The Killers Trade in Glitz and Glam for Haunting Narratives on Pressure Machine
The Las Vegas musicians—known for infectious arena anthems—quiet things down on their seventh LP
Since their 2004 debut album, Hot Fuss, The Killers have consistently relied on their formula for radio-friendly pop-rock satisfaction: sauntering buildups, hyperbolic lyricism, lucid vocals and gargantuan instrumentation. Frontman Brandon Flowers manages to balance cheeky playfulness with captivating reverie. From the androgynous incantations of “Somebody Told Me” to the epic ‘80s whirlwind known as “Running Towards a Place” (from last year’s Imploding the Mirage), the band knows just the right buttons to push to generate magic in the studio. However, the glitz and glam emanating from one of the most successful acts hailing from Sin City can sometimes be a bit too blinding (as evidenced by Flowers’ infamous gold suits he dons onstage) and beg for some sort of divergence.
Pressure Machine serves as a much-needed departure from what The Killers regularly deliver. We’re not receiving loud and ostentatious—this time around, they opt to swap extravagance for introspection. While Flowers has executed sprightly power ballads before (“Shot at the Night” is a prime example of this), Pressure Machine dials up hollow eeriness using disturbing tales from his own hometown of Nephi, Utah.
Many of these songs aren’t meant for the raucous and sweeping energy of stadium performances—their heavy subject matter is draped in hushed acoustics, and is better suited for the innate intimacy of theaters and smaller venues. This particular concept album is told from the point of view of local townspeople who are disenchanted by their surroundings, but powerless to escape them.