The Killers
– Hot Fuss
Before irony swallowed indie rock whole, Hot Fuss showed up in a feathered blazer and eyeliner, strutting like it owned the neon-lit strip between glam, synth-pop, and post-punk revival. Brandon Flowers sang like he was born on a Springsteen lyric sheet and raised on Morrissey’s diary, his croon caught halfway between chest-thumping sincerity and detached cool. This was Las Vegas in guitar form: gaudy, melodramatic, romantic to a fault—and somehow, it all worked.
Best of…
The band didn’t reinvent the wheel, but they sure made it spin fast. You can hear the ghosts of Duran Duran, New Order, even a smidge of U2’s yearning in every chorus, but the Killers filtered it through strip-mall Americana and twitchy, new-millennium urgency. Dave Keuning’s guitar shimmered like casino lights in a sandstorm. The rhythm section pulsed with robotic precision. And Flowers? He turned melodrama into currency, crooning about boyfriends, murderers, and existential dread like he was born to make prom themes for doomed romantics.
What makes Hot Fuss stick isn’t just the singles—though those are volcanic—but its unapologetic sheen. It’s glossy, over-the-top, and often ridiculous. But it’s also sincere as hell. The Killers leaned into the drama without flinching, and that boldness—coupled with their laser-cut hooks—is what made Hot Fuss the glitter bomb that exploded across the mid-2000s rock scene.
Choice Tracks
Mr. Brightside
Jealousy turned into national anthem. It never leaves your bloodstream. One guitar riff, one stutter-step vocal pattern, and you’re already shouting along like it’s 2004 and your heartbreak matters more than math class.
Somebody Told Me
It’s got all the subtlety of a neon punch to the face. The lyrics make zero sense, but the synths and swagger carry the day. You could dance or fight to this—maybe both at once.
All These Things That I’ve Done
An epic built on that now-iconic “I’ve got soul but I’m not a soldier” refrain. Gospel backing, military snare, existential crescendo—it’s Springsteen by way of Vegas revue.
Smile Like You Mean It
Melancholy dressed as a mid-tempo bop. The synth line floats, the guitars chime, and Flowers sings like he’s watching his teenage years dissolve in real time.
Jenny Was a Friend of Mine
Bass-driven, sinister, and cinematic. Kicks off the album with murder confessions and basslines that coil like cigarette smoke. A sinister prom night vibe.