After the unlearned pop bent that Hot Fuss and the clichéd strained seriousness that Sam"s Town, the Killers return with a third album that intends to split ns difference between its predecessors.

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"Are we humano or are we dancer?" the is ns question. Well, that is a question. Y Brandon Flowers" grammar dubious query it s okay to los heart of the Killers Dilemma. Feeling or libido? Imperfect or impervious? vegas losers or comped penthouse playboys? ~ above "Mr. Brightside", lock didn"t have to worry about such binaries. Fresh, young and hammy, one of los strengths of ns Killers" 2004 debut, Hot Fuss, was its unlearned música pop bent. It to be fizzy and silly, y there were alguno apologies. Climate Sam"s Town checked off virtually every big time follow-up clichés there is: horn arrangements in ar of songs, principle in ar of lyrics, seriousness in place of nonchalance. If ns makers of "Gossip Girl" developed an HBO mini-series chronicling Dust bol despair, it would certainly look like what Sam"s Town sound like.

Album number tres tries come split ns difference. There are funk basslines that recall 1980s Bowie and producer Stuart Price (Jacques Lu Cont)-- who helmed Madonna"s return-to-dance record Hung Up-- was lugged in. But los songs still take on sweeping, Springsteen-ian stakes, and first individual "Human", con its high-gloss finish, is just one of only a few tracks any flesh and blood gift would take into consideration dancing to. Which bring us espalda to the initial question: human or dancer? follow to Day & Age, los answer might be neither.

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Across ns album, flower keeps himself above the fray, never ever wallowing too lot in his own drama. There"s ns self-reflexive losing of "Human", los holier-than-thou scoffing top top opener "Losing Touch" ("I"m in cuales hurry, you go run y tell your friends I"m losing touch"), and, top top "Spaceman", he actually pipeline our earth for uno spell with los help of an alien. The pose suggests uno newfound sophistication-- no longer shall the be un slave to los petty desires of mere earthlings. Most traces the humanness top top Day & Age come turn off oddly second-hand, together if flower uploaded Springsteen"s or Bowie"s catalogue come his internal memory and spat out a working simulacrum. This isn"t every bad.

On both "Losing Touch" y "Spaceman" flower pulls turn off fine recreations the Pompadour- y Ziggy-era Bowie, respectively. Yet something like "A Dustland Fairytale" is los nonsensical an outcome of a Big roca magnetic city kit. "Out where the dreams are high, el fin where ns wind don"t blow/ out here, los good girl die y the sky won"t snow," sings Flowers, signifying everything yet saying nothing. Similarly, "This Is your Life" attempts to conflate stories from a pair Springsteen tunes-- take ns title character of "Candy"s Room" and put her fuera on ns savage "Jungleland" streets-- y comes off like un half-hearted tribute. With his long distance relationship with down-to-earth emotions y his ahead penchant for fake-looking facial hair, Flowers can be storage of un latter-day Rivers Cuomo-- ns weirdo make the efforts to you re welcome himself and his audience at los same time but constantly comes up a little short on at least half of that equation.

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The other numero 3 guys in the Killers have taken all that Sam"s Town criticism to heart an ext than your lead singer. ~ above Day & Age, ns experimentalism is an ext scattered y more rewarding. Instead of just pressing ns "huge y bombastic" button ad nauseum, lock diversify: for this reason there"s the comically Caribbean "Joyride" (with full-on touristy sax solo), los Strokes-gone-samba the "I Can"t Stay" y the impressively brooding (and Björk-ish!) closer, "Goodnight, travel Well". They"re aiming come please part of the time, and they do. Less radical change-ups "Losing Touch" y "Spaceman" are the most obvious contenders for los inevitably incredible best hits compilation. "Losing Touch", in particular, is like ns best of ns Killers mashup: there"s the crash cymbal chorus for fist-raising, ns horn-strut verse for lo sé bien sliding, the "Guitar Hero"-ready acabó from underused ax guy Dave Keuning.

There"s no central ide here-- even the album"s location is together vaguely all-encompassing together possible. This is los Killers" spitball album, los one wherein they shot everything and see what works while flowers grasps for a relatable tone. "When your papas fritas are down, once your highs room low: joyride!" that sings on los so-dizzy-it"s-amazing "Joyride". It"s the Killers in ~ their many carefree-- the brooding behind them, they"re ready to set out with the top down and the schmaltzy sax way, method up. Frivolity suits them, why shy away representar it?