Listening Station: The Killers, the Streets, Wilco

The Killers

Hot Fuss

Curse those snarky Brits and their tastemaking ways! While we've been suffering through another season of milquetoast heavy metal and derivative Brit-pop, they've been reveling in our own native sons, the Killers. A pinstriped amalgam of Duran Duran, Blur and the Strokes, the Killers return to the States riding the smash success of a self-titled UK EP that included the infectious glitter-rock jams "On Top," "Somebody Told Me," "Smile Like You Mean It" and "Mr. Brightside." Hot Fuss, the Vegas quartet's Island Def Jam debut, adds seven new tracks to the previous four to make a longplayer that's pure, sweaty, panties-on-the-dance-floor joy--at least in parts.

The highlights clearly come from the band's recycled material, particularly "On Top" and "Mr. Brightside." A rival to Franz Ferdinand's "Take Me Out" for rock song of the year, "On Top" is full to bursting with overblown synth-pop goodness, including frontman Brandon Flowers brilliant boast, "We bring the bump to the grind, uh huh/ I don't mind, we're on top." "Mr. Brightside," too, has that lusty swagger, but it's tempered by Flowers' charming vulnerability in the face of a cheating lover: "I just can't look/ It's killing me." For anyone who's ever been heartsick, "Mr. Brightside" will stand out as The Killers' masterpiece--a love ballad that can rock a house party like the Yeah Yeah Yeahs covering A-ha's "Take On Me."

Too bad the rest of the album can't maintain this energy. "Midnight Show" is functionally raunchy, but "Andy, You're a Star" smacks of bad Bowie and "All These Things that I've Done" sounds like an electro-clash update of Paul McCartney's Wings (that is, until it veers into an inexplicable gospel bridge). All this is forgivable, though, since the singles are so good. Hell, if the album was only eight minutes long, it would be the best record put out by a Vegas band since forever. It seems, then, that we may owe the Brits a begrudging thank you. At least they had the good sense to recognize a Hot Fuss when they heard it.--Newt Briggs

The Streets

A Grand Don't Come For Free

There's something very theatrical about the Streets' second album, A Grand Don't Come For Free. With its spare electronic arrangements, engaging narrator (MC/bedroom musician Mike Skinner), variety of backing characters, focused musical storytelling, and variety of emotional tones, there's an off-Broadway production here just waiting for a director who can sell a day in the life of a working class hip-hop suburbanite--or, rather, the British equivalent of. Granted, pop albums aren't usually inspiration for stage productions--even the Who's Tommy was written specifically as a "rock opera"--but A Grand is so artistically realized, you can see it being performed as its soundtrack plays, making the every-bloke Skinner something of an accidental visionary.

The Streets' debut album--2002's Original Pirate Music--was so well-received and so distinctive of any hip-hop release that had preceded it, you had to wonder if it was Skinner's one-shot deal. With A Grand's minimalist approach and more personal perspective, he didn't look to follow up or improve upon its predecessor, but take a thematic portion of it--specifically, Skinner's closest relationships--and build a simple yet detailed day-in-the-life account from it. It is the ideal sophomore effort, built upon the aesthetic foundation established by the debut and tweaked enough to present a different side of the artist.

Nothing exemplifies this as much as "Fit But You Know It," the first single. Skinner's Cockney cadence is ever familiar, but the song's biggest lure is a repetitive, catchy, self-sampled mod riff, as bouncy and blimey as the one featured in Blur's "Parklife." Then there's the lamenting "Dry Your Eyes," something of a companion track to "It's Too Late" from Original Pirate Material. An acoustic guitar and viola--along with the most competently sung chorus of the album, which isn't saying much--gives Skinner's regretful pleads a more bittersweet feel.

He's always conveyed a striking honesty in his punter musings, but more than anything on A Grand, the expanded range of feelings, regardless of the scenario, marks Skinner's artistic progression. Take a bow, geezer.--Mike Prevatt

Wilco

A Ghost is Born

Many people categorized Wilco's 2002 landmark album, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, as an atmospheric and experimental effort that was less about its songs and more about soundscapes and rock impressionism. As it turns out, that description better suits the recently released A Ghost is Born, at least in some regards. Whereas Yankee ultimately charmed listeners with some of the best songwriting frontman Jeff Tweedy has ever exhibited, Ghost does not possess nearly the same melodic allure and instrumental synthesis. It feels more akin to a jazz work, where solos--largely absent on previous Wilco releases--punctuate most of the compositions, and each song is more of a contemplative journey. This album, more than any other from the Chicago-based band, is its most challenging and, at times, most esoteric.

Coincidentally, many of the musical components on Ghost aren't exactly unorthodox. Even during the album's dissonant stretches, the squalls emanate from electric guitars and effect pedals, not shortwave radios and assorted digitalia--as is the case on "Muzzle of Bees," the six-stringed centerpiece stopping the otherwise folksy track just short of plaintiveness. "I'm a Wheel" is pure, gleeful post-punk--the obvious choice for first single. And, more than any other Ghost track, "Handshake Drugs" falls closest to the Wilco tree, Tweedy at his narrative best before his guitar, again, closes it out.

Perhaps distinguishing Ghost from the other four Wilco efforts (not including the Mermaid Avenue albums) are the inclusion of two 10-minute-plus songs. The least self-indulgent of them, "Spiders (Kidsmoke)," unfurls steadily by way of an electronic, bobbing beat--colored by Tweedy's monotone singing and angular guitarwork--broken three times by an R.E.M.-like, voxless chorus. At this point, one wonders if having toured with Sonic Youth last year has rubbed off on Tweedy, or if the various transgressions stem from SY collaborator/Ghost co-producer Jim O'Rourke.

It will be interesting to see what the commercial and critical response to A Ghost is Born will be without the underdog backstory that surrounded Yankee, which was rejected by Reprise, only to go on and become Wilco's most successful release. Ghost requires more patience of its listener, for the band's musical directions seem to grow more unpredictable with age. Which is, nonetheless, a sign of vitality, even when the results don't always resonate.--Mike Prevatt