It still doesn’t seem possible: Nine Inch Nails are doing the music for a Disney movie.

Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross have provided the score for an animated film under the Disney umbrella before (Pixar’s quietly excellent Soul), but not as Nine Inch Nails, the industrial rock heavyweights who gave us “I want to f*ck you like an animal” and “God is dead, and no one cares.” The branding matters; “Featuring music from Thomas Bangalter and Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo” doesn’t carry the same weight as “featuring music from Daft Punk.”

Speaking of, Nine Inch Nails followed in the neon-lit footsteps of synth pioneer Wendy Carlos (1982’s Tron) and Daft Punk (2010’s Tron: Legacy) by creating over 70 minutes of new music for a new Tron movie, Tron: Ares.

The first taste of the soundtrack was “As Alive As You Need Me To Be,” and if there was concern that NIN was going to smooth out their seductive nihilism for Disney, it vanished the second the menacing-sounding synths kicked in. This thing sounds massive and — an even greater compliment — right at home between the unlikely strip club anthem “Closer” and the startling “Came Back Haunted.” That’s where Nine Inch Nails placed “As Alive As You Need Me To Be” during the Brooklyn stop of the Peel It Back Tour this week.

This was the closest Trent and Atticus came to representing their cinematic side gig during the brilliant concert — at least officially. The immersive Peel It Back Tour is a triumph of sound, obviously, but also sight. It could have been a movie, and Nine Inch Nails were the stars.

The briskly paced 20-songs-in-100 minutes set was divided between two stages: an intimate B-stage in the middle of the crowd where Trent kicked things off with a solo performance of “Right Where It Belongs” before the rest of the band joined him one by one, Stop Making Sense-style; and the main stage, which was adorned with an illuminated translucent fabric that made the concert look like it was projected on a movie theater screen.

A hard-working videographer running around the stage with a handheld camera to catch the band at their most picturesque angles added to the effect. So did Trent, as physically imposing as ever even at 60 years old, being surrounded by projections of himself. You better believe the lights were a glow of blood-red, like the dominant color palette in Tron: Ares.

Nine Inch Nails never officially took an encore; The final section of the show flowed freely from a timely cover of David Bowie’s “I’m Afraid Of Americans” to a pumped-up “The Hand That Feeds” to the cathartically loud “Head Like A Hole” to the heartwrenching closer “Hurt.”

After Trent vowed to find a way, a curtain bearing the Nine Inch Nails logo descended from above and covered the stage, signaling it was time to go. But there was one song left: Angelo Badalamenti’s “Laura Palmer’s Theme” from Twin Peaks, one of the most gorgeous pieces of music ever recorded, played over the speakers. It served as THE Nine Inch Nails‘ outro music, and a reminder that in 30 years, another arena band might bid farewell with a NIN or Trent & Atticus composition — possibly even something from Tron: Ares.

Earlier this month, a publicist invited me to see The Killers play a theater in St. Paul, Minnesota, near where I live. I immediately had questions. The first was: Why were The Killers — one of the few remaining American rock bands that plays arenas and headlines festivals — doing at a 2,500-capacity venue? Apparently, they were being paid by a bank to play an exclusive concert for credit card holders. Not very rock ‘n’ roll, clearly, but also not my problem. Somehow, I had never seen The Killers play live before, despite listening to them, off and on, for more than two decades. This seemed like a unique opportunity.

But I had other lingering questions. Who is even in The Killers at this point? You have Brandon Flowers, the flamboyant and besuited frontman, and Ronnie Vannucci Jr., the powerhouse and charismatic drummer. And then you have the other two guys, who move freely in and out of the band. (As I eventually discovered, this concert did include founding guitarist Dave Keuning, but not the bass player Mark Stoermer.) This prompted another pertinent question: Is this band still worth seeing? When they put out Hot Fuss in 2004, they were known as a sorta lame live act. But over time, as they stopped having “Mr. Brightside”-sized hits, they evolved (I was told) into a galvanizing force on stage. A U2 for the casino floor, an E Street Band for appreciators of sparkly jackets.

