The last time they played in Glasgow, nobody had even heard of them – and now, two years and a couple of duets with Bruce Springsteen later, they’re selling out the cavern that is the O2 Academy.
Tonight marks my first time in the photo pit, and I feel a little bit like a fraud, because the last time I saw this band I was halfway across the world and crying in the front seat of my best friend’s truck because they were incredible and I was going back to Scotland in the morning. Still, I manage to pretend to be a serious music critic for the length of the pounding, triumphant ‘American Slang’ – the new album’s title track, and a perfect way to kick off their set. But then the band launch into ‘Old White Lincoln’ and the next thing you know I am singing along at the top of my lungs tucked in safely behind the barrier, and snapping where I can.
But hey, isn’t that what the best live music is all about? The greatest bands are the ones that make you lose control, check your cynicism with your coat at the door and dance like nobody is watching. The fact that these skinny boys in blue jeans and white t-shirts already possess the nous to command a crowd so effectively so young isn’t something to hold against them, and the truth is that even at this relatively early stage in their careers they’ve already got enough crowd-pleasing anthems in their repertoire to captivate an arena.
I suppose that’s the downside. Tonight’s setlist is a little heavy on the fist-pumpers, alternating between the more upbeat tracks from American Slang and its breakthrough predecessor, The ’59 Sound. Brian Fallon is the consummate professional frontman – it’s a flawless, polished performance. Maybe a little too polished, as it isn’t until the encore that we get to hear a brace of tracks from the band’s debut, along with a cracked and tender ‘Here’s Looking At You, Kid’.
It seems a strange thing to complain about. The Gaslight Anthem’s sensitivity hides in Fallon’s heartbreaking lyrics, disguised by the pounding drums and epic riffs of all the best things about life and about rock and roll. “If I could write, I’d tell you how much I miss these nights…” he sings, almost as a warning not to let the best times of our youth pass us by. And so we pound the air, clap our hands and scream along; whether it’s the ragged punk of ‘We’re Getting A Divorce…’, the toe-tapping ‘Diamond Church Street Choir’ or an incendiary cover of The Who’s ‘Baba O’Reilly’.
With a repeat visit to these shores scheduled for November, it’s time to find out what the fuss is all about.
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