A couple months ago, I wrote a post here on HearYa filled with a bunch of unintelligible random thoughts, including how I wanted to write about the new Glasvegas album but was afraid I’d be chided by Woody and Oz for liking something released on a major label. They’ve already chided me behind the scenes, so I’m now ready to give it a proper review.
Glasvegas are a Scottish outfit that has received critical acclaim abroad, but haven’t made much of an impact here stateside. Maybe that’s because we’re so distracted by all the great music coming out of Canada or maybe it’s because we can’t understand a word frontman James Allan is singing through his thick Scottish accent. After all, it’s proven that we Americans like songs where words like “Bananas” or “Glamorous” are not only repeatedly sung throughout the entire song, but are also SPELLED OUT so as to eliminate any confusion. Goddang it, America. There are some people in the UK making some great music – I’ve talked about Pete Molinari, so let’s discuss Glasvegas.
Upon first listen to Glasvegas’ eponymous album, I can just about guarantee you you’ll be nodding your head up and down to the beat. Soaring, epic guitars wend their way throughout each of the indie rock/pop gems. Songs like “Geraldine,” “Daddy’s Gone,” and “It’s My Own Cheating Heart That Makes Me Cry” all belong on a future installment of Guitar Hero – they’re instantly catchy, boisterous, and fun. Imagine a young Sean Connery singing while a Scottish version of The Edge works some magic on the guitar and you’ve got Glasvegas.
Really the only issue I have is that the lyrics seem a bit corny at times. Their bio states they’re inspired by 50′s and 60′s rockabilly and doo wop, so perhaps that’s why. The lyrics seem to be inspired by an episode of bizarro Happy Days, touching on subjects like treating your girlfriend like crap, getting into a donnybrook after school, and having a deadbeat dad. So when I’m trying to rock out with my wang out and all of a sudden hear Allan croon “Liar liar liar liar pants on fire,” I start scratching my head. Luckily, he compensates for it by being extremely generous with the f-bombs. Seems like a fair trade off.
You may have assumed that I had run out of prolific thoughts after my first eight back in May, but you’d be wrong. Here:
1) I used to love watching MTV, but I’m now old enough where it’s really difficult to watch. It’s like trying to hold in a fart while you’re peeing. You can do it, but there’s discomfort.
2) I’m sorry to say my Corona boycott ended last weekend. I was put in a situation where people I didn’t know very well were buying me Coronas like it was Renee Zellweger’s bachelorette party. I rudely gave the first 2 Chesney-beers away and bought my own replacements, but by the third one it started getting ridiculous so I drank it. Okay? I flipping drank it. The stock market is down 6 billion points and my home is worth as much as Andre Rison’s after Lisa Left Eye Lopez burned it down before her untimely death. HearYa does not pay well. I saved myself $4. To make up for it I tomahawk-chopped someone’s Corona out of their hand on the way out of the bar. I apologize for the moment of weakness – the boycott is back on.
3) I wish the forthcoming album by Glasvegas was indie so I could write about it. Unfortunately, it’s being released on Columbia records so Woody and Oz will think less of me if I say I like it. Those of you out there who don’t have to deal with Woody – pick it up when it comes out this Christmas. It’s going to be 3 chords, accessible, and good.
4) Rufus Wainwright’s cover of “Chelsea Hotel No. 2″ by Leonard Cohen is really, really ridiculously good. But, there’s a verse in there that might make some hetero guys slightly uncomfortable. The Chelsea has been made famous by stories of Sid Vicious stabbing his girlfriend to death in room 100 and Dylan Thomas recommending that a young boy with the last name of Zimmerman change his name to Bob Dylan. That’s before drinking himself to death on whiskey in a room there.
5) When I have my headphones in and there’s a sweet song playing, it seems like everything I do probably looks awesome to bystanders. This includes walking, subtle dance moves, stretching, etc. And my butt probably looks like Jean Claude Van Damme’s back when he was working out a lot.
