It has been just over ten years since B.R.M.C released their first two LPs.
More than ten years you say? Well yeah, time never seems to touch musicians, and then you look at yourself in the mirror and realise you’ve grown more wrinkles, while your favourite bands release more albums – do they actually feed on our youth?
Jokes aside, it is definitely not a simple Monday night in Glasgow, while every venue in town is welcoming solid bands, The Barrowlands is sold out again thanks to the courtesy of Leah Shapiro Robert Levon Been and Peter Hayes.
The atmosphere is electric, people find shelter in the ballroom in hope that they will be able to warm themselves up since winter has decided to double cross spring this year.
This leather-hearted crowd is reckless and impatient and wants to witness their idols performing songs from the new album Specter At The Feast.
And they’re not let down, the performance opens with ‘Let The Day Begin’, a homage (more than just a cover) from the band to Been’s father (ex-frontman of The Call) who tragically passed away after suffering a heart attack while working as a sound man on the B.R.M.C tour in 2010.
‘Rival’ manages to ignite the legendary venue, beers are thrown, arms are raised, and shouts are discernible, suddenly the mass is moved at unison by those three obscure characters – Shapiro is impeccable behind her drum kit while Hayes’s stoicism conflicts with Been’s recklessness.
Every single aspects of their repertoire is used, from the Americana of ‘Ain’t No Easy Way’ to the loud ‘Conscience Killer’ without forgetting the toxic ‘666 Conducer’.
After a quick interlude where the lead guitarist entertains the crowd with a soft piano concerto, the band comes back with ‘Fire Walker’, a slow and relentless complaint that heats up the ballroom like a volcano.
Finally the band fires its last bullet when ‘Spread Your Love’ resonates, leaving the crowd with no chance of escape.
Tonight The Barrowlands’ star-encrusted ceiling shines for garage rock, when ‘Lose Yourself’ echoes, it is time for everyone to slowly fade away, sweaty faces disappear from the building with the knowledge that vintage garage rock is not dead.
Words: Jeremy Veyret