NYLON - January 2009 - (Page 131) black parade the James Allan is slumped in a leather seat—dressed all in black, hair slicked back in a Morrissey-style pompadour—in the back of a plush van careening through Manhattan traffic on the way to Radio City Music Hall. Tonight his band, Glasvegas, will open for Echo and the Bunnymen in front of more than 5,000 people. Right now, though, the 29-year-old lead singer and guitarist is enjoying a rare respite from the whirlwind that has taken over his life since Glasvegas became Britain’s hottest new act. “It’s all been a bit psychedelic,” he says. It has indeed been quite a trip. The former professional footballer is from Dalmarnock, a neighborhood in the east end of Glasgow, Scotland, and he wears the city’s inscrutable accent like a badge of honor. Unlike some British artists, who seem to sing in American accents, Allan proudly lets his brogue shine through his band’s shoegaze-y, majestic wall-of-sound rock. The group’s sound is a mash-up evoked by their moniker: Allan dubbed the outfit Glasvegas to signify the working class grit of his hometown and the showmanship of Sin City. The band has already been compared to the Jesus and Mary Chain, but also nods firmly to the ’60s soul-pop helmed by Phil Spector, whose music Allan fell in love with a few years back. “I had just moved into a new flat,” he recalls. “And the only things in there were a bloody old CD player and [Spector’s] box set, Back to Mono.” Allan had long loved orchestral music for its mysterious nature, so when he was cut from Falkirk Football Club and out on the dole, the dabbling songwriter was free to devote his undivided attention to developing his proletariat tunes into largescale symphonies. The formula would prove a winning one. In September, Glasvegas— Allan, guitarist Rab Allan (they’re cousins), bassist Paul Donoghue, and drummer Caroline McKay— entered the U.K. album charts at No. 2, with only Metallica’s latest keeping their self-titled debut from the top spot. A series of DIY singles (including the exhilarating “Go Square Go!”) had already lodged their sound in the hearts of the British masses, leading NME to declare Glasvegas “Britain’s best-loved band.” It’s a lot of hype for a new group to live up to as it arrives in New York to make a play for stateside stardom. But Allan doesn’t seem nervous about the SCOTTISH BAND GLASVEGAS ARRIVE IN AMERICA WITH DOUR TALES AND SWEEPING SOUNDS. BY CRISTINA BLACK. PHOTOGRAPHED BY JULIAN GILBERT task. “Ultimately, you’re bringing your words and your taste and your personality somewhere else,” he says calmly, demonstrating his knack for expressing grand subjects in simple, matter-offact terms. As Glasvegas’ sole songwriter, he has penned beloved tunes about broken families (“Daddy’s Gone”), troubled kids (“Geraldine”), and the crushing guilt of infidelity (“It’s My Own Cheating Heart That Makes Me Cry”), but he won’t elaborate on his themes. Asked about his deadbeat father, he says, “I’ve written a song about it, haven’t I?” His eyes hidden behind black Wayfarers, he adds, “And it’s not very subtle.” Allan is wearing the same dark clothes and sunglasses a few days after the Radio City gig, onstage at the far more modest Lower East Side venue Mercury Lounge. When he addresses the crowd between songs, the audience members shush each other and listen hard, but it’s no use. No one, save for the few Glaswegians in attendance, can really seem to follow his onstage banter. But that’s just fine, because, when the band blows into another massive hit, its epic sound is life affirming in a way that words could never be. grooming: joshua barrett at artistsbytimothypriano.com 131 http://www.artistsbytimothypriano.com
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