Post by Ale on Oct 28, 2008 11:46:20 GMT -5
www.clashmusic.com/reviews/the-killers
Day & Age
The Killers | The Killers reclaim their throne
Release Type: Album / Review Written by: Adam Park
Date Posted: 27.10.2008 - 12:11
Aye, it’s The Killers alright. And yep, they’ve seemingly shirked the bourbon-soaked rock which bruised 2006’s ‘Sam’s Town’.
So does that make this a comeback record for those who fell in love with the diamante indie-pop of ‘Hot Fuss’? Or an admission of failure that the grizzled and unshaven version of The Killers we last saw was a necessary and cathartic aberration? Well how about neither and a bit of both mate? The contrary bastards.
Truth is, The Killers shouldn’t work. Period. ‘Hot Fuss’ introduced four unlikely Las Vegas lads with a panache for British music and a Boots Advantage card. Yet rather than see their emotionally clad indie-pop laughed straight back over the Atlantic they confounded cynics and logged hit after ruddy hit. Suddenly they were huge. The tricksy second album arrived in the shape of ‘Sam’s Town’ and suggested The Killers were asserting their heritage and masculinity through a sonic iteration that seemed shockingly rugged in comparison with what had proceeded. In the grand scale of things it was hardly Motörhead; but then The Killers aren’t Nazi sympathisers are they?
And what of ‘Day And Age’? Have they played it safe in an attempt to consolidate fans? Or have they sought to evolve again; revelling in their status as rock chameleons? We’re plumping for the latter and giving a delighted ripple of applause, for on ‘Day And Age’ The Killers have delivered a pop album that isn’t ashamed of its disposability – a virtue which ensures it is anything but.
Opening through ‘Losing Touch’, the contrast with ‘Sam’s Town’ couldn’t be more apparent as rippling guitars and corrugated horns evoke the well pressed visage of Robert Palmer. Breezy on first contact, ‘Losing Touch’ works on a number of levels. Should you wish, it can be devoured as a shimmering slice of FM pop that will escort you through the morning commute with a cheery swagger. Dig deeper though and its malignant core delivers a real bite, as singer Brandon Flowers intones “impending doom, it must be true - I’m losing touch” to edifying effect. They may be smiling on the surface but peer closer and there’s a telltale streak in the mascara.
If you were in any doubt as to the direction being pursued here, The Killers immediately reinforce this ballsy introduction through lead single ‘Human’. With Flowers’ cracked vocals being consumed by billowing clouds of synth, the decision to enlist Stuart Price (AKA Jaques Le Cont) seems utterly inspired. This is what the Eighties should have fucking sounded like. Early reaction to ‘Human’ seemed to dwell on the nonsense lyrics (“are we human, or are we dancer”) and the assertion that this should somehow be construed as a negative. But since when did pop music give two hoots about semantic clarity? As long as it works in context, it works. And for the record, this most certainly works.
Live, The Killers have always been a generous band – allowing the crowd to vacate their passive role and become participants in a communal experience. In other words, have a good old sing song. A dead cert for the Glastonbury hymn sheet arrives in the shape of ‘Spaceman’; with crescendos shattering and Flowers soaring as he wields the line “the dream maker’s gonna make you mad”, there’s even some chanted parenthesis to ensure you’re left sated. Riddled with the spirit of John Hughes and giving the nod to a classic Weller stanza, this is The Killers embracing the populist touch which birthed ‘Somebody Told Me’.
For those who still believe the high point of their career was debut single ‘Mr. Brightside’, then there’s a joyous surprise waiting in ‘A Dustland Fairytale’. Written about Flowers’ parents, the lines “he looked just like you’d want him to, some kind of slick chrome American prince / Saw Cinderella in her party dress, she was looking for her night gown” are delivered with such profound and glowing tenderness it would be impossible not to be moved. Eulogistic yet melancholy, the very fact that ‘A Dustland Fairytale’ does not represent the peak of ‘Day And Age’ is not to damn with feint praise but rather to demonstrate that when The Killers are this good, they’re utterly untouchable. Most bands crave a moment like this once in their career. The Killers have two on one LP.
Elsewhere, ‘Neon Tiger’ thrashes into life with a nod to U2 so obvious you’ll crack a smile, ‘I Can’t Say’ is a bijou slice of musty tropicalia, whilst ‘The World We Live In’ has Moroder’s fingerprints all over it. Yet without question the defining moment of ‘Day And Age’ comes almost as an epilogue in the shape of ‘Goodnight, Travel Well’. Penned shortly after the death of guitarist Dave Keuning’s mother, the song is sublime, moving and almost unfathomably raw. Resonating deeply with the inevitability of loss, Flowers’ assertion amongst Badalamenti winds that “every word you’ve spoken, everything you said, everything you left me, rambles in my head” is potent enough, only to be followed by the anguished plea to “stay, don’t leave me, the stars can wait for your sign, don’t signal now”. Accompanied by a ruptured peak of instrumentation that is grandstanding yet achingly discrete, ‘Goodnight, Travel Well’ retrospectively informs the rest of ‘Day And Age’ – instilling it with a poise and grace that matures with each listen.
‘Day And Age’ is an irresistible glitter-ball of fun. This is The Killers reclaiming their throne and we’re smiling like we mean it.
