If hooks could kill

Volumes have been written about how great music can set your heart and mind racing, but why are we all also suckers for songs that are just ridiculously catchy?

Is there a hidden gene that makes us fall in love with anything by ABBA? How