If certain central components that combine in
Glasvegas may have been irreversibly altered since their last spell of ubiquity,
James Allan looking rather more messianic on stage in all-white, said stages covered in Midi pedals the size of those most cathedral organs benefit from, Allan off what Jessie J may brand the ch-chang ch-chang and animal tranquillisers and a questionably more technically accomplished new drummer, the disdainful melancholia that lies beneath a slew of multilingual spoken samples is resolutely Glasvegan. The most unpronounceable title since Joy Orbison's vowel-renouncing EPs of 2009, EUPHORIC /// HEARTBREAK \\\ does, as intended, rock and roll like a crashing wave, obliterating the shoreline in bittersweet resplendence as it exudes more joy than that which was channeled into its conception. Opening with the chimerical Pain Pain Never Again, floaty French lament awash with swathes of downcast guitar last experienced on Bieber slowed down to aqueous underwater frequency, the bracing drumbeat bolstering of The World Is Yours soon erupts, Allan's crackled bellow permeating typically gargantuan audio accompaniment. Then it's on to You, a similarly rambunctious, robust slab of despondence that's unnervingly akin to Editors' Papillon without the copious melodrama and pseudo-Krautrock backdrop. Glimmers of Krautrock and ebony and ivory melodrama do then wade in on Shine Like Stars, the record's first foray into the unknown, hurtling through territories never charted on the eponymous debut. Whilst many a U2 reference will be levelled at the Glaswegians this time out, the troupe having supported the world's probably biggest and certainly brashest band, Whatever Hurts You Through The Night is stadium-slaying and sounds a little like fellow Scots Mogwai tearing down Dublin's Christmas lights in a mist of unapologetic vitriol. Heartstring hauler Stronger Than Dirt [Homosexuality Pt.2] and Geraldine mk.II I Feel Wrong [Homosexuality Pt.1] sandwich the glorious Dream Dream Dreaming, Paul Donoghue's clamourous bass distortion coming into its own, a track that sees Allan, Allan et al. return to their infatuation with '60's girl groups and Spector-esque sonic devastation. Euphoria, Take My Hand provides the LP's most anthemic four-plus minutes, whilst the segueing Lots Sometimes results in its most convoluted, diluted and downright avant-garde, sprawling languidly over tambourine twinkles and drums that gallivant boisterously with titanic guitars and intermittently Bobby Gillespie-esque yelps. Yet denouement Change purveys poignancy set to song as Allan serenades his mother and his indwelling fear in a stark and stunning swansong that, were the time right, would be the most internal organ-wrenching ending to almost anything including life itself. Elizabeth Corrigan, aka Mrs. Allan then chirps up to reassure her recovering son that the monsters are "well on the run", urging him to "bring back that smile again, and be lead not into temptation" in a twisted, terrifying vague reworking of the Lord's Prayer that bewilders and beguiles in equal measure. In amidst all those forward and backward slashes, the reverb and the remorse therein lies the truth, and something beautiful.
