From Sleazy’s to Glastonbury: Glasgow Musician Talks Passion and Frustration
Empty coffee cups lie scattered across the studio, cables snaking along the floor. A half-opened cigarette pack rests on the table beside me. Outside, the sun shines, but I’ve almost forgotten it’s there. The space is dimly lit, a stark contrast to the streets I’ve just stepped from. Now, immersed in this world, I listen as one musician’s story unfolds.
Hamish Hutcheson, frontman of VLURE, sinks into the wooden chair in front of me. He’s a familiar figure in Glasgow’s music scene, but today, in the dark studio, he feels like a different version of the confident performer I’m used to seeing—a musician now reflecting on a journey that began in far more modest surroundings. The first time he played a gig, the audience barely outnumbered the band. In the basement of Nice N’ Sleazy, with its low ceilings and sticky floors, six people turned up to watch him perform.
“If that”, he says with a smile. “And one of them was my pal, so does that even count?”.
He laughs, but there’s a flicker of nostalgia in his expression, as if he is momentarily back on that stage.
“I was way more nervous stepping out in front of those six people than I ever was at Glastonbury. There’s this strange juxtaposition when playing in your hometown. The excitement is always there, but it's also the gigs that make me the most anxious. The crowds can be the most involved and loving, but can also be the most unforgiving.”
I feel the weight of his words. His love for Glasgow’s music scene is undeniable. Yet, as he continues, I notice a shift in his tone. “People are struggling with money these days. It's having a real impact on the scene. You see it in ticket sales, how it’s harder to sell out in advance”.
There’s a quiet resignation in his voice, as if he's come to terms with this shift, but still feels the sting of it. “There used to be so many more small independent venues and gigs every single night of the week, venues that are integral to the growth of new artists breaking through”. He pauses, as if momentarily lost, but then seems to snap out of it, shifting back to his calm demeanour almost sheepishly. “It breeds a healthy competitive scene I guess”, he says lightly. “Everyone is pushing each other to be better”.
I lean in, sensing the perfect opportunity to dig deeper. “Do you think these challenges are affecting Glasgow’s ability to prove themselves at larger UK festivals?”, I ask, hoping to get his take on the city's place in the larger musical landscape. Yet, the moment the question leaves my mouth, his whole demeanour shifts.
"I hate the whole ‘Glasgow punches above its weight’ thing," he states, his expression sharpening. “It always kind of annoys me, to be continuously in the conversation like that. Producing outstanding talent means we’re exactly where we should be, and we’ve earned that respect."
He pauses. I can feel his frustration, and I shift in my chair slightly, sensing that I’ve hit a nerve. Have I opened something deeper? I think to myself. Did my question miss the mark?
A voice from across the room breaks the short silence. I look over to see Alex Pearson, the band’s keyboard player, catching Hamish’s eye. “It’s still a bit of an uphill battle though”, she says calmy. “Glasgow’s got this reputation for producing great acts, but if we don’t have the infrastructure to support it, it’s hard to keep up.”
"Yeah, but I can’t remember the last time I didn’t see a couple of Glasgow-based acts on any of the major festival lineups”, Hamish responds quickly. “Would I like to see more? Of course. I want to see acts from this city everywhere, always," he admits, his passion reigniting.
There’s no hesitation in his voice; he’s making a statement, challenging any lingering doubts over Glasgow's place in the wider music scene. "But the thing is, Glasgow in general—and Scotland, for that matter—has been producing creatives who are seen on the world’s stage for decades. We don’t need to keep proving that. We’ve already done it."
“You’ve got him started now”, Alex says, smirking from behind the keyboard. “I hope you’ve got a couple of hours to spare.” I laugh, awkwardly aware of how the conversation has shifted and unsure how to follow up. I glance at Hamish, half-wondering if he’s about to launch into another impassioned defence of Glasgow’s music scene.
Instead, when I look over, I can see that he is now smiling. “Anyways,” he says, his voice lighter now. “What’s your favourite VLURE song?”
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