Mercury Lounge
New York City
Words & Photos by Abbey Braden

First off, let me start by just asking what whiskey soaked cloud did Angela McCluskey topple off of? Seriously. Heaven is definitely missing an angel- albeit one whose vocals resonate with the morning after blues. As a songwriter she’ll get you in the gut, and as a performer- well let’s just say we’d effing watch her eat cornflakes, if only because it could turn into a Télépopmusik scored Danny Boyle flick at any given moment. This glorious fallen angel was joined onstage by her husband on keys, Girls Against Boys guitarist Scott McCloud (check out his new project Paramount Styles), a makeshift percussionist and friends on brass. Her stage banter was worth the price of admission in itself. Though based in NYC Ms. McCluskey hails from Glasgow, which is the reason she was at the Mercury Lounge that night. It was a command perfomance requested by none other than her good friends Glasvegas.

Yes, Glasvegas played the Mercury Lounge. I know, right? It’s where all British bands pay their dues when they’re cracking the US. However I think this is the first band that’s ever played Radio City Music Hall for their NYC debut, and then headed back downtown to cram into this humble venue the following night. This reversal is a good indicator at how disporportionate the gig was. Glasvegas live are larger than life, and the mega tour bus parked outside (again, a first on that block) reflected this too. I don’t mean that they have big egos- it’s quite the opposite- I’m simply talking about their decibel levels. Because they are LOUD.
The audio velocity Glasvegas packs is just multiplied when the lights go off before they hit the hit the stage. Their strobes (think the garage rock budget version of SMD’s live show) started to flicker as the 4 members lumbered in front of us. Without further adieu they ripped into the opening guitar licks of ‘Flowers and Football Tops’ intro and the call and response chorus was amazing. Albeit similar to cranking a jet engine up to 11 on a tarmac sort of amazing. A Balvenie single malt melismatic amazing. An I-just-fixed-my-bangs-and-now-they-are-blowing-off-my-face-because-of-the-reverb-you-Scottish-bastards amazing

Their sound was indeed so big I was surprised to see Caroline McKay without a kickdrum; instead manning her kit standing up behind snares and cymbals (Art Brut style). The set fully flooded our senses by the time they tore into a heartbreaking rendition of ‘Geraldine,’ and when the tempo picked up for ‘Go Square Go’ lead singer James Allan’s voice was cracking left and right. Lucky for him a) our ears were already buzzing and b) ‘Daddy’s Gone’ is that dirty sweet sort of uplifting 3 chords and a bridge type of song that can fully accommodate voice crackage. Someone needs to ask his mum if he popped out of the womb wearing shades: I really think he might have. Anyway before we knew what had hit us the set came to a close and the house lights flared up, leaving us no choice but to tumble back out into East Houston street. We get it, the band was stretched to it’s limits with the earlier gigs at Radio City so no Nirvana cover- we’ll definitely have to see them next time around. Getting signed by Columbia before their arrival had raised the stakes pretty high. Glasvegas had a lot to prove and they did themselves proud. What’s that SNL saying? If it’s not Scottish, it’s crap. Clearly. The setlist was as follows:

Angela McCluskey:

Glasvegas: