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Picking Up Crumbs: Glasvegas

8 Apr

CakeIn15 Photographer Staciaann & writer cas covered Glaswegian buzz band Glasvegas‘ Minneapolis debut last night for Decider.  You can read the recap here.

James Allen of Glasvegas

James Allen of Glasvegas

A couple other brief thoughts on the show last night:  

-It’s no wonder that Bono is a fan.  Not only is James Allen’s voice a throwback to the first U2 records (for which I must link to the video for “I Will Follow” from Boy, which ought to have been mandatory viewing to keep Bono’s ego in check) but Rab Allen’s guitar runs parallel to The Edge’s.  Soaring power chords and single string repetitions in the high registers, a bending distort to cap off the hook.  You know, frankly, the Edge doesn’t get nearly enough credit for influencing contemporary guitar players.  Probably because I can’t stop thinking about stupid puns about his name.  I knew that was dumb at 9 years old.

-The quickest way for  Glasvegas to get super-huge is if James Allen develops raging addiction abuse issues that cause him to disappear and force Rab to pick up all the other parts, only for James to return with a recovery and forgiveness EP recorded and Lindsey Lohan on his arm.  Which would be a sad and dull thing for them to do and should be left to the Gallaghers.  The Gallaghers ten years ago.  Maybe not living up to The Next Big Thing hype is the best thing that could happen to Glasvegas.  They can go on living human lives and making some clear headed music, pushing the fusion of ’60s doo-wop sound to the wall of sound to arena rock.  James Allen could explore his desire to be Joe Strummer.  They could hire Rick Rubin to produce their next record.  Which would be interesting.

-Fuck Alan McGee.  Fuck, in general, wolf-calling svengalis pushing some rock and roll salvation like shitty weed.  Reading interviews with the band and watching them on stage last night it is difficult to believe that they themselves are promulgating all the hype, as Noel or Liam would, but instead it is oozing from from the vested interests surrounding the band who look to hook on to the coattails.  The Belles of Skin City sticker, which you may have seen around town and which I paraphrase here, ran through my head all night; “To all the bands claiming to be the salvation of rock and roll, go fuck yourselves.  Rock and roll is doing just fine.” Amen.

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