant flux she did her stuff. As I've said we clung to her like a life raft the alternative was another half an hour of f**kin Doo-Wop. She had more hair than Priscilla Presley had when she married Elvis and she was perfectly perfectly charming. And no one got hurt and that was definitely worth more than a hill of beans. GO HERE.

After Gillian Christie had finished the roadies came on and introduced power to Glasvegas back line. They were waiting till the last minute see. Canny these Scots they never waste a thing even when it's not their own to waste - as we say in England "many a mickle makes a muckle" or as they say somewhere else "twa piggles dinna mek a thrup" eh? Wha?

After what seemed like another 43 hours of 60's bleenin' Doo-Wop smoke was pumped into the Slade Rooms on an industrial scale. The fibre optics were illuminated. And the two year drought was over. But things have changed in the strange and frightening world of GLASVEGAS since last we met. Rab Allan still plays it left hand bedecked in black garb with maybe a few extra tattoos maybe not. Paul Donoghue is still in black too missing a tooth and swinging his Rickenbacker like goodun. Caroline McKay's changed a bit though, she's still in black and still refusing to use the bass drum but now she's a lot "lighter" and calling herself Jonna Löfgren (there's a TOMTE at work here somewhere!) And lastly there's James, now he has changed. Not in black and without a guitar. He strolls onstage all in white. White cut off T shirt, white jeans, white NIKE air trainers with gold and green flashes and white and green stripy socks. What the F happened to him in Santa Monica? Was it cathartic? If he wasn't still the spit of Joe Strummer I'd be starting a "who killed Paul - I mean who killed James" rumour.

"The World Is Yours" opens. James Allan opens his larynx and the unshiftable fact is, that this is still James Allan. The voice is intact and he is at full throttle from the get go. Wrapping his all new long box condenser microphone with fibre optic attachment around himself Glasvegas drive on into "It's My Own Cheating Heart That Makes Me Cry", communal singing was compulsory.

A night of emotive drenched nostalgia followed: the opening lines of "Moon River", a fully fledged version of Spectre's "Be My Baby", a set crafted around the 2008 debut with only a couple of new songs thrown into the mix.. "Go Square Go" saw James vault the barrier into the crowd for some football chanting ramble rousing. "Geraldine" continued the theme with the crowd echoing every line. "Ice Cream Van" (see clip) mellowed the atmos momentarily before the set was closed down with the mighty three: "Flowers & Football Tops" vocals and synth only version, "S.A.D. Light" and a tumultuous chanting version of "Daddy's Gone" to finish. James Allan had knelt down, bowed down, and laid spread eagled on the stage. He'd waved his microphone around as if it was an extension of himself. Those of a nervous disposition nervously looked away but what is for sure is that James Allan has been reborn. He ended the night by advertising the new album EUPHORIC /// HEARTBREAK \\\. He said "We read a review of the album today and the guy said we were all wankers! We are! But we thought, hey what about the album?"

Two years ago I went to see Glasvegas to be convinced. As far as I was concerned i wanted to see past the froth and hype. Seeing them live did that, I came away convinced. Tonight I just came to see Glasvegas. Are they a bunch of wankers? Who gives a fuck? As long as the lyrics and larynx of James Allan remain intact GLASVEGAS will remain one of the most dangerous & compelling bands on the planet - BLACK & WHITE - simple as. We await the album.

Done & dusted Ed