There are around 4,500 competitors taking part in the championships, which are divided by gender. There are three times more females than males. The contest is also organised by age, with dancers ranging from ten-year-olds to over-21s. Yet these huge numbers represent only those who qualified in the various regional heats held throughout the world. Thanks to the international success of Riverdance and the shows which toured in its wake, Irish dancing is a global phenomenon, with festivals and competitions â€" or feiseanna â€" held from Pittsburgh to St Petersburg.
The first thing you notice when you walk into the concert hall is the sound of not-too-distant gunfire. This increases in volume as you climb the stairs to the practice areas, where it becomes clear that the din is caused by dancers banging the heels and toes of their bling-buckled shoes into the floor. They stare straight ahead, concentrating, kicking above the height of their own heads, aware of nothing other than the jigs playing on their iPods or the incantations of their teachers.
Irish dancing is all about the legs and feet. The arms are held by the sides. One girl from London wears a T-shirt describing the stance required: "Head up, Shoulders back, Feet out, And Smile". Legend has it that this goes back to when Queen Elizabeth I ordered a troupe of Irish dancers, on pain of death, to perform at her court. They did so, but kept their upper bodies stiff as an act of rebellion.
The dancing retained a political dimension into the 20th century as an expression of national identity, but now it's not even particularly Irish. Forty per cent of the competitors here are American. There are also Canadians, Germans, Australians and Dutch, as well as English and Scots; Glasgow is the epicentre of Irish dance in Scotland with more than 20 schools. Even Russia, with few direct cultural links to Ireland, has embraced Iransdskiye tantsy.
Many Russians got into the dancing after seeing Michael Flatley, but Daria Kolesova, a 22-year-old from Moscow, first saw the style on a beer advert. This is appropriate as alcohol, she thinks, is a point of connection between the Russians and Irish. "We drink similarly," she says. There are dance schools throughout Russia. Such is their passion for the dance form, students there will travel overland for a week to attend a three-hour lesson.
Waiting in the wings with dancers, you can sense the nerves. They are like paratroopers waiting to jump, if paratroopers wore psychedelic velvet. The auditorium is packed; five judges are in front of the stage. The audience is so excited the bow-tied compère has to shush them. "Now," he says, "you are about to learn a lovely Irish word â€" cuinÃs. It means quiet."
Solo competitors dance twice, first in heavy shoes and then light, with each performance lasting two minutes. A proportion are then selected to go forward to the next round, where they dance again in heavy shoes. From this process, the world champion in each age group is chosen. Extraordinary to think that you might fly half-way round the world, wait around for days and then dance for just four minutes.
During the light rounds, the competitors are on stage two at a time, accompanied by an accordionist and keyboard player. During the heavy rounds, there's three of them, twirling, kicking, leaping and standing â€" with astonishing balance â€" on the points of their toes. Coming off stage, they are panting and covered in a sheen of sweat, excited and relieved. "It's the most exhilarating feeling I've ever had," says Maggie Schroeder, 16, from North Carolina. "For some of us it's a dream come true. It's everything an Irish dancer works for. But also the hardest two minutes of your life."
It seems odd that the dancers are judged on their individual performances, yet are on stage two or three at a time. "It gets competitive," says Katie Records, 16, from San Francisco. "Dancers who are really competitive start shoving people."
Suzanne Coyle, a 19-year-old from Glasgow, knows all about rivalry and ambition. She has been World Champion four times, but at the past three championships was placed second. Today, she will compete against, among others, two brilliant dancers she has known since they were all children â€" Claire Greaney from Galway and Simona Mauriello from London. "It's amazing to win," she says. "Such an achievement after all the work you put in through the year. It's quite emotional." Coyle is modest but the hunger for victory shines through and emphasises that, for all its glitz, Irish dancing at this level is a high-end sport and athletic discipline.
One room has been given over to vendors of dancing gear. Here, you can buy fake tan, sparkly socks, and the curly wigs that are de rigueur among Irish dancers, which come in very blonde, very dark or very red. Melaine Murphy started the trend because she was fed up putting hundreds of rollers in her daughters' hair.
In the centre of the room is the Eire Designs stall, run by Belfast designer and dance teacher Gavin Doherty. Some of his opulent made-to-measure creations are arranged on dummies and reflected in the mirrored ceiling. There are costumes in hot pinks and fluorescent orange; white with a purple peacock-feather effect; black velvet with a pattern of orange and yellow flames. "When you have 200 kids in competition and one comes out in an amazing dress that catches the eye, that kid might end up at the top of that group rather than the bottom of it," says Doherty, who is 30. "I have a kid dancing today and I knew that her dress would make or break her. If it made Niamh feel amazing then she was going to perform well."
It must have worked, as Niamh Taylor goes on to win the world championship in the 16-17 category. Not everyone is happy about the glamorous side of Irish dancing, though. There's a feeling among some of the old guard that the costumes are too revealing and have moved too far from the traditional Celtic designs, that they owe more to Lady Gaga than to Lady Gregory, the Irish folklorist. The ruling body, An Coimisiún le Rincà Gaelacha, keeps a stern eye on hemlines and has legislated that skirts should be no higher than four inches above the knee. But that is not easy to enforce. As Dr John Cullinane, 70, the commission's vice-president, says: "Who is going to run around with a tape measure?"
Each competitor in Glasgow is accompanied by their teacher, who will often have worked with them since they were a pre-schooler and will, therefore, know them as well, if not better, than their own family. "The kids'll tell you things they won't even tell their parents," says Sharon Taylor of the Montgomery Taylor school of Irish dance in Bargeddie, Lanarkshire.
For the parents of dancers competing at this level, it is an enormous commitment. Sheila Guerin has travelled to Glasgow from Rockland County, New York, with her three daughters â€" Sinead, Kerry and Erica â€" all of whom have qualified for the world championships. How does she manage her time? "You've got to have their father on board," she laughs. "There's two or three classes each week, and basically every vacation is given over to dance championships. The Nationals take place during the summer, and we rush through Thanksgiving dinner to leave for our Regional."
It is also expensive. "Yes, a huge financial commitment. I have three girls dancing and the dresses run anything from $2,500 to $3,000 (£1,600-£2,000]. Then there are the flights and the hotel."
It's a culture that runs in families for generations. Dancers tend to become teachers or part of the organisational structure. Longevity of passion is the rule. Wee girls who have been dancing in Glasgow this week may, half a century from now, be running the show. Take Anna O'Sullivan, an elegant woman of 67, sister of the former Celtic goalie Denis Connaghan. Born in the Gorbals of a Donegal family, she moved to New York almost 50 years ago, and has worked as a teacher ever since. She took Irish dance to America like Columba bringing Christianity to Scotland and has taught around 5,000 students. Now she is back in her native city with three students, loving every minute and reflecting happily on a life well lived.
"The day I die," she says, "put me standing up in a coffin and have a good dance round me."
She's wearing no diamante, but her eyes, as she says this, don't half sparkle.
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