Radio 4. A nigh-on legendary club night, of capital city debauchery and depravity, renowned for tabloid tales of sex on the dancefloor and various misdemeanours perpetrated by the likes of Bobby Gillespie. Rock, and indeed, roll.
Radio 4 in Glasgow isn't quite there. Literally and metaphorically the club - an offshoot of former Creation boss Alan McGee's Poptones label - is quite some distance away. Being stuck in the middle of a sonically challenged Glaswegian architecture museum, celeb spotters spoilt for choice by supermodels and rock stars in London have only a handful of pleasant but provincial TV faces and radio voices to fill those spiritual voids.
Finally, it's absolutely freezing, and a fifty minute wait, crushed into a hallway with two hundred or so other confused indie kids, doesn't help the atmosphere at all.
The guy sitting against the wall, ignoring the eclectic mix from PJ Harvey right through to Queens of the Stone Age, enjoying his novel (brought along with quite some foresight), has the right idea. Tonight's 'special mystery guests', Cosmic Rough Riders, inspire just that kind of devotion.
Sympathetically, it can't be at all easy supporting one of your 'most favourite bands', particularly when you've chosen to acknowledge that admiration by poorly duplicating everything that makes them so special, and tacking on a rather empty sixties-style hippy aura. Next single, 'Baby, You're So Free' might not be the worst Byrds pastiche ever, and lead singer
Daniel Wylie's hand shaking excursion in to the crowd is admittedly, a nice diversion, but on a night like this, when you're just waiting for something to happen, proving to be totally and utterly average is the worst crime of all.
In which case, they should lock Teenage Fanclub up and pretend to lose the key. Just for long enough to shake them up a little. The promised acoustic set never materialises, morphing into a disorganised and disappointing run through nothing much at all. Opening up, in front of a couple of hundred of your biggest fans, who've been standing in the cold for over three hours, by 'busking' through some new b-sides, is just a touch insensitive.
When Norman Blake opens the floor to requests, the response is deafening, yet the Fannies yield to just one nomination, producing a fine rendition of 'He'd Be A Diamond' before returning, inexplicably, to a run through the new-ish album beset by feedback and an utterly horrendous sound mix.
For most, it's a gentle kick in the teeth, despite a closing rendition of 'Sparky's Dream' dedicated to, "our old pal, Alan McGee". Rock and roll, indeed.
