And it was all going so, so well. The phenomenally unpredictable, rags-to-riches success story that was Glasvegas's last eighteen months in the depressingly boisterous and highly fickle music industry produced some of the most unquestionably uplifting highs this side of 'It's A Wonderful Life'; after years of trawling the spit-and-sawdust, glass-in-the-face pub circuit of inner - and outer - Glasgow, enduring gang warfare and emotional hardship, a desperately uncertain Zeitgeist took a good, hard look at one beautifully simplistic song about daddy issues and fell hopelessly in love. And so the 'Glasmania' began. Their heartbreakingly honest lyrics struck the loudest of chords with the everyman and lo, a legend was born. Gigs became emotionally cathartic experiences; grown men would cry openly in the front rows while mouthing 'Cheating Heart', thousands of ordinarily placid observers would turn theatres into football terraces, bellowing the anthemic 'Go Square Go' and bequiffed, leather-jacketed lead singer James Allan would have every face eating out of the palm of his hand, hanging onto his every word.
However, all that could be about to change. Judging by the hostile atmosphere generated by pockets of dissatisfied punters at tonight's Independent show, the tide may be on the turn. The rot began to set in several months back when long-standing member and cult icon Caroline, the band's diminutive, yet unfathomably brutal, drummer, quit the group, citing 'personal issues'. Then James fessed up to the drugs binge that resulted in the infamous Coachella cancellation. Add to that a scene that has moved elsewhere in the three years since that infamous self-titled debut and recent rumours that the previously messianic Allen is faking it live and you have a recipe for potential disaster. Naturally, things aren't quite that bad this evening - in fact, they're positively glorious in the circumstances - but nevertheless, the tense undercurrent is palpable, transforming an otherwise triumphant performance into something far more uneasy, far less sure of itself and considerably less pleasant to be involved in.
It all starts with a well-timed heckle: three or four rows back from the front, a lonesome punter accuses the band of being shit and suggests that they 'do [their] fucking jobs'. Curiously, the general consensus appears to be that they're doing just that, the affably boisterous lads and lasses in the pit swigging their pints of piss in unison, admiring the effortless thrills and spills that make up opening newbie 'The World Is Yours' and gushing at James's particularly eye-catching choice of attire. Decked in sharp white from head to toe - besuited, naturally - he cuts a piercing figure, bellowing his innermost into the Sinatra-style 50s mic that he brandishes like a weapon, replacing the beloved guitar that he once carried with him to every show. Or at least, he *appears* to be bellowing his innermost. Some aren't so sure. Following a seemingly euphoric 'Cheating Heart', a handful of similarly dissenting voices pipe up, demanding that James 'stop miming' and essentially calling for his head on a platter. The name-calling ensues, the litany of expletives incenses the few grandmas present, and suddenly, a proportionally insignificant minority turns the gig into a battlefield, pitting themselves against both the band and the fans who take umbrage at their behaviour.
The nadir is reached a few songs later, when James cottons on to the problem. He calls out the last male shouting an objection, turns the house lights on and things threaten to turn very ugly. Thankfully, Allan maintains his calm throughout, reminding some very vocal fans that the gentleman is entitled to his opinion, but making sure he knows just how offended he is by the accusation. "I work bloody hard every night and that's insulting man", he offers, before cutting the dissenters down in one fell swoop. "Why would we mime out of tune?" It's a brilliantly self-effacing remark and one that elicits a round of applause from the remainder of the audience, but Allan doesn't stop there. To prove a point, he changes the lyrics to a hauntingly evocative 'Polmont on my Mind', imploring, "what do I have to do to prove I'm not miming?" Sadly, while the number and volume of protests decreases from herein, a few irritable voices remain, and the spectre of the accusation haunts the rest of the set, leading an otherwise mesmerised crowd to question whether there's any truth to the accusations, rather than focus their energies on getting lost in the whirlwind of sorrow and melancholy that is brilliant new single 'Euphoria: State of Mind' or appreciate the five minutes of unwavering beauty that is 'Ice Cream Van'.
Certainly, from a cursory glance at those responsible for the heckling, it would appear that the vast majority were looking to cause trouble; with nary a lyric mouthed and arms folded tight shut, these time-wasters seem to have spent their £12.50 to be as c**tish as possible (that these people even exist is enough to boggle the mind for eternity). However, post-gig, AtA does catch a snippet of explanation; seemingly, the criticism is based on the fact that James's vocals do not decrease in volume proportionally to the distance of the microphone from his face. Tellingly, such observations are made from the back of the venue; up close and personal, the guttural projection, the passionate intensity and often, the spit and phlegm are all too evident. One swift gander at 'Flowers and Football Tops', sung entirely by Allan with only a minor keyboard underscore, should be sufficient to silence any doubts; the quavering fragility in his voice is positively majestic, belted out with every fibre in his being.
It's a pity that such - probably - unfounded accusations besmirch an otherwise damn fine evening. While Alert the Audience cannot categorically confirm whether there's any truth in the notion that James was miming at any point in the performance, we can confirm that he did his utmost to discredit the naysayers and that 90% of Sunderland's finest indie kids loved every minute. As is par for the course, there were euphoric highs, heartbreaking lows and a whole heck of a lot of embarrassingly drunken arms-around-mates moments in-between. It would be a shame for a few setbacks and a bunch of Internet rumours put pay to all that.
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