The Killers are one of the most commercially successful bands of their ilk. While their peers across the country in the Strokes and Interpol fashioned cooler, albeit less lucrative, indie rock, the Killers and their fellow non-NYC contemporaries pursued a route that often traded critical acclaim for broader appeal. Kings of Leon eventually cashed in on Coldplay-cosplay ubiquity on Only by the Night; the Black Keys took the White Stripes’ garage rock to arenas and Subaru commercials on Brothers and El Camino. The Killers are similarly big on pastiche and, as good as their 2004 debut Hot Fuss was (and still is), have largely modeled themselves on their points of reference. Hot Fuss was all Duran Duran and the Cure, and each successive record until Wonderful Wonderful saw frontman Brandon Flowers increasingly try to shapeshift into Bruce Springsteen. On 2020’s Imploding the Mirage, he appeared to worship one of Springsteen’s many acolytes instead: The War on Drugs. Flowers’ sound-alikes have plagued his main band while remaining absent from his solo work. His two solo albums, 2010’s Flamingo and 2015’s The Desired Effect, don’t so much gesture toward his influences as lack identities altogether. With his third LP, Thrasher, Flowers goes full-on country, following a recent trend that counts indie darlings such as Julien Baker and Torres and big-name stars such as Post Malone and Beyoncé among its participants. He’s applying the Killers’ taste for simulacra to a record under his own name. That means Thrasher has the clearest identity of any Brandon Flowers solo joint. It also makes it the stalest. Strangely, those obvious cultural signifiers muddy Flowers’ artistic vision more than they elucidate it. For Thrasher, he went to Nashville and recorded at RCA Studio A with session legends such as Bruce Bouton (Garth Brooks) on pedal steel, Charlie McCoy (Bob Dylan’s Nashville albums) on harmonica, and David Rawlings (Gillian Welch) on guitar. Bouton’s earthy textures embellish the opening stomp of  “Does It Ever Cross Your Mind,” McCoy’s harmonica lends a rough-hewn image to the warm and familial “One of Us,” and the sprightly Mariachi horns and strings paint the Southwestern backsplash of “Red Ground.” Despite the autobiographical stories Flowers tells, the effect feels less like personal revelation than a temporary sonic costume—a bandwagon hop rather than a trailblazing turn. It doesn’t help that he has suddenly assumed the stereotypical country-singer dialect, complete with the twangiest drawl. It’s an affectation that has never emerged in the Killers’ hefty discography, and its abrupt appearance here feels a tad too convenient. It’s most jarring in the acoustic ballad “Miss America,” a heartbreaking, albeit tender recollection of difficult childhood memories. Unfortunately, the spell is broken when Flowers does a caricature of Waylon Jennings for lyrics about seeing his “werth” and “gurls who are doin’ fine.” Thrasher is billed as a personal missive that documents some of Flowers’ formative years in Nephi, Utah, a town of about 7,000 people roughly 340 miles northeast of Las Vegas. He lived in Nephi from ages eight to sixteen, but it’s difficult to take these songs at face value when their creator seems to be putting on a cowboy persona he can discard when it’s time to make more sparkly ‘80s synth-pop. On “Paradise,” Flowers shifts the narrative to Vegas, where he sings about his extended family taking jobs in garish casinos. “I’m parking some white sedan / While the owner tries his hand rolling dice / It’s just another day in paradise,” he sings in the first verse. It’s an odd choice on an album centered on his boyhood in rural Utah, one that calls into question how much he has to say and do in this style. On the surface, it’s refreshing to see an artist as seasoned as Flowers step outside his usual modus operandi, but his pivot to country on Thrasher feels mostly contrived. It’s always interesting to see artists push the boundaries of what they’re known for and expand their sonic palettes, but experiments are only as good as their execution. [Island] Grant Sharples is a writer, journalist, critic, and musician. His work has also appeared in Interview Magazine, Uproxx, Pitchfork, Stereogum, The Ringer, NME, and other publications. He lives in Kansas City. You can follow him everywhere @grantsharpies.