The Killers is one of the most popular rock groups of the 2000s, releasing three albums in that particular decade, each of which spawned at least one hit single. While synth-laden enough to imply an attempt to revive the synth-laden ‘80s, the secret ingredient to the Las Vegas band’s lasting appeal was frontman Brandon Flowers’ rootsy warble, not husking but Springsteen-y nonetheless.
No matter how rurally mensch Brandon’s voice, I doubt many would’ve made much of a connection between The Killers’ own music and country – maybe if you really really squint. Thrasher, Brandon’s third solo album – following Flamingo and The Desired Effect, which were pop, synth or otherwise – is country, full-blown.
Brandon’s dedication gobbles up the cynicism invoked by pop-rock singer going so country. He has sparingly dabbled in earthy subgenres, with or without his Killers in tow; he has heartland-ed, Springsteen-ed and Americana-d, but never so dedicatedly, never so Memphian.
Dedication and authenticity are expected bedfellows. Brandon invited a bastard’s batch of talented, ingrained-in-country musicians to help him commit to coming somewhat close to his outlaw country-inspired ode to his upbringing in Nephi, Utah. The album was inspired by the black-clad bandits who comprised The Highwaymen; he likely deemed assistance from Charlie McCoy, the man who took Dylan to Nashville, as vital.
Whatever cool kid indie spark was left over from Brandon’s youth is risked for this level of authenticity. Brandon Flowers has crossed over with flaws so few, and so sparsely aligned with his established musical persona, that they’re hardly worthy of mention. Thrasher is a well-developed, uncontrived, uncorny country album, shaped by a man unafraid of embarrassing himself in his devotion to the genre. Seldom does he mock, seldom does he decide on archetypical arrangements or rhythms – think country and you’ll think of a basic 4/4 with undeviating root-fifth bassline, the sort of thing you’d mock with a jug, but Brandon exceeds.
He takes charge with a voice that helps you to forget he was ever using it for 2000s indie synth rock, over Does It Ever Cross Your Mind, the passing basslines of which comprise bells that strike powerfully like timpani; over the epic tragedy of Angel, on which strings and Mexican horns ooze out like real tears, serenading its majestic chorus; over the joyously emotive of Tiger’s Blood, because if you’re going to use such predictable chords, melodise over them with as much passion as Brandon does.
He finishes the album with one more drink, a drinking song, if you will. An American Dream, a song in which fantasy is interwoven with the passing of Brandon’s father, is a passionate reminder of some of the more singalong-style Killers songs, now with a country edge. It is the loveliest chorus that includes the words “crotches” and “nipples” that you’ll ever hear.
I approached Brandon Flowers’ open mind with an open mind of my own. That said, my expectations, similarly to the cynicism I referred to earlier, weren’t prepared for Thrasher. Maybe I’ve been kicked around by crossover artists using country as a device rather than a passion. Thrasher is not just a passion, but one unusually cared for like a well-tended garden – insert ‘flowers’ pun. This clean-cut, Tom Cruise-looking, Nevadan Mormon countries with the best of ‘em.
Best tracks – Angel – An American Dream.
Rating – 7.5 out of 10
