Tues Dec 7
1332 W Burnside
For America's derivative and unapologetically fame-hungry indie bands, there's no greater friend than the festering incubator of the British music press. The proving ground for just about every "Next Big Thing," British magazines like NME and Uncut seem to take great pleasure in deifying the mediocre with their oppressively celebratory championing--the fervor of which has been more or less (and for better or worse) responsible for the States-side successes of the White Stripes, the Strokes, Scissor Sisters, Hot Hot Heat, Interpol and nearly every other stylist-supported American Rock band ready for MTV. Regarding England's success rate, I welcome you to draw your own conclusions from the above list--but if one thing's for certain, it's that England ain't too hard to impress. Which, of course, brings us to the Killers.
Following the UK success of their 2003 single "Mr. Brightside," the Las Vegas foursome found themselves tongue-tipped by just about every A&R rep in the U.S. --and have since blown across the pages of every major American rock rag on the heals of their debut, the ridiculously titled Hot Fuss. Problem is, it seems like no one actually took the time to listen to "Mr. Brightside"--as it's about the most offensively asinine hack job single I've heard all year. And while I typically don't loose sleep over the perpetually shifty dealings of major label rock bands, there's something about the Killers that really heats me. Maybe it's the fact that they're consistently name-checked with the likes of the Smiths, New Order, and even Duran Duran. Maybe it's that though they--judging from their heavily doctored press photos--are obviously old enough to have first hand knowledge of the bands they so heavily ape, and yet choose to flaccidly rip off actual young people like Hot Hot Heat. Maybe it's that Hot Fuss is one of the most lifeless, soulless sounds this side of Smashmouth. Yeah, I think that must be it. I hope you're happy with yourself, England.