Striding on-stage with pride in their hearts and co-ordination in their track-suit tops – to celebrate Celtic clinching another Scottish Premier League title, apparently – Mogwai make for a slighly-less-than rock ‘n’ roll sight. Follically challenged, almost wholly devoid of style and with facial features perhaps only a mother could love, they represent the antithesis of pre-packaged pop clone nonsense. Then they plug in and play and suddenly things begin to make sense.
Are these Scotsmen louder than thunder? Louder than war? Louder than permitted, safe noise levels? The answer to all three is, surely, yes. Regularly swapping instruments between songs (and was that really their tour manager making a guest appearance on cymbal?) their output is more the stand stock still and rhythmically rock your upper body type rather than the more familiar jump up and down style, yet the collective power summoned is nothing short of immense.
And, despite a mid-set, mid-paced lull that offered opportunity to visit the venue’s shockingly priced bar for urgent refreshment, Mogwai manage to effortlessly confirm their status as the country’s most accomplished noise merchants. So, with the evening only slightly tainted by a second encore of excruciating white-noise, it appears there’s plenty more gas (and volume) left in their tanks. Mogwai: consistently one louder.