Glasvegas have forged a meandering path since their number two chart peak of the football-terrace-anthem-laden debut in 2008, with poor sales of the more dreamily contemplative follow-up ‘Euphoric Heartbreak‘ seeing the band dropped from their Colombia label in 2011.
However, an uncertain future for the band subsided with the announcement of a major-label deal with BMG for the release of third LP ‘Later…When The TV Turns To Static‘.
First single is the sinister retort ‘I’d Rather Be Dead (Than Be With You)’, a vocally piercing and embittered reflection on a past relationship. The track is as far removed from a mainstream anthem as you could find, being an unsubtle hint that chart topping attention isn’t particularly high on their agenda. The group continues to plough their Phil Spector infused wall of sound on their latest effort, with added fogginess in the recording echo of Jesus & Mary Chain white noise inspired roots.
The title track, referring to the days when analogue TV would offer static images as a sign it’s time to sleep, enters with juddering guitar strums reminiscent of past hit ‘Daddy’s Gone’. The song steadily builds into a chorus depicting feelings of emotional disengagement with the outside world and a solitary existence in the lines, ‘Later when the TV turns to static, it’s quiet on the edge of my bed in the attic’, becoming a jarringly introspective analysis of daily routine and systematic actions.
Piano-led ballad ‘Choices‘ provides a refreshing break from guitar-led distortion, with James Allan’s adept lyrical melancholy shining through more accessibly in these quieter moments. Morrissey rivalling despair appears in sentiments such as, ‘I don’t wanna be alone, but there’s no one else around’, portraying a schizophrenic internal battle with life’s choices and the difference between our desires and reality.
‘All I Want Is My Baby‘ is etched in 60’s girl pop group simplicity during the chorus, fleshed out in the verses by all encompassing societal observations, evoking how above all else in the world, humans sometimes desire only the simplicity of their child’s love to get them through hardship. Allan’s past desires, in not wanting to become an estranged father figure, are reflected in sarcastically drenched lyrics and a thinly veiled, emotionally charged rant at overly bureaucratic systems.
The pace slows on the second half of the album; ‘Secret Truth‘ is a lullaby instrumental harbouring contrastingly ruthless angry retorts to a past lover, an example of biting minimalist wordplay that characterises much of Allan’s songwriting.
Album highlight ‘If‘, with its infectiously galloping rhythm and high-pitched lead guitar chimes, embodies a sense of renewed optimism. The acute sense of awareness in how the darker moments in life help make us savour the best parts, with lyrical metaphors such as, ‘If not for rain, the sun would never split the skies again’, introduce an all too rare moment on the record of hopeful realisation, as pounding drums and frenetic guitar breeds life into the overriding theme of moroseness.
Light acoustic picking on the intro to pop-ballad ‘Neon Bedroom‘ leads a shift into almost Plain White T’s ‘Hey There Delilah’ territory. Allan tells a further account of social isolation, and imagines a childhood longing for affection that’s unrequited.
There isn’t much here to dispel naysayers of the doom rockers, with little to appeal to a chart buying audience opposed to the, at times, inaccessible Scottish twang and unrelenting dourness.
As winter draws closer however, this feels like a listen that will sit appropriately with the harshest season.
