It seems everything’s happening in Glasgow tonight, from the emphatic Future Islands headlining a sold out Barras to exciting touring bands like Girlpool and Houndstooth at Broadcast and The Glad Cafe respectively, to a show piece of local talent at Tut’s; however I chose to be at Oran Mor, not for it’s early curfews on a school night, but for the sheer warmth and unadulterated indie pop joy that is Alvvays.
It appears a lot of people are with me on this one as by the time the Canadian five-piece enter the stage, to oddly regal sounding music, the crowd has swelled to an exceptionally healthy level.
And the music doesn’t let down either as Oran Mor in quickly shrouded in gloriously retro feeling post-c86 glory.
‘Adult Division’ opens proceeding and pushes a smile-grasping hook and that warm siren of a voice possessed by the engrossing Molly Rankin comfortably into the crowd’s hearts.
On record it’s Rankin’s clever yet candid lyrics that have pushed them to the forefront of the indie pop world and here they are given an engrossing live presence that simply emits a charming glow, as ‘Next of Kin’ displaying an uplifting presence despite its longing refrain.
They posses a certain charm in their chat too; from knowingly cringe worthy “love Scotland” chat to Rankin’s apologies for losing her voice (“I don’t usually sound like Macy Gray”) and terrible, yet comical Noel Gallagher impressions after meeting him the day before (“Alvvays? Like the shampoo?… You’re worth it”).
Apparently the last time they visited Scotland someone had presented keyboardist Kerri MacLellan with a bottle of tequila for her birthday to which she gives a shy “thank you” and they seem joyed to be here guitarist Alec O’Hanley praises Oran Mor as the “high church of jangle”, potentially in reference to the Glasgow bands that their sound is indebted to, before Rankin tells of her embarrassment at swearing in a church (“sometimes you forget you’re in a church when there’s like 1000 whisky’s”).
It’s well documented how much indie pop as a genre has much to thank Glasgow for, Alvvays’ sound doesn’t come quite lo-fi as The Pastels or most of the Postcard stuff, but shares more vibes with the modern pop emphasised side of genre, there’s definitely some of the country twinges of Camera Obscura in there, potentially down to Rankin’s country/folk roots.
Indeed they posses the same fuzzy introverted sing-along to yourself vibe that Camera Obscura do, injecting a spring in your step and warming you up on even the coldest night and we see more of this as the set continues with the joyous shimmer of ‘Atop A Cake’.
Rankin’s vocal apologies needn’t have been mentioned, but when she does bring it light you can see her occasionally straining to reach the notes during ‘Dives’, still this doesn’t alter the luxurious feel to her voice and the band’s sound as a whole and we’re back to confident territory before long with ‘Party Police’.
At times there’s an unnerving jar to their sound that only adds to their charms, but as the shiver inducing sing-along joy of ‘Archie, Marry Me’ ends the main portion of the set, there’s not a doubt anywhere that this is right place to be.
An encore that includes a solo outing for Rankin performing ‘Red Planet’, which projects the folk singer qualities in her voice over a forlorn, booming back drop, some more ridiculous ‘Scotland’ banter about how Rankin and MacLellan used to go to Gaelic school rather than camp and a great cover of Kirsty MacColl’s ‘He’s On A Beach’ finishes things just as they started, with a warm jovial glow that leave us heading home well before 10 and more than satisfied.
Words: Iain Dawson
Photos: Sophie Morrison