Day & Age
The Killers | The Killers reclaim their throne
Release Type: Album / Review Written by: Adam Park
Date Posted: 27.10.2008 - 12:11
Aye, it’s The Killers alright. And yep, they’ve seemingly shirked the bourbon-soaked rock which bruised 2006’s ‘Sam’s Town’.
So does that make this a comeback record for those who fell in love with the diamante indie-pop of ‘Hot Fuss’? Or an admission of failure that the grizzled and unshaven version of The Killers we last saw was a necessary and cathartic aberration? Well how about neither and a bit of both mate? The contrary bastards.
Truth is, The Killers shouldn’t work. Period. ‘Hot Fuss’ introduced four unlikely Las Vegas lads with a panache for British music and a Boots Advantage card. Yet rather than see their emotionally clad indie-pop laughed straight back over the Atlantic they confounded cynics and logged hit after ruddy hit. Suddenly they were huge. The tricksy second album arrived in the shape of ‘Sam’s Town’ and suggested The Killers were asserting their heritage and masculinity through a sonic iteration that seemed shockingly rugged in comparison with what had proceeded. In the grand scale of things it was hardly Motörhead; but then The Killers aren’t Nazi sympathisers are they?
And what of ‘Day And Age’? Have they played it safe in an attempt to consolidate fans? Or have they sought to evolve again; revelling in their status as rock chameleons? We’re plumping for the latter and giving a delighted ripple of applause, for on ‘Day And Age’ The Killers have delivered a pop album that isn’t ashamed of its disposability – a virtue which ensures it is anything but.
Opening through ‘Losing Touch’, the contrast with ‘Sam’s Town’ couldn’t be more apparent as rippling guitars and corrugated horns evoke the well pressed visage of Robert Palmer. Breezy on first contact, ‘Losing Touch’ works on a number of levels. Should you wish, it can be devoured as a shimmering slice of FM pop that will escort you through the morning commute with a cheery swagger. Dig deeper though and its malignant core delivers a real bite, as singer Brandon Flowers intones “impending doom, it must be true - I’m losing touch” to edifying effect. They may be smiling on the surface but peer closer and there’s a telltale streak in the mascara.
If you were in any doubt as to the direction being pursued here, The Killers immediately reinforce this ballsy introduction through lead single ‘Human’. With Flowers’ cracked vocals being consumed by billowing clouds of synth, the decision to enlist Stuart Price (AKA Jaques Le Cont) seems utterly inspired. This is what the Eighties should have fucking sounded like. Early reaction to ‘Human’ seemed to dwell on the nonsense lyrics (“are we human, or are we dancer”) and the assertion that this should somehow be construed as a negative. But since when did pop music give two hoots about semantic clarity? As long as it works in context, it works. And for the record, this most certainly works.
Live, The Killers have always been a generous band – allowing the crowd to vacate their passive role and become participants in a communal experience. In other words, have a good old sing song. A dead cert for the Glastonbury hymn sheet arrives in the shape of ‘Spaceman’; with crescendos shattering and Flowers soaring as he wields the line “the dream maker’s gonna make you mad”, there’s even some chanted parenthesis to ensure you’re left sated. Riddled with the spirit of John Hughes and giving the nod to a classic Weller stanza, this is The Killers embracing the populist touch which birthed ‘Somebody Told Me’.
For those who still believe the high point of their career was debut single ‘Mr. Brightside’, then there’s a joyous surprise waiting in ‘A Dustland Fairytale’. Written about Flowers’ parents, the lines “he looked just like you’d want him to, some kind of slick chrome American prince / Saw Cinderella in her party dress, she was looking for her night gown” are delivered with such profound and glowing tenderness it would be impossible not to be moved. Eulogistic yet melancholy, the very fact that ‘A Dustland Fairytale’ does not represent the peak of ‘Day And Age’ is not to damn with feint praise but rather to demonstrate that when The Killers are this good, they’re utterly untouchable. Most bands crave a moment like this once in their career. The Killers have two on one LP.
Elsewhere, ‘Neon Tiger’ thrashes into life with a nod to U2 so obvious you’ll crack a smile, ‘I Can’t Say’ is a bijou slice of musty tropicalia, whilst ‘The World We Live In’ has Moroder’s fingerprints all over it. Yet without question the defining moment of ‘Day And Age’ comes almost as an epilogue in the shape of ‘Goodnight, Travel Well’. Penned shortly after the death of guitarist Dave Keuning’s mother, the song is sublime, moving and almost unfathomably raw. Resonating deeply with the inevitability of loss, Flowers’ assertion amongst Badalamenti winds that “every word you’ve spoken, everything you said, everything you left me, rambles in my head” is potent enough, only to be followed by the anguished plea to “stay, don’t leave me, the stars can wait for your sign, don’t signal now”. Accompanied by a ruptured peak of instrumentation that is grandstanding yet achingly discrete, ‘Goodnight, Travel Well’ retrospectively informs the rest of ‘Day And Age’ – instilling it with a poise and grace that matures with each listen.
‘Day And Age’ is an irresistible glitter-ball of fun. This is The Killers reclaiming their throne and we’re smiling like we mean it.
sera adorable todo el cd...