Rab Allan has just erupted into a flinty Glaswegian laugh. “We played Oxegen in July and all these people were coming up asking if we’d won some talent show on television,” says the Glasvegas guitarist. “We had no idea what they were talking about until the guy from the record company told us there’s a programme on Irish telly called Glas Vegas. I think we’ll have to get our lawyers involved.”

To be clear, East Glasgow four-piece Glasvegas have nothing in common with the starry-eyed hopefuls battling it out on TG 4’s X-Factor, ahem, homage, Glas Vegas – aside, perhaps, from an all-consuming desire to be famous. This ambition burns through their self-titled debut album, a suite of lushly orchestrated, lighters-in-the-air anthems that might come off as a little schmaltzy were it not for the emotional gravitas that Glasvegas bring to their songwriting. You can hear that depth on tearjerkers such as ‘Flowers And Football Tops’, a tribute to murdered Scottish soccer fan Kris Donald, which manages to feel at once profound and unabashedly chart-friendly. Think Oasis with a social conscience and you’re in the right time zone.
“We did that song during soundcheck and it really got me,” says Allan, speaking backstage at Marlay Park where Glasvegas will in a few hours open for Muse . “We wrote it from the perspective of the mum who’s found out her son has been killed. We thought, ‘How would our mothers feel, if that happened to us?’”
Speaking of Oasis, comparisons with Manchester’s lairiest have been flying thick and fast ever since Glasvegas were anointed as the next big thing by the London rock press earlier this year. Superficially, you can see why the tag has stuck: started by brothers Rab and James (Paul Donoghue and Caroline McKay complete the line-up) Glasvegas exude an intoxicating ‘Us against the world’ terrace anthem quality. Indeed, some of the parallels are downright eerie: Glasvegas were ‘discovered’ playing Glasgow’s King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut in Glasgow by none other than Alan McGee, who, a decade earlier, stumbled upon an unsigned Oasis in the very same venue.
“Alan’s a pretty good mate of ours,” says Rab. “He’s coming on tour with us next month. He’s going to hang out in the bus with us.”
Did the former Creation boss have any advice for the fledgling stars?
“The really important thing he told us is that you’ve got to do this for yourself – no one is going to help you. You have to go out there and fight for your success. But I think we already knew that. We weren’t one of those bands that was waiting around to be signed. Long before we had a label, we were selling two thousand vinyl records a week in Scotland. We were doing that totally off our own bat.”
McGee isn’t their only A-list fan. Primal Scream are admirers, as is Michael Stipe. And though Glasvegas have yet to meet any of their cheerleaders, they’ve certainly sought out some unusual company. Last Christmas, for instance, they toured several Scottish jails, inspired by James’s love of Johnny Cash At Folsom Prison.
“Audiences don’t get much tougher,” laughs Rab. “You’re playing a hall full of murderers and rapists. However, we took the time to explain what the songs were about – that they’re about lives much like theirs and they appreciated it. We didn’t have to go there, so I think they were glad we made the effort.”
As to the ‘new Oasis’ talk, musically Allan feels the comparisons don’t really stand-up. Soaked in strings and sumptuous chocolate-box arrangements, Glasvegas’s Phil Spector-goes-tartan pop is, for one thing, a great deal more sophisticated than anything the Gallaghers have yet committed to record. Still, Rab will admit to certain parallels.
“I think what we really have in common are the audiences. The fans go totally crazy for us, in a way that they do for Oasis. We seem to have a special bond with people – we get a sense that our music really means something to them.”
In the UK, Glasvegas are being hailed as poster children for Britain’s disaffected youth. The tabloid press has dubbed them the voice of ‘Generation Hoodie’, ragged youngsters from the wrong side of town. This isn’t simply red-top blather – the Allans’ upbringing seems like something straight out of a Ken Loach movie (one of those particularly grim ones set on a Scottish sink estate).
“East Glasgow is quite intimidating,” Rab acknowledges. “A lot of people we grew up with would have gotten into trouble. We avoided all that, because we were always into music. “
Along the way to Glasvegas, James made a detour into professional soccer, lining out with Queen Of The South and Falkirk. However, he quit three years ago, in order to devote himself to rock ‘n’ roll.
“It was getting to the point where we couldn’t go on tour because he had to work things around the season,” explains Rab. “I think they thought he must have been daft when he handed his notice in. But I’m sure they changed their minds when they read about us selling all our shows out in Scotland.”