Live review: Showman Brandon Flowers unapologetically kills it the Americana way
The Killers’ frontman traded New Order-esque synth-pop for good old fashioned country twang at York’s brutalist Barbican, delivering a sweeping masterclass in star-spangled banner storytelling and showmanship.
There was a precise moment during tonight’s evocative performance when you realise that Brandon Flowers could quite literally sell out a 30-date UK arena tour reading the back of a Campbell’s soup can.
Dressed in attire akin to a stereotypical westerner ready for the local rodeo at noon, with looks prepped to herd cattle right down the River Ouse, where all that was missing was a comically large cowboy hat to top the fit, the Las Vegas showman strutted onto the York Barbican stage with a backing band of many.
His American pearly whites flashed across the room with a blinding, Tom Cruise-defining movie star glare.
He knew it, we knew it, and the capacity crowd was already in the palm of his hand.
Preacher Flowers opened his congregation with the brooding warmth of The Red Ground, followed swiftly by the melancholic gentle sway of Does It Ever Cross Your Mind? and the soaring, arena-sized punch of solo classic Crossfire, Flowers established the evening's thesis early.
Synth-pop strutting has officially met high-desert rosiness.
Leaving the thunderous, stadium-filling riffs of his day job at the door in favour of acoustic textures and undeniable country twang, he proved tonight that he’s traded in killer (pun fully intended) riffs for heartland twang without sacrificing an ounce of his legendary showmanship.
Between a majority of his songs, Flowers paused, leant into the mic, and weaved detailed, nostalgic story tales of his childhood.
He spoke of desert highways, Utah churches, small-town quietness, and the naive, glittering ambition that drove him out of Nevada.
The Barbican audience hung upon every single word he uttered in dead silence, leaning forward like giddy children gathering around a roasting campfire.
Moving onto Tiger’s Blood, Plans, and Paradise, the atmosphere felt intricately intimate yet electric.
By the time the pop-grooves of Still Want You hit, his Statesian charm turned lethal.
A sly, cheeky smirk broke across his face as he delivered those unmistakable hooks, flashing those trance-like Hollywood looks, smiling like he truly meant it.
The middle segment of the desert storyteller’s show transitioned gracefully as Flowers shifted the gear one step lower, as the audience was treated to the emotional heavyweight arcs of Angel, Magdalena, and Miss America.
Before turning up the tension and Las Vegas neon again, Flowers launched into a stripped-back, dust-caked rendition of The Killers' In the Car Outside.
It’s here that the rodeo aesthetic made total sense; these are songs born of vast highways and quiet heartbreak, performed by a man who controlled the vast room with little more than a glint in his eye and a wave of his hand.
After navigating along further through the dusty trail of his extensive setlist, the pricked ears within the underbelly of the Barbican were treated to sweet country delights such as: Hard Enough, Lonely Town, and the propulsive Can't Deny My Love.
The Sin City ringmaster proceeded to charge swiftly on through the ardent Only the Young before striking riches with a resounding performance of All These Things That I've Done, Flowers ignited the crowd once more with that incandescent killers’ flame that still burns ever bright within his two-sided soul of country and rock.
For the encore, Flowers took no gambles, as he treated the captive room to the solo debut of The Killers' Runaway Horses, which led seamlessly into a twang-infused Read My Mind – which will forever and always be my favourite from Britain's favourite Americans.
His Vegas showcase concluded with the cinematic widescreen finale of An American Dream, which was delivered with the exoticness and finality of a showgirl.
Ultimately, tonight proved yet again that Brandon Flowers' connection with the UK remains utterly unmatched.
His impact across the nation is so massive, so deep-rooted, and so effortless that he could announce a spoken poetry tour tomorrow and still sell out venues across our realm within minutes.
Rodeo outfit and all, the man is an undisputed national icon.