All words: Travis Andrews — All photos: Wyatt Boswell
1. I don’t care what Google Maps tells you. Driving from DC to the Patriot Center takes more than an hour. The back-story: after work, I left for the show, looking forward to seeing indie-ish Tegan and Sara and headliners The Killers. But an hour was not enough. The hour and a half I gave myself wasn’t enough. When I finally arrived at the Patriot Center, I would have been late for The Killers’ scheduled time. Luckily, it took another forty minutes before they went on. But my two-hour drive reminded me something about DC: always head out early. You never know. I was on the 66, and there was a bad wreck. There goes the opener (sorry guys!).
2. The Killers friggin’ had to be engineered. I mean, there’s no way that a band that just happens to fill every rock cliché – the unkempt drummer, the don’t-give-a-shit frontman, the quiet, sleeveless and mop-headed guitarist – and happens to make insanely catchy music. And they’re from Las Vegas. Yeah, not buying it.
3. On that thought, The Killers put on the “perfect” rock show, but it’s lacking something. Hard to say what … maybe a lack of actually feeling to these songs. Everyone looks kinda bored, in that not-bored-at-all way. In other words, it feels like everyone up there is faking. Stop mentioning it’s a Tuesday, Brandon Flowers. Don’t tell us you can’t “talking about it” so you gotta “sing about it.” Nobody says that, ever. Not at rock shows at least. Sixteen-year-olds who get high for the first time on shitty weed say that. Don’t be a sixteen-year-old who just got high for the first time on shitty weed. Please.
4. The light team could use a little work. Most of the background video was, and I’m not kidding here (which is important), the Windows 95 stars screen saver. You know the one where you’re flying through space, but space looks the same ever 1.2 seconds? That’s the one, and there’s nothing else really going on but flying, flying, flying. Except of course when the scene would change to the road. During the opening songs, the screen displayed a street. It was stationary, and the POV was that of a stationary person. Later, WE WERE GOING DOWN THAT ROAD. Come on, guys. Just, come on.
5. Holy shit I don’t care what I wrote about so much that I won’t use punctuation or grammar anymore because songs like “Mr. Brightside” and “Somebody Told Me” just rock so freaking hard. I’m not kidding, these songs just blow your goddamn face off. Maybe this band was engineered. I don’t know. I don’t care. It’s a cheese-fest if I ever saw one, but I’ll be damned if I wasn’t pumping my $12 24-ounce Budweiser along with them, with every word. “Somebody told me that you had a boyfriend who looked like a girlfriend that I had in February of last year …”