Glasvegas
Glasvegas and A Snowflake Fell (and It Felt Like a Kiss)
(Columbia)

I have to admit that I don't pay as much attention to the British music tabloids as some folks, so I'm often somewhat blindsided by bands that are already sensations in the UK. So it is with Glasvegas, a Glasgow quartet that combine alternately lugubrious and lusty Scots-accented singing with Spector-via-the Jesus and Mary Chain walls of reverb and feedback, all in the service of big, melodramatic rock ballads (and who have placed on the 2008 Top 10 lists of just about every British publication out there). They are the kind of band (led by ex-footballer James Allan on vocals/rhythm guitar and cousin Rab Allan on lead guitar) that can credibly stretch the well-worn phrase "my baby" into seven or eight syllables and imbue it with some fresh-sounding pathos, then in the coda of the very same song splay the chorus of "You Are My Sunshine" over a wash of shoegaze static guitars and really sell the fuck out of it. And that's just the first song of this highly satisfying self-titled debut.

Throughout the album, ambient swells and flutters give way to bright, sustained guitar lines, a hard-pounding rhythm section lends even slow songs some urgent impact, and James's slightly slurred and cracked but totally charismatic singing is shored up by occasional distant-echoing background vocals and an ever-present density of well-polished sound.

Their songs rarely rise above midtempo, but this only makes the album's pair of relatively upbeat numbers, "Geraldine" and "Go Square Go," that much more striking—the former is an ode to a social worker who leaves her job to follow the band; the latter is a stomping, blearily romantic sing-along ("square go" is Scottish slang for a fair fight, but the song's tenor suggests something more emotionally charged than a random pub brawl).

Glasvegas's undeniable specialty, though, is the airborne, epically moping ballad—and they pull the neat trick of nailing those without sinking into the bland morass of vanilla mope rock which has been of late such a reliable British export.

Their debut, just recently released domestically, is bolstered by a holiday EP, A Snowflake Fell (and It Felt Like a Kiss), that's still well worth a listen even after Seattle's unreasonably white Christmas has thawed, as sentiments like "Fuck You, It's Over" and "Please Come Back Home" never really go out of season. The former of those two songs is every bit the aching kiss-off you'd expect, the latter just as much a tear-stained plea. Only the Romanian-friendly rendition of "Silent Night/Noapte De Vis" comes off as token, and even the ostensibly timely title track is warm-weather durable, with its forlorn piano, empty cathedral-choir echo, and brogue-ish vocals.

Glasvegas perform Sat Jan 10, Chop Suey, 8 pm, $16, 21+. With Carl Barat.