His nasal American-Yorkshire voice struggles to convince: Yungblud, at OVO Hydro, reviewed

Even before albums became bloated, thanks to the largesse offered by CDs and streaming, most contained filler: those so-so songs merely passing needle time, weak aural bridges between the big hits and superior deep cuts.

Increasingly, live concerts have filler, too. With the collapse of record sales, young pop performers feel compelled to jump into huge arenas more quickly than might be wise. It’s not always as easy as it looks. A massive social media profile doesn’t always translate into having sufficient willing bodies to fill these vast spaces, and while you can ship in pyrotechnic back-up, fancy sets and snazzy screens, one thing you can’t subcontract out are the songs.

Traditionally, arena shows require a big, rangy catalogue. When that’s lacking, the enterprise can be a perilous one. This becomes obvious during Yungblud’s set (which, looking round, is lacking quite a few of those willing bodies, too).