Nine days ago, after seeing the Killers at the Great Saltair (otherwise known as the dump of a venue on the shores of the stinking Great Salt Lake),
Kyle asked me a question. I told him I'd have to think about it. I'm sure he thought I was either avoiding an argument or avoiding the question completely. He should know me better than that. I have considered the question. And I am prepared to answer. I'll do my best to keep the response concise... but there are no guarantees. My head's a bit scrambled tonight and the monster pork chop (plus calamari plus banana cream pie in a coconut pastry shell) I consumed at dinner with some fine Londoners isn't doing anything to straighten me out. Anyway, on to the question:
"Would you call the Killers a postmodern band?"
At first I wasn't sure. I was skeptical. Postmodern seems so important. So intellectual. So intentional. It sounds like Warhol and the Velvet Underground. And I'm pretty certain that the Killers are nowhere near that level. But I let the thought sink in. I hit the
wikipedia entry on postmodernism for a refresher (it's been more than a couple years since my pre-requisite Literary Theory course). And then I heard the words of one fine Modern American Lit professor ringing in my ears—and, yes, the words were ringing just a bit louder (and probably at a much different frequency) than the common, everyday, nonsensical ringing in my ears. You know, the same ringing that makes it impossible for me to hear and understand conversations in a crowded restaurant. Where was I? Modern American Lit. Ed Cutler. His remark: "Las Vegas is the ultimate postmodern city."
"The answer. To the question. In my mind."
In case you've been living under a rock (or by the strange chance that you have a life that extends beyond the shallow reaches of pop music), the Killers hail from Las Vegas, NV. And the new album is all the proof you need of their Las Vegas-ness. Each song travels from decade to decade, swirling between 80s electronica and 70s bombast, 90s irony and 00s dance-rock. So many things have been written about Sam's Town. It's been ripped as a Springsteen rip-off. It's been derided as a lackluster follow-up. But the only thought I have as I spin through the album again and again is this... this is a Las Vegas album. Not a hanging-out-in-Las-Vegas album, not a bachelor-party-in-Vegas album, and certainly not a honeymoon-in-Vegas album. This is a living-in-Vegas-for-an-extended-period-of-time album. A surrounded-by-facades-of-greatness album. I want to believe that Sam's Town is intentionally shallow. That its lack of concrete lyricism and fascinating musicianship is consistent with the postmodern (there it is!) wonderland of false New York skylines and Eiffel Towers.
I'm probably too lazy to dig into a real piece of musical criticism and comparative theory here. In fact, I know I am. But, yes, Kyle. The Killers are a postmodern band. For good and for bad. But they put on a devil of a show nine days ago. And Brandon Flowers' mustache should serve as a year-round reminder of the beauty of Cinco de Mustache (it's only six months away...).
A three-minute, thirty-three-second sample of postmodernism:
For Reasons Unknown - The Killers - Sam's Town - m4aMy mustache is more postmodern than your mustache...
For an unknown reason, I've ended up with tix to see Bloc Party open for Panic! At The Disco! (what gives with the exclamation points? just one of the many reasons I hate them...). Yeah, that's right, I'm traveling all the way to Portland to see Bloc Party play a 45-minute set and then likely walk out the door before the headliner takes the stage. I understand the idiocy. But something about witnessing the powerfully drastic a-line haircuts of the Bloc Party-ers in a northwestern setting was more than I could pass up.
At first I wasn't sure. I was skeptical. Postmodern seems so important. So intellectual. So intentional. It sounds like Warhol and the Velvet Underground. And I'm pretty certain that the Killers are nowhere near that level. But I let the thought sink in. I hit the wikipedia entry on postmodernism for a refresher (it's been more than a couple years since my pre-requisite Literary Theory course). And then I heard the words of one fine Modern American Lit professor ringing in my ears—and, yes, the words were ringing just a bit louder (and probably at a much different frequency) than the common, everyday, nonsensical ringing in my ears. You know, the same ringing that makes it impossible for me to hear and understand conversations in a crowded restaurant. Where was I? Modern American Lit. Ed Cutler. His remark: "Las Vegas is the ultimate postmodern city."
In case you've been living under a rock (or by the strange chance that you have a life that extends beyond the shallow reaches of pop music), the Killers hail from Las Vegas, NV. And the new album is all the proof you need of their Las Vegas-ness. Each song travels from decade to decade, swirling between 80s electronica and 70s bombast, 90s irony and 00s dance-rock. So many things have been written about Sam's Town. It's been ripped as a Springsteen rip-off. It's been derided as a lackluster follow-up. But the only thought I have as I spin through the album again and again is this... this is a Las Vegas album. Not a hanging-out-in-Las-Vegas album, not a bachelor-party-in-Vegas album, and certainly not a honeymoon-in-Vegas album. This is a living-in-Vegas-for-an-extended-period-of-time album. A surrounded-by-facades-of-greatness album. I want to believe that Sam's Town is intentionally shallow. That its lack of concrete lyricism and fascinating musicianship is consistent with the postmodern (there it is!) wonderland of false New York skylines and Eiffel Towers.
The EP is solid. Great at times. Pretty decent at others. The Envy Corps deliver catchy, dance-able rock. The band should have hipsters shaking their limbs at venues across the country over the next couple weeks. And while the influences (Radiohead among other Brit rockers) are still a bit close to the surface, there's nothing wrong with the groove the boys from Des Moines, Iowa are laying down.
Aside from being the two creepiest looking people I could find on Google Images tonight, Whitney Houston and Barry Manilow had a strange collision in my psyche this afternoon.
I can fight through the blog-apathy.