Finally, the most critical question of all: What is the state of The Killers? Despite everything, I was curious. I’ve always liked writing about them. They have a quality that many of my favorite artists share: Their failures and missteps are often more entertaining than their triumphs. It’s great fodder for a music critic. I might not always like their records, but I really enjoy riffing on them. There’s a roller-coaster aspect to their catalog. Hot Fuss is one of the best debut albums of the 21st century, but I have a special place in my heart for the critically reviled (though somewhat rehabilitated) follow-up, Sam’s Town. The records after that are more checkered, but there’s usually at least two or three perfectly bombastic rock anthems, like “A Dustland Fairtyale” or “Runaways.” In the 2020s, they made a frankly incredible comeback with 2020’s rousing Imploding The Mirage and then somehow topped it with Pressure Machine, a song cycle that sounded like Flowers’ attempt to make his own version of L.A. Garage Sessions ’83.

But that was four years ago now. And The Killers are again wandering in an uncertain wilderness. Flowers has announced two solo records and insists his band won’t put out another record “unless it is the best.” In 2024, they did a run of Hot Fuss anniversary shows in their hometown of Las Vegas. And now, here they were, playing a show for Middle American bank customers. Oh, and me, too. I told the publicist I was in.

Let me just say up front: The show was last night and I loved it. If you ever get the chance to see The Killers play a special show for credit card holders in a theater, I heartily recommend it. Going in, I was a little worried that they might do some kind of “intimate” unplugged show, given the environment. Which is precisely what I didn’t want from this band. Your appreciation of The Killers hinges entirely on whether you like musical melodrama of the highest order. For many of my music-crit peers, Brandon Flowers singing about riding on the back of a hurricane in “When You Were Young” is simply too much. But not for me. The Killers still have their lane because outside of a few select icons (the aforementioned U2 and Bruce), few are willing and able to go to that place anymore.

Thankfully, The Killers went there again at this show. They played like they were at Madison Square Garden. (That included turning the volume up to levels that could be felt in the Twin Cities suburbs.) Their rock-star posturing was not at all tempered. They struck power stances, stood on amplifiers during guitar solos, and tossed drumsticks into the audience. They shot confetti into the air not once, but twice. And that suited the songs, so many of them recognizable hits, which sounded as immense and undeniable as ever.

Springsteen recently called Flowers “one of the most beautiful, pure voices in all of rock ‘n’ roll.” Before this concert, I thought that was hyperbole. I still think it’s hyperbole, though I find that the bole is significantly less hyper now. Flowers is, at the very least, part of a tiny fraternity of truly elite active lead singers. If Bruce is the Boss, then Flowers is the Host. That’s what he called himself a few songs into the set. “After all, we’re The Killers,” he declared, “and we’re in the service industry.” The performative humility was pure Vegas lounge singer, as was Flowers’ powder-blue suit. But his vocals are the opposite of lounge-y hackery. They are a testament to clean Mormon living — they aren’t just preserved in Hot Fuss amber, they’ve actually gotten better over time. So, score one for Bruce the music critic on that.

As for Vannucci, it’s rare for the drummer to be the second most magnetic presence on stage. (By my count, this is true for The Killers, The Eagles, The Who, Nirvana, and Black Midi.) And Keuning had his moments as well, particularly on the solo originated by Lindsey Buckingham for “Caution.” But the star of The Killers remains the tunes. They have what I like to call “the Tom Petty set,” which is a collection of songs (between 14 and 18) that you can line up in concert and absolutely annihilate an audience. It doesn’t matter where you’re playing, or how your last album performed, or whether the audience only has casual familiarity with the work. If you have “the Tom Petty set,” you have songs that everybody knows. And they just work in spaces where a large number of people are gathered. The Killers have that: “Somebody Told Me,” “Smile Like You Mean It,” “All These Things That I’ve Done,” “When You Were Young,” “Spaceman,” “Human,” and so on. They’re called The Killers for a reason.

And then there’s “Mr. Brightside,” the most lethal one of all. When I interviewed Flowers in 2021, I asked if he gets sick of playing this song. It’s a stock rock-critic question, and Flowers naturally said no. “I’m able to hear it through the hearts of the people in the venue,” he said. “Some of them, this is their first time seeing this song live, and so I still am able to harness some excitement for it.”

Part of me assumed that he was just saying that, because saying “Yes, I am sick of ‘Mr. Brightside’” would be bad for business. But then The Killers ended this concert with “Mr. Brightside,” and it suddenly seemed impossible that anyone could ever get sick of playing a song that gets this kind of reaction. It wasn’t just that people sang along. They sang along like they were six beers deep at karaoke night. Or sitting alone in the car after a terrible day. It was an orgasm of adulation for one of the most popular rock anthems of the 21st century. And in that moment, all my questions were answered. I realized that The Killers are, indeed, unkillable.