L'Rain @ The Hug & Pint, Glasgow, 19 Feb

Last seen in Scotland supporting Big Thief, L’Rain are an entirely different beast when unencumbered by the unwritten rules of the support slot. Where their latest album I Killed Your Dog finds them bringing a streak of twin guitar dad-rock punch and momentum to their woozy soundscapes, their live show mutates their sound into a whole other thing – one defined not by the excesses or machismo of this new influence, but by a jazzy freedom.

Now I’m aware ‘jazzy’ as an adjective, particularly when relating to music that isn’t capital-J Jazz, can really be the critical kiss of death. Often what it conjures is the elongating of what was once a taut piece of pop for endless, aimless noodling – anoraks pleasing no one but each other in a never-ending game of time signature Top Trumps. This is not what I mean. What I mean is L’Rain, live, in their current iteration, are a rock band who feel the way a certain kind of jazz does at its best. Every tune is fluid, able to shoot off in any direction at any given time, but, crucially, the band’s sense of timing of when to go and what to do when they do go is magnificent. 

The version of 5 to 8 Hours a Day (WWwaG) we get exemplifies this perfectly. The tight, coiled momentum of the recorded version is given even more room to grow and to breathe, and they find a gorgeous ocean of sound within it. There’s great titanic waves of sax washing over everything, while the guitar tones are lighter, both more brittle and more sweepingly gorgeous. This loose-limbed approach applies to the majority of their re-workings, Pet Rock becoming a giddy tumble, New Year’s UnResolution an extended punchy workout. A lot of this quality falls at the feet of their spectacular drummer who provides a constant flail of perfectly judged chaos with a seeming direct channel to Coltrane’s rapturous cacophonies.  

It feels a particularly wise move to be loose with I Killed Your Dog’s choppy claustrophobia, as it's a vein of sonic density often difficult to replicate live. Instead they find something more interesting, something grander. What’s particularly exciting is that they are as captivating in the dips as their peaks. Take Clumsy for instance – a weightless exercise in pure swooning prettiness, with an intro seemingly made from the squeaks of an angel’s windshield wipers. These low energy numbers spotlight the value of singer, bassist and core of the L’Rain project Taja Cheek’s vocals. It’s a voice that’s restrained, low in the mix, but absolutely imperative for these songs, working in an almost shoegaze fashion to sit featherweight and allow everything else to move around it. 

L’Rain are on great form, and seem like a group who have already outgrown spaces of this size. See them in places like this while you can, as it won’t be long before they find themselves in far grander venues.