The Killers - Sam’s Town

. Now, there’s a classy fellow, jaunting round town in his lovely pink blazer, spreading the pop, bless him. He’s not the kind of bloke you’d find resorting to under the belt, publicity sham jibes, dodgy Americana ‘anthems’ and crap facial hair…

Oh. Right.

‘Sam’s Town’ is supposed to be, according to Brandon, the best album in twenty years. Being entirely fair we’re not entirely sure which twenty year period he’s talking about, but we’re pretty sure it’s not in recent living memory. It’s not that The Killers have produced the worst album we’ve heard; it’s just not all that great. At all. With so much self hype comes a bloody big fall.

When they’re going at it all guns blazing, The Killers are perfectly capable of being a pretty good pop band. When they’re trying to be something between U2 and Bruce Springsteen (and failing, on the most part), they’re not. Abandoning the Anglophile stylings of ‘Hot Fuss’ and replacing them with a hotch potch of drawling clichés and over the top melodrama is not a good move.

So, on one hand ‘When We Were Young’ is up there with ‘Mr Brightside’, but on the other, everything else emphatically isn’t. ‘Uncle Jonny’ tries to play the blues, but ends up somewhere in the muddy browns, ‘Where White Boys Dance’ sounds less David Bowie and more an awful Frankie Goes To Hollywood b-side, while ‘This River Is Wild’ tries to scream ‘hit’, but ends up adding an extra letter. Oh dear.

One good track, ten attempts to rewrite ‘Born To Run’ and a couple of extravagant and pointless inserts from a concept album that just isn’t there. Note to Brandon; if you can’t even grow a proper beard, a shallow facade of an album isn’t going to help. Back to Plan A, please.