The Killers, M83, Tegan and Sara

[MR. BRIGHT EYES] Safe to say recently released fourth album Battle Born won't change any opinions about the Killers. Employing a murderer's row of super producers to burnish world-beating choruses thrillingly familiar—all safely within the platinum blueprint melding power chords and power cords—a handful of tunes seem certain to soundtrack Saturday night across the Western world even as a solid pocket of dissenters gnash their teeth. This long after the indie wars for some illusory piety of pop were lost, though, the hate feels oddly miscast. Pomposity is something of an occupational hazard for troupes of the arena born. If one feels embarrassed helplessly singing along to lyrical inanities, that's hardly the band's fault. The small-scale heartland musings at the core of the Vegas boys' wide-screen anthems—not for nothing did they cover Conor Oberst—are dopey perhaps, but they're not disingenuous. If anything, frontman Brandon Flowers seems a bit too sincere, given his palpable lack of inner torment. Contentment just isn't that rock ’n’ roll.