The Critical Asshole: Listening to...

I will be honest--as I am prone and not prone to be--I am not able to write a balanced review of this album. This is just too good. What we have is a band from Montreal, Canada that was essentially trained and bred to produce that style of NYC new wave bullshit that has been popular and present for too long. It's done--what has emerged from this sophomore release is a retro-look and return or "take" on a more rootsy type of rock. One would never classify this as alt-country. There is too much style--due in part to the velvety-smooth singing from Tim Fletcher and a stunning reinvention of production by Gus Van Go.
The concept is stunningly simple: big beats, big piano chords, big horns, stunning electric guitar leads, and lyrics that paint a clear and accessible picture. The new rock that has emerged elsewhere--the critical favorite of all the big magazines--is becoming snobby, unoriginal, and frankly...unlistenable. Real people don't have Yo La Tengo emotions--at least not any of the real people I know. Sure, it's fun to dress like your crazy uncle and drink red wine, but if it's theatre and elitism that I want, I'll listen to NPR like everyone else.
Starting off with galloping electric guitar "In the Beginning" asks us questions How did this start?/And where did we begin/In a ball of fire/And stars and suns/And that brings me here, now/Where my heart's caving in almost asking the listener to ponder what creative and emotional steps were taken that led this group to this beginning. From there we're taken on a journey through a burned forest and a rusted house in "The Mountain" only to be dragged up to the roof on a desolate winters day to ponder in "She's Walking Out." "Helicopters" is a jaunt in familiar indie-pop territory likening itself to much of what was found on Logic Will Break Your Heart.

*As a side note: the presence of animals on this album is pronounced. For your enjoyment, a list of every animal sung of on this record...

...wolves, wild dogs, spider, butterflies, crows, whale, elephant, dinosaur, shark, tiger, doggy...

thank you*

Speaking of familiar indie-pop territory, "Baby Blues" features a duet with the lovely Emily Haines of Metric (it's okay to be snobby and hipster if you're actually fucking talented).

A couple of repeat-worthy items:

"She's Walking Out" - Sexy, at times melodramatic with lucious organ drawls. Brings a long awaited return to electric guitar lead lines that have been absent from pop music ever since we all got tired of hearing "Cliffs of Dover" at every damn sporting event we went to. A big bridge provides an emotional transition to the understated end (that's identical to the understated beginning).
"Oh Shoplifter" - Sounds like a glorified indie-pop jam session (Note the dialogue/rehearsal meanderings during the fade in). The song sways and rollicks making even this Critical Asshole want to reach for a pair of maracas and a joint.
"Helicopters" - you can tell by this song that the beat is what makes this band strong...this seems to be a return to the doldrum Echo and the Bunnymen-esque, new wave direction fortified from Logic.

I feel like I won the mix tape competition. You should put a lot of thought into a mix tape, but then again you shouldn't--it's like an act of thoughtfulness. No chick wants a shitty picnic because you're too cheap to take her to dinner, they want a shitty picnic because you're doing something that you pretend is effortlessly kind. That is the same as a mix tape--it is a tender expression of something effortlessly kind.

A mix tape works on the same principal as a shitty picnic for a lover--it should be effortless in the sense that the songs should inherently pick themselves, and it should be kind in the sense that it is for someone else. It's easy to pull your favorite playlist off an iPod, it is much more difficult to DJ a collection of music designed to provoke thought, discussion, and discovery of new art. It's got to begin with a cold open, contain rise and falls, peak with a climax, and descend with a perfectly bound resolution.

Now saying that...sophomore LP's have a steep hill to climb anyway what with all the expectations, the crappy late-night TV appearances, the shows, the criticism of selling out from past fans, there's a lot that can go wrong in terms of image, execution, and substance. Nevertheless, bad art deserves to be lambasted in full public view. Fortunately for all of us, this isn't bad art--keep in my it's not The Bends or Nevermind, but it's definitely not bad art. So God bless those boys from Las Vegas. We've get them on record creating their own original Killers Mix Tape. We've got a cold open, rising and falling mood swings, a beautiful peak, and a descent into a perfectly bound resolution.

Sam's Town, named after a hotel/casino in Las Vegas opened in 1979 hoping to cater to the locals, is a gallant and cohesive romp through 12 tracks (a perfect number) that would make any Smiths/New Order/Bauhaus fan squirm in their seat. From the goth-epic opener and title track “Sam's Town” one gets a sense that Flowers and crew are aching for every moment to be a reflection of inner-drama and self absorbed intensity. Nothing lets up. Every song, whether solemn or sonic is a battle march of sweeping synth-pop energy that drives and drives and won't let up. This is danceable and fun, and at the same time conveys much tragedy through lead singer Brandon Flowers manic and desperate singing and lyricism.
There are moments though that we find ourselves enveloped in cliches and self-indulgence of big choral sing-alongs and big beat antics (“Uncle Johnny” and “My List”) but at least we are being presented with at least a few new sounds, a few new lyrics, and a different—if only slightly—side of the Killers—though the cheesy entrance and exit of the album (“Enterlude” and “Exitlude”) is simply unforgivable.
The choruses are big and memorable, the beat is steady and true...the only thing that is missing is a little of that “Fuck you”ism that seems to make good rock bands great. This is a great album because it is overall very good, and underneath lies the intention of writing, performing, and recording music that pleases the fans—and at base I doubt that there's a whole lot that's wrong with that.

Highlights:

"When You Were Young" - the big single, again, big, has a killer beat like what we loved about "Hot Fuss."
"For Reasons Unknown" - driving, lots of energy with Flower's desperate, manic lyrics and vocal prowess. Lyrics are way more accessible than on other Killers' tunes
"Read My Mind" - brilliant, tender, the Killers at their best yet. Setting up a mood or darkly, veiled optimism shifts effortlessly between the different motions of structure of the song. One of the better written songs musically.
"Bones" - a little bit more traditional rock makes for a fun, lighthearted romp at times. Horns are great. Smiths-like with dark, sexual lyrics in front of quirky pop.

What a turbulent time, my friends...the Critical Asshole must once again engage in a Mix Tape battle with a travelling companion. I lost the popular vote last time. How could that be? I'm not foolish or arrogant enough to believe that the masses don't get it right most of the time...or do they?

What makes art "good?"

What is funny is...this isn't even the creation of art...this is a display of taste...this is the creation of experience. The question truly is: "Can I accentuate the mood?"

I cannot.

I am socially awkward. I am hopelessly inadequate. I am inconsistent. I am at best clever and at worst ambivalent. I have the idealistic weakness of an artist and an arrogant tendency of a kid who grew up in a suburb. I have NO original thought. I am ridiculously insecure. I am losing my hair. I think I might have diabetes.

I suck.

The only thing I like is listening to music...and some times I don't even like that.

I am an asshole. Please stop reading. Go to class. Go post your online dating profile. Go get tested for syphilis.

Sincerely,

or not sincerely,

The Critical Asshole

I know it's a tired discussion. I know that the arguments aren't new...but still I wonder...how did it come to be that one of my favorite bands is on Mainstream radio and all my asshole, lame-o coworkers are now their biggest fans?

WHY? DEAR GOD, WHY?!?!?!?

This opens a multitude of discussions that I wouldn't want to get into..."Do a band's fans make a band more or less cooler?" "Does the value of an audience contribute or degrade the value of the band itself?" "What, therefore, makes a good audience?"

It's really quite ridiculous...and I won't do it. I refuse.

I wonder what Lester Bangs would say....why must I live with CLEAR CHANNEL! I CRY OUT TO YOU GODS OF POP MUSIC WHY MUST YOU TORTURE ME?!?!?!