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Glasvegas | review | alternative | Lollipop
by Scott Hefflon
You'd be a fool to not be suspicious of hype like "Britain's Best Loved Band" and "The Best New Band in Britain," and wow, they've been on the cover of NME twice, just like a couple dozen other bands you'll never hear of, and yet still lead a full, useful life on this planet. At a glance, Glasvegas sound Scottish, kinda like Idlewild, with that yelp/catch, and a really obvious love of '50s harmonies. I mean really obvious. Like in Grease when John Travola's voice catches during "Sandy" and elsewhere. In other words, it's kitchy.
That aside, dig deeper into the CD (and yes, buy the CD, you downloading pricks) and this debut shows a depth of heartfelt heartache like tragically few this year. Produced by a guy who's worked with Muse (who rule), there's a richness in the guitar/bass/drums, a wholeness, a thick and rich foundation not found in skimpy pop. So unless you're gonna play your The Sheila Divine CDs until skip to high heaven, you need new releases of simple power: Lyrical bite/sorrow, guitar soar (without even trying), drums/bass that pound to race your heart and pulse to remind you you're alive, and vocal lines that can both break your heart and lift your face to stormy skies.
Um, I'm getting more Grease feelings here, and that could be because that's a great movie/soundtrack, or Glasvegas simply ooze '50-inspired heartbreak/melodrama.
By the end of the CD, you'll forget every snipe made here and simply boggle at the beauty of the tunes. Finally, a CD without all the good tunes at the front, so the end drags. This sucker is back-loaded, with drone/majesty galore in the last few, the kinda stuff that, five shots into the night, will have you contemplating what it is you're really doing with your life, where the love went when you said your final goodbyes, and why your eyes still sting when you think of her.