Glasvegas have been pegged as “the new Oasis” and declared “the most important band of their generation”. Led by the brothers James and Rab Allan from Dalmarnock, they have swept all before them (except the new Metallica album) to reach No 2 in the charts last week with their self-titled first album.

So, a new gang of working class heroes with stadium-sized songs in their hearts has arrived to inject a healthy dose of reality into the pop charts. It’s a seductive narrative, and a familiar one. But for all the gritty conviction and indie-rock showboating on display at their sold-out show, there was little to suggest that Glasvegas are, in fact, anything more than the new Embrace — with Scottish accents.

Arriving on the darkened stage to a thrumming, electronic drone, they began with Flowers and Football Tops, the first of several colourful tales of stabbings, beatings and murder on the mean streets of Glasgow. “My son’s not coming home tonight,” lamented James Allan in a voice that combined the vocal mannerisms of Joey Ramone with those of Rab C. Nesbitt to form one of the most impenetrable singing dialects in rock’n’roll.

The band recreated the Phil Spector-inspired “wall of sound” of their recordings surprisingly faithfully with just two guitars, a bass and the minimalist drumming technique of Caroline McKay. Comparisons with Moe Tucker of the Velvet Underground were difficult to avoid.

The harsh monochrome lighting underlined a succession of violent mood swings. Go Square Go prompted an audience chant of the final refrain (“Here we f***ing go”) that was almost tribal. Ice Cream Van progressed from a quiet, sepulchral introduction to a crashing crescendo before the band embarked on the cathartic Daddy’s Gone.

Bigger stages await, but maintaining suspension of disbelief on such an epic scale will be hard work.

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