Glasvegas; what a name. This band has come to the Roundhouse tonight to bring a half full audience into their world. A world of Glaswegian accents, heart-breaking vocals and guitars that assault every fibre of you. 
Promoting their recent album Euphoric Heartbreak, which could be the name of their genre, the band give themselves to London.
As the heartbeat of the countdown comes to an end, we get out first glimpse of the set; ‘Glasvegas’, slammed up against the back screens, a wall of sound, surrounded by dressing room bulbs, a luminous yellow microphone lead and a cute little drumkit with flowers stickered to it. The band then saunters on to stage, in black, except for an all white James Allan, who makes his way to the microphone. Their new female drummer, Jonna Löfgren stands triumphantly behind her kit for the entirety of the show, giving the impression that the band are standing to some form of attention.
The music is cold, loud, wide, big, it speaks of a broken soul. This band have coined their name perfectly, their show reaches for the cheap grandeur of Vegas with its brilliant light display and massive sound, but is pulled back to Glasgow by the harsh pain in Allan’s vocals and the down to earth integrity with which he performs the show.
There are occasions when the show wears a bit thin; the long synthy intros seem over indulgent and Allan’s voice becomes too much, but the pounding choruses never fail to disappoint. However, chants of ‘Here We Fucking Go’ regain the audiences attention just before the encore.
I feel that tonight some of the audience may not have been able to connect with this music, but they probably have no idea of the world that these guys come from. They cannot understand the Glaswegian language or the need for such cries of anguish. I would then ask this part of the audience to watch Trainspotting and imagine Glasvagas playing in the Volcano club, and hopefully then they would understand.
