A series where artists share their musical firsts and lasts.
“Gosh damn, I’ve been emotional every time I talk about this. How many times do people cry on Vulture?”
Photo-Illustration: Vulture; Photos: WireImage (Jeffrey Mayer, Gary Miller) Getty Images (John Shearer, Steve Thorne/Redferns, Matt Cardy, Grzegorz Wajda/SOPA Images/LightRocket)
“Becoming a front man is an incremental process,” says Brandon Flowers, who is firmly carved into the Mount Rushmore of 21st-century American rock figureheads. “Some people are just born with a lot of confidence, or at least they’re really good at hiding their shortcomings or self-consciousness. It’s something that came with time for me.” Flowers had to adapt quicker to the role than he ever would’ve imagined: His band, the Killers, sizzled right out of the amp with their 2004 debut, Hot Fuss, so much so that not many people would dissent that the lead single from the album, “Mr. Brightside,” is the most culturally significant rock song so far this century. But we’re not here to provoke Arctic Monkeys and Strokes fans.
It’s been five years since the Killers have released a new album, and despite the group’s busy tour and festival schedule, Flowers was itching to create some new material: His third solo output, the country-and-western–twanged Thrasher, will be released on August 21. (Everyone wants to yee and haw now!) On the latest episode of “Music History,” Flowers tells us how he arrived at this point in his career and how the Cars and New Order gave him the kick in the ass he needed to get there.
I always go back to my brother’s bedroom door being closed. He was 12 years older than me, so I was about 6 when the Cure’s Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me came out. He was fully invested in the alternative scene. His room was forbidden, but I would hear “Just Like Heaven.” He would play it and it was the most accessible song, especially for a 6-year-old, because there’s some heavy, dark stuff on the record. But when “Just Like Heaven” came on, I wanted in. I wanted into that bedroom. I wanted into that sound. It’s funny now because it’s also got this beautiful marriage of synthesizers, rock-and-roll, and melody. It’s still a part of my life. When CDs started coming into our lives, he would buy Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, and then I would get his cassette when he replaced it with the CD. So eventually, everything that was his became mine. I’m really grateful for that.
I bought The Cars: Greatest Hits. It was a band I was familiar with because of my brother, but this was the first thing I bought on my own. I was with my mom, and I didn’t have a job yet. She would’ve forked over the cash. It was a thrill taking the cellophane off and getting that with the imagery. They had such a strong sense of aesthetic. The songs on that were just amazing. I was only 13, so it wasn’t like, Oh, I’m an album guy. I was familiar with some of these songs, and it just seemed like a better bang for your buck. When you’re that age, that was what I went after.
It was always unattainable to me to be in a band. It seemed like something that other people did; art was something that other people did. A person came into my life who helped change that, and he pushed me in this direction. And for some reason, when you ask me this question, the band that comes to mind is New Order. They were the band that made me want to do this. It felt like it was sort of possible to do what they were doing, even though there’s magic and a lot of luck involved. I remember feeling jealous of New Order, and that was where my fandom shifted just enough to try to do it on my own. Because normally, you just enjoy the music. And all of a sudden I’m hearing “Truth Faith” and that jealousy is coming into play. It was the whole package with New Order. Anton Corbijn famously took a lot of those pictures and made everybody look godly and otherworldly — combined with their sense of drama, melody, synthesizers, and a little bit of guitar, I just loved it.
I’m not a great piano player or synth player, but when you start messing around with sounds, you can’t help but learn something like “Take On Me.”
We inherited a piano when I was a kid. My great grandma came to live with us. Gosh damn, I’ve been emotional every time I talk about this. How many times do people cry on Vulture? My great grandma, who was 93 years old, instead of putting her in a home, my mom opted to take care of her for her final days on this earth. Her name was Melinda, but she went by Dixie. It was like her handle because she wrote poetry and country music. She actually had a couple of her songs recorded by some pretty well known singers. Her kids brought everything that she owned in a horse trailer. They lived on a farm in the middle of Nevada. There’s stocks of hay and whatever else you can imagine in the back of a horse trailer. There’s all of Dixie’s belongings — and an upright piano.
