In the space of the last two years, Glasvegas have managed to attract a hype that would make even the marketers of Hollywood blockbusters jealous, drawing all kinds of comparisons for their audibly greasy and powerfully excellent chip shop rock n roll.

The most frequent and purposefully headline grabbing of these has to be their ‘new Oasis’ tag, a label that seems fairly at odds with a band initially known for the strength of their Scottish accents, but one that does at least have a little weight.

Discovered by Alan McGee? Check. While playing third on the bill at King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut in Glasgow? Check. Fronted by brothers? Check. Purveyors of moody, shouty anthems? Check, check and check again.

Of course, those kind of easy links are a record label’s dream, and the clamour won by Columbia for the signatures of the band has drummed up a fire and safety-busting capacity (and then some) crowd at the comparably small Scala in King’s Cross.

There is genuine excitement in the air tonight, and although it’s competing with some industrial strength sweat and stale beer, the emotion is palpable and appealing.

There’s even a smoke machine to the left of the stage, pumping out the first tendrils of Glasvegas’ dark image, and as they stride out to their trademark Phil Spector wall of sound, everyone is ready for an ‘event’.

Bassist Paul Donoghue and Rab Allen are first out, followed by Rab’s brother and lead singer James – all black jeans, tee shirts and sunglasses a la The Jesus And Mary Chain, an obvious influence in both style and sound.

Caroline McKay takes up her standing stance at the drums, echoing The Velvet Underground’s Moe Tucker (another big influence) as the sparse, driving beats kick into Flowers And Football Tops.

The effect is immediate, and as James Allen’s powerful voice punches into the crowd against a backdrop of huge lights and album artwork, the stadium-sized songs expand The Scala’s walls into a festival headlining slot.

Sounding as if Dion and The Belmonts have taken to the terraces, the band rattle through their mini rock n roll epics at pace, including It’s My Own Cheating Heart That Makes Me Cry and single Geraldine before everyone joins in with the anthemic ‘here we fucking go’ of Go Square Go.

Album track Ice Cream Van is stretched out in My Bloody Valentine tribute fashion, proving Glasvegas are certainly more than rockabilly revivalists, and by the time they close the set with their biggest number, Daddy’s Gone, the audience are at such fever pitch that Allen stops playing to give them their own chorus.

After just 40 minutes, Glasvegas have gone, leaving the front row to fight over set lists. There’s little doubt that the desired ‘event’ was well and truly delivered by a band that not only looked but sounded the part too, and with a string of bigger dates in the UK and US, it seems the only question now is ‘who the fuck are Oasis?’