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?’

Poorly-judged chemical consumption, signs reading ‘Carling only’, or The Others as a support act are a few, but a wanker in a trilby and sunglasses (indoors) is just as effective.

For this reason, the start of Wednesday’s Cut Copy gig was an apprehensive one, but this man’s presence can be easily explained.

He was, it seems, a hangover from Cut Copy’s initial rise to popularity in the summer of 2005, when self- proclaimed hipsters everywhere clutched debut release Bright Like Neon Love to their fashionably clothed breasts.

Something of a herald for the day-glo dawn of Nu Rave, Cut Copy were emerging at around the same time as fellow indie dance act Hot Chip, but while Alexis Taylor et al were wowing us in dear old Blighty, Cut Copy were mainly making waves in their native Australia.

Recruiting Gallic dance genius Phillipe Dzar of Cassius and Phoenix fame on production duties, they had created something from the realm of ubiquitous robot heads (and tour mates) Daft Punk, but something that was still just far enough below the popular radar to be considered ‘cool’.

Three years later and for whatever reason, Cut Copy have not quite enjoyed the success of the Chip, but they are touring a new, and rather good, second album, this time produced by DFA’s Tim Goldsworthy.

The aforementioned hat wearer is trying to remain calm at the prospect of seeing them perform it live, but, try as he might, he is failing miserably, and ends up right at the front, giggling like a schoolgirl.

Around him is a sell out Scala crowd, simmering with excitement in an atmosphere more club than gig, and when Cut Copy arrive, they nearly boil over.

The band sound much more raw in the flesh, without the vocal distortion but boasting some truly scuzzed up My Bloody Valentine guitars over heart thudding beats. Quite frankly, they sound even better.

It doesn’t all start at 100 miles per hour though, and initially, lead singer Dan Whitford comes across as Neil Tennant moonlighting with New Order.

Of course, that’s no bad thing, but as they throw in a couple of obvious crowd favourites from their debut like Saturdays and Future, they seem to begin enjoying themselves, and the entire room unites in a pogo with hands aloft.

New album track Lights and Music is already anthemic, and recent single Hearts On Fire (unfortunately not a cover of John Cafferty’s Rocky IV song) closes the main set superbly as hundreds holler and stamp for an encore.

Of course, they get it from the grinning band and for a little while longer we’re back in that giddy electro-disco-indie-pop bonanza they have created so well.

On this evidence, that second album is well worth a purchase, because while one indoor sunglasses wearer can most certainly be wrong, the hundreds of people leaving with smiles on their faces don’t seem to be.

[story by Tom Atkinson]