“Glasgow” hums like a barroom confession—rough edges, honest words, and just enough melody to make it hurt. The Mekons never needed polish; they needed truth, and this one bleeds it.
It’s punk growing old without losing its accent.

“Glasgow” hums like a barroom confession—rough edges, honest words, and just enough melody to make it hurt. The Mekons never needed polish; they needed truth, and this one bleeds it.
It’s punk growing old without losing its accent.