Everything came into the house, and it became an ornament. It was ornamental. We put it next to the TV, and it just gathered dust. She stayed with us not very long before she passed away. I sort of inherited this piano. There was a woman at our church that gave lessons, and my mom just sort of threw it out there: “Maybe you guys could try some piano lessons.” So me and two of my sisters started piano lessons and it stuck with me. Now, that piano is long gone.
It was on New Year’s Eve with my first band. We were called Blush Response, and we played in a brasserie in what was the Aladdin and it’s now Planet Hollywood. I worked in this brasserie, and they were going to have a party on New Year’s Eve for the staff. They allowed us to set up and play a few songs. This was just a year before I was in the Killers.
The first song I finished was “Mr. Brightside.” I met Dave Keuning and he had a bunch of riffs on a cassette tape. One of them was the verse and the pre-chorus to what you know as “Mr. Brightside.” I was already toying around with this sort of monotone, spoken-word delivery. I had it on other songs I was doing at home, but I slapped it right on top of what Dave had and then stuck a chorus on it. That’s the first song I completed lyrically. Even the second verse is the same as the first. I was just learning. I mean, you never know what’s going to happen. In the back of your mind, you know it’s impossible. No matter how great you think you are, you carry that doubt with you wherever you go. It was just a lot of luck and some hard work. “Mr. Brightside” just stuck around. We all liked it. None of us knew it was going to become what it’s become.
The first “real name” artist was Big Bad Voodoo Daddy at the House of Blues in Las Vegas. And then on the road, it was Stellastarr. There was this thing happening at the time where there were a lot of bands that had pretty similar influences, so we played with them. Then in the United Kingdom, we opened for Sea Power.
There are different ways to look at it. Signing the first record deal with Lizard King, an indie label, was a pretty big deal and then we got a major-label deal with Island Records. But then there were things more personal. Being asked to open for Morrissey was a monumental situation at the time. Someone that you idolize is asking you to open for them. He was exactly like he should be. He came and watched us at the sound check. I remember we played “Smile Like You Mean It.” It’s an empty room, and it’s just him and our sound guy. I stole a little bit lyrically from a Smiths song in “Smile Like You Mean It.” That felt like a weird full-circle moment.
Someone who gave us great confidence and seemed to put their seal of approval on us was Elton John. He started having a residency in Las Vegas when our first album, Hot Fuss, was out. You start getting invited to lunch with Elton or to come see a show and be around him. He was really complimentary. You can’t help but get a boost from that. He’s aware of what you’re doing, he wants to hear what you’re writing, and he’s playing you his next album. He’s got this crazy appetite for new music. In hindsight now, that was a really positive thing for me in my life.
There was a moment on the first tour regarding a song called “Glamorous Indie Rock & Roll.” Going back to the showmanship and front-man thing, there was something where I wanted to have a pause and a light involved and turn it into a show. There was some hesitation from someone in the band. I think it was Ronnie at the time. To him, it felt like I was being too singular at that moment. That kind of stuff has softened over the years, and he understands that it comes with the territory of being the front man.
We had been working a lot. We had done three records, so after Day & Age, I made my first solo record. There was talk of taking a break or a hiatus. I’m a little bit younger than the other guys. My fire was still burning hot. It seemed like an okay thing to do. I never intended to quit the Killers, but I wanted to keep the ball rolling. So my new record, Flamingo, was born out of that.
I was at a urinal at the NME Awards in London. Bernard Sumner pulled up next to me to my right and started singing “Somebody Told Me.” I was like 23 or whatever. It’s too much for a person. And then similarly, my first time meeting Noel Gallagher. He’s notoriously mean, but he came up and started talking about “All These Things That I’ve Done,” the progression, and learning it. He couldn’t believe how simple it was. Not even a year before that, I was sitting on my bed trying to pick out Oasis songs. You can’t prepare for that. It messes with your brain a little bit.
It was quieter than that. When we wrote the song, it didn’t have a beat. It was structurally there, but we didn’t have a drummer and bass player. So I was playing the bass. I can hold down eighth notes like nobody’s business. We were trying out a drummer, and it was the first time that I heard it with a beat. Everything changed. The hairs on my arms stood up, and that was usually reserved for music I was listening to in my car or on my stereo. And this was mine.
Of Joy Division and New Order fame.