All photos by Tracy May.

I am a MASSIVE fan of The Killers. I love the Killers like the British love the Beatles. On my most existential days — when boys are infuriating and life in general doesn't make sense — I can be found driving my car, blasting their music from my stereo, shouting, "You just get it, Brandon Flowers! You just get women!" And my friends know that if I've had a lousy day, all it takes to pick me up is a glass of wine and some tunes by the Vegas foursome. They're all used to me randomly quoting Killers lyrics by now, because damn it, Brandon Flowers (pictured left on bass) does just get it.

I only bring this up because I want to emphasize the trickiness of going to a concert put on by a band that rocks your world. On the one hand, you really want to love it. It would feel sacrilegious not to. On the other, said band has to put on a near-perfect show in order to impress you, because when you've listened to their albums countless times, you know exactly how their songs should sound. And you can tell whether they're really putting their hearts into their performance, or if it's just another stop on a long, dragging tour.

This article appears in Sep 30 – Oct 7, 2009.