Life moves pretty fast in the dog eat dog world of major label alt-rock (or whatever you call the genre that hipsters find lame and New-Rock-Radio (The Bone! The Point! The Hog!) dudes find pretentious and gay). Its like one minute you are hangin’ in the Alpha Beta house playing a few rounds of beer pong and the next you have an appointment with a stylist to pick out a feathered jacket for the MTV Europe awards. Such has been life for The Killers’ singer Brandon Flowers. Even with his busy schedule, we suspect that Mr. Flowers has taken it upon himself to reflect at least a little bit upon his younger days. After all, it would take at least a couple keg stands and bong rips before asking the musical question “Are we human or are we dancers?” with a completely straight face. That shit completely blew Chad and T-Dawg’s minds after the winter formal.
There are certainly far graver musical offenses than those perpetrated by the Killers, but Mr. Flowers is nearly unmatched in the “believes his own hype” category. We suspect that his preening and posturing started innocently enough: the fruits of hours spent studying David Bowie videos and the collected teachings of Bono. At some point however, Mr. Flowers started to think he really was some kind of rock god. This wouldn’t be such an issue is he had any kind of charisma or extraordinary talent for writing or performing rock music. He does not. Deadman/party counts several musicians among its ranks and we don’t think a person needs to be particularly badass or sinister to play great music, but when your mommy and daddy come to all of your shows, you can cut the mysterious brooding artist crap. All of the ironic mustaches and bedazzled costumes in the world can’t undo the fact that you are just a glee club member playing dress up. Mr. Flowers is to rock stardom what the Rent soundtrack is to rock albums: rock in name only. We however would be glad to punch that stupid soul patch right off his face, in word and deed.