Sleazy’s basement has been home to some sensational gigs over the past month, with the well documented celebration of it’s 20th birthday, which saw many of the city’s most exalted acts come back to their roots and give the Sleazy’s crowd reason to flock in their multitudes.
It is with this knowledge that I could be perhaps be forgiven in thinking that Glasgow’s live music lovers have become rather exhausted in recent weeks.
Upon arrival there is no pulse of excitement, no sense of foreboding occasion.
Instead, through the dimly lit basement, I can see a smattering of people sitting in small collectives, quietly locked in conversation and stirring contently at their White Russians.
Certainly a humble beginning to the evening’s events.
As the opening act Blank Canvas take to the stage with youthful energy in their stride, the crowd is noticeably still planted on their seats, perhaps showing more interest in their conversations than of the four enthusiastic lads that had graced their presence.
The boys established their mood with the opener ‘Veins’ an angular energetic guitar rock number which on another day might have sparked a more fulfilling connection with the audience.
“My lips they can’t pretend” croons the lead singer in a tone and voice that is certainly beyond his diminutive years.
A voice, that is likely to be drawing more inspiration from the new romantics of the eighties than the bands that their guitars echo the influence of.
As their set moves along, a tide of interested listeners begin to ebb to the front of the stage, clearly caught by the jagged hooks of the quartet and appreciative of the tight sound which they have created here for us.
While their tracks go to show that this band are far from being a fully realized act, live or otherwise, they certainly have the inherent talent and an abundance of time in which to effectively cultivate it.
Energetic: a superlative often associated with the many great live acts of the city.
It’s what the Glaswegians have come to crave and expect from which ever local act they are going to witness on any particular evening.
On this particular evening it is The King Hats, a band that have been a familiar fixture of the Glasgow music scene over the last few years and have earned the reputation from many as one of the most exhilarating and energetic live acts that this city has to offer.
They reveal themselves on stage with self assured grins and skinny jeans.
The crowd clearly buoyed by their presence, stare up in expectation of this energetic Glaswegian act.
They launch into their brand of indie punk, with lead singer Alan Power swarming his bold, brash and spirited presence over the stage.
I can’t help but think that all this energy is wasted on most of the audience, the songs not nearly catchy enough to get heads moving or set feet tapping.
During the set Power attempts to give life to the crowd, removing the barrier between performer and audience by approaching one of the more enthusiastic members of the crowd and screamed some lyrics in front of his nervously grinning face, an antagonizing gesture that seems well received (by that chap at least).
One would imagine that if The King Hats worked as thoroughly on producing outstanding material as they do on giving energetic live performances, they would no longer be a supporting act in their home city.
Finally, a resounding wave of response rises up from behind me as headliners Dutch Uncles arrive on stage.
Vocalist and pianist Duncan Wallis provides an apparent contrast with what has gone before, introducing himself with a modest bow while carefully holding a cup of tea in hand.
Set opener, ‘Cadenza’ immediately gets the crowd going with its frantic keyboard line and immediate guitar rift.
The impressive falsetto of Wallis rises above the beautifully crafted sound, creating a charming and unique sonic concoction that is accompanied by the insane dancing of the frontman.
It’s almost impossible to take your eyes off Wallis as he makes seemingly random shapes to his music, a sheer unbridled groove that is more like an interpretive pastiche to the moves of a drunken chartered accountant at the annual office party.
It’s a bizarre but equally fitting idiosyncrasy to the bands brilliantly weird ‘arty indie pop’.
I do however hesitate to call this indie-pop music, for as much as the tracks that they perform are captivating and memorable (I found myself singing along to many a chorus), they have numerous divergent time signatures that challenge the casual head bopper and hand clapper.
As expected it is the band’s most successful and recognizable track to date ‘The Ink’ which sends the crowd into a mild frenzy.
The track rises majestically around the small venue, surrounding the audience with what could easily have been an underground eighties anthem.
It drips with an effortless cool, the combination of the charming charisma from the frontman, his insane dancing and the quality of the track coming together in a crescendo which signals the climax of the entire evening.
The result of that track can be felt throughout the conclusion of the set, as the band, now with the crowd in their talented hands, earn enthusiastic applause from every track that they deliver.
It takes some time for the night to gather the buzz that perhaps the venue had been accustomed to of late, but it when it does, it is well worth the wait.
Dutch Uncles conquer the crowd with a consolidation of complete class and their infectious, distinct brand of classically inspired indie rock music.
I have no doubts that the next time they perform in Glasgow, they will have everyone on their side from the very beginning.
Words: Alan Laidlaw
Photos: Stewart Fullerton
