The Killers

by Jessica Gentile • December 3, 2008

The Killers
Day & Age
(Island, 2008)

I’ll admit it. A couple years back, I borrowed Hot Fuss from my neighbor’s 15-year-old nephew. And what I first listened to out of morbid curiosity, I found myself replaying out of genuine enjoyment. Sometimes there’s nothing wrong with snacking on the synth-tastic pop candy that the kids are eating up—in small doses at least.

Three albums into their career, it remains the same: The Killers have always been a singles band and are best consumed on a selective song-by-song basis, though it remains unlikely that these dapper Vegas boys will ever realize this. After listening to Day & Age, it becomes even more evident that this band’s ambition is outweighed by their over-bloated sense of self-importance. As they strive to become the biggest American rock band, it’s easy to laugh at their penchant for the ridiculous, not to mention creepy porno-moustaches. You’ll find more adolescent melodrama here than at your local junior high school, which is a shame, because some of these songs are pretty damn good and sadly, but understandably, the silliness overshadows them. But then again, I should have expected this considering the kid that introduced me to the band was, in fact, only in ninth grade.

The Euro-pop vibe of “Human”, for instance, is undeniably catchy. Okay, so the lyrics are abysmal, not to mention grammatically bizarre. “Are we human or are we dancer?” Brandon Flowers croons, as if the fate of the planet hinges on his delivery. And no, that’s not a typo. It’s the singular form—as in “dancer,” not dancers, as if to suggest all the people who are not human are grooving together as one collective body. Although the last time I checked, the two weren't mutually exclusive. With rollicking riffs and a soaring chorus of “oh oh ohs”, “Spaceman”, too, is a great song and makes for damn good single material.

However, barring a handful of standouts, the rest of Day & Age is a bit messier (although not as messy as the poorly produced Sam’s Town). The band’s self-imposed seriousness is probably the most frustrating aspect of the album. Every note is played with total earnestness without a wink of playfulness. The slick keyboard balladry of “A Dustland Fairytale” works itself into a bombastic frenzy, yet feels so hollow as if to border on self-parody. The forays into faux-funk circa 1980 feel the most forced, however. The chintzy saxophone on “Joy Ride” and the weirdo Caribbean percussion and brass accompaniment on “I Can’t Stay” probably should have been avoided altogether.

Clearly, Day & Age is a mixed bag of tunes, mostly congealed together by misguided ambition. Perhaps these boys should take a deep breath and a step back, laugh a little (particularly at themselves), and release just one song at time—ones that are guaranteed to get the humans to dance.



Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]

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