Glasvegas @ Gorilla, Manchester, 22 Oct

The last couple of years have thrown up a raft of inessential ten-year anniversary tours. This doesn’t feel like one of them.

Glasvegas’ self-titled debut was released in September 2008, and it bucked the sonic conventions of the era; when they headlined the NME Awards tour the following spring, they felt like the odd ones out amongst Florence + the Machine’s arena-bound alt-pop, White Lies’ synth-flecked goth rock and the supremely danceable funk stylings of Friendly Fires. Instead, they were nodding to a bygone era, all Phil Spector walls of sound, anthemic nods to The Joshua Tree, and sixties girl-group percussion.

The advantage of it sounding like an album out of time is that, unlike plenty of others from that period, the passing years haven’t worn on it. If anything, tonight’s show in Manchester, deafeningly loud throughout, serves as a stirring testament to just how well James Allan melded his lifelong influences on Glasvegas; when he dusts off the band’s long-established cover of The Ronettes’ Be My Baby during the encore, it’s no surprise to hear him introduce it as his favourite ever song – there are echoes of it throughout the record, which is played front to back tonight.

The real reason to revisit Glasvegas, though, is for the one thing that truly set it apart in 2008, and that still would if it were released today – Allan’s piercing social commentary. Heart-wrenching opener Flowers and Football Tops, partially inspired by the murder of Glasgow teenager Kriss Donald in 2004, is told through the eyes of a mother who’s lost her child to an act of mindless violence – 'Baby, why you?' – before closing by interpolating a spine-tingling chorus of You Are My Sunshine. Geraldine is a poignant ode to the selflessness of social workers, named for Allan's sister, who’s in the crowd tonight. Go Square Go, about fighting at the school gates, always invites a thunderously noisy singalong, ending as it does with a crescendo of the Scottish gig-goer’s chant of choice, "Here we, here we, here we fucking go." Allan’s putting a grim twist on it though, lamenting how deeply ingrained violence is in Glasgow’s youth culture.

It’s worth pointing out that the LP wasn't hard done by at the time; critically, it was well-received, and it would have gone to number one if it hadn’t been released the same week as the first new Metallica record for five years. Still, it’s hard to shake the feeling that it was sneered at from certain quarters, for reasons ranging from the understandable – there were detractors who felt that the sound was derivative – to the frivolous: Allan’s wearing of sunglasses indoors and detached air in interviews riled some. Overall, though, there was a sense that it wasn’t cool to be this heartfelt, this genuine, this heart-on-sleeve about topics that are an everyday reality for people up and down the country.

How many bands – then or now – would write a song like Polmont on My Mind, which takes an empathetic look at the vicious cycle that the prison system represents for so many young men, and then tour the very jails they were talking about? How many groups’ biggest single is a stinging rebuke to an absent father? And how many records close out with a track like Ice Cream Van, quietly optimistic but unflinching about the collapse of community? It’s hard to believe that the song was written and released while Labour were still in power; it sounds as if it might have been penned in direct response to this latest near-decade of Tory rule – 'Why can’t we see straight through the powers that be / Keeping us breaking each other’s hearts, and keeping us apart.'

The encore is a reminder of how scattershot the band’s output has been since Glasvegas; Please Come Back Home, Euphoria, Take My Hand and the searingly epic Lots Sometimes are all rooted in introspection, in personal problems of the heart rather than universal ones. Glasvegas itself remains a towering achievement, and one that has only grown in urgency and relevancy over the course of the past decade. Soon the band will release Godspeed, their long-in-the-works fourth album. Tonght’s roar-alongs from the crowd proves there’s an audience for it, and the present, turbulent climate is crying out for a songwriter with Allan’s skillset. There may yet be a second defining moment for Glasvegas; on tonight’s evidence, their debut album was unquestionably the first.