I mean, here's a Scottish indie band being touted by Alan McGee, who discovered Oasis and was responsible for the shafts of musical light during the awful pap, manufactured pop of the 1990s. That's pedigree enough for me.

A foursome, with a female drummer and three male guitarists, they looked great: black leathers, T-shirts and jeans, the lads sported quiffs and sideburns.

Unfortunately, from the first chord it went downhill.

Talk about dirge music! The melody and excitement was on par with listening to a slow chainsaw.

The band draw inspiration from Suicide, and it tells. Each droning song felt endless.

Although there were tinges of melody in debut single Go Square Go and the last release Daddy's Gone, I wanted out after 10 boring minutes.

Their eight number, 30-minute set (that's right!) was uninspiring and two of those songs were cover versions of You Are My Sunshine (I jest not) and the Ronettes' Be My Baby.

I cried at the latter. It was the worst massacre of a classic song I've ever heard.

There was no mosh pit, no energy, no stage presence, and the dozens of Glaswegians down for the gig were the only punters showing any sign of enthusiasm.

The Newcastle people, expecting a show to remember, gave polite applause. I left before the encore (if there was one) and the rush for the exit was noticeable.

Given the accolades Glasvegas have accrued there must be some latent talent there, but at this stage it's definitely a case of too much too soon.

Thank heavens then for the support band, local lads Blackflower, whose melodic power pop was the highlight of the evening.