Brandon Flowers cannot control what comes out of his gloriously bitchy mouth. This is for the best, because between the cattiness and bravado a grandiose, yet justified, maelstrom of nostalgia, melancholy, regret, and resolve effortlessly escapes, reminding us just how talented the little cunt is. He walks us along emotional avenues we scarcely visit and have been avoiding for longer than we could have ever imagined. Truly a masterful sophomore album from a band who previously delivered an inconsistent, if interesting, effort that alternated between bursts of cheekiness and premature sketches of what was to come. Don’t be afraid to be swept away into a sea of bitter-sweet tears. Brandon et al. aren’t satisfied with leaving you adrift. You’re brought back to shore and lifted up before you’re sent on your way.