By Drew AIles
By Taylor Boylston
By Bree Davies
By Emerald O'Brien
By Gina Tron
By Jon Solomon
By Drew Ailes
I wouldn't consider us a throwback, but I also wouldn't say we're reinventing the wheel of rock and roll," says Ronnie Vannucci, drummer for the Killers. "We're taking the best parts of the music we were influenced by, putting them in our songs and making them our own."
The Killers are hardly the only current band attempting to turn this trick. The latest revolution of the music-business cycle has spun out a slew of groups, from Franz Ferdinand to the Rapture, that draw their inspiration from '80s-era British acts whose style and substance were often indistinguishable from each other. It's no surprise, then, that the press in England got overheated about Hot Fuss, the Killers' debut platter -- and stateside listeners soon followed suit. The band became one of the breakthrough acts of 2004 thanks to MTV's frequent airings of the video for the Fuss track "Somebody Told Me," which couldn't seem more like stuff the network aired two decades ago if it included cameos by Martha Quinn and Nina Blackwood.
Even so, the clip's flashing neon and dancing girls, as well as its desert backdrop, actually connect personally to the Killers. The tunes may sound as if the players -- vocalist/keyboardist Brandon Flowers, guitarist David Keuning, bassist Mark Stoermer and Vannucci -- just stepped off the QE II, but the four-piece actually got its start in that most garishly American of cities, Las Vegas.
"There's a lot about the music that really represents Vegas," Vannucci notes. "It's dark and moody like Vegas is. It's glamorous and superficial and fictional like Vegas is. There are a lot of different comparisons."
As one of three Nevada natives in the combo (odd man out Keuning is an Iowan by birth), Vannucci speaks from experience. With the exception of a couple of years spent in northern California when he was a kid, he's lived his entire life in this rapidly growing metropolis. "It's turning into quite the little Los Angeles," he says. "I used to live on the outskirts of Vegas, but it's not the outskirts anymore, because the town has blown up."
Part of what he loves about the community is its inherent conflicts. "Of course, you've got your Sin City tribes," Vannucci allows. "It's a 24-hour town, like everybody knows, and everything is completely accessible at any time. But you've also got a large Mormon settlement there, which is just the antithesis of what people think of when they think of Las Vegas. But maybe they're not so different. When you think of Mormons, you think of good, clean fun and polygamy. When you think of Vegas, you think of gaming and prostitution."
His parents' jobs could hardly be more emblematic of his home town. "My dad's a bartender and my mom's a cocktail waitress," he says. "I was one of those service-industry kids. I had to be quiet in the mornings, because my mom got home at 4 a.m." The hours they worked made them more understanding when Vannucci got older: "As long as they knew where I was, I never got the hairy eyeball or the third degree for coming home late. A lot of times, they'd be later than I was."
This background thoroughly prepared Vannucci for his own plunge into the world of Vegas employment. While studying percussion at the University of Nevada at Las Vegas, for example, he worked as a wedding photographer at Little Chapel of the Flowers. "It wasn't a theme chapel, but you could have theme weddings if you wanted," he says. "It was probably the classiest one on the Strip, and the most expensive -- but if you wanted a Tom Jones or a Prince at your wedding, you could get them. Anything's possible in Vegas." Among the memorable ceremonies he captured on film was "this very small, Hispanic wedding that was kind of botched from the get-go. There was a jealous brother involved who was pretty well drunk, and he objected to the wedding -- but they didn't stop it. He was crying and clenching his fists all through the vows, and he kept coming up to me. I was afraid I was going to get hit."
Music turned out to be a safer career option. Thanks to his father, who he describes as "a pretty weird dude, although he's calmed down some," Vannucci was exposed to a wide range of tunes during his youth. He recalls hearing everything from the Beatles to Michael Franks, a jazz-oriented singer-songwriter whose irritatingly vapid musings wound up leaving no discernible mark on the Killers' material, to Vannucci's vast relief. "I blocked that out," he says. In contrast, he absorbed every note of The Head on the Door, by the Cure (the first tape he bought), and other platters of its ilk, which made him the perfect foil for Flowers, Keuning and Stoermer, all of whom had similar tendencies.
After tightening up during garage sessions and clandestine visits to the UNLV music room, the Killers hit the Vegas club scene, such as it is. The city overflows with venues, but because most of them specialize in spectacles designed to attract well-heeled out-of-towners, working-class locals with an appetite for homegrown rock have a tougher time satisfying their hunger.