I’ll never forget the first time I heard the Killers. It was 2004, I was nine, sitting in the car outside JB Hi-Fi with my dad, a self-proclaimed new wave, post-punk tragic who had bought their debut album, Hot Fuss, after one review compared it to New Order. (It was no coincidence: the Killers were named after a fictional band in a New Order music video.)
Dad popped the CD in and Jenny Was a Friend of Mine began. With its surging synth, a bassline that could rival Peter Hook’s and Brandon Flowers’ brooding voice, we both knew we were hearing something special. Little did I know that, 20 years later, that album would still have pride of place in my own car, or that I’d be about to see them for the 10th time live.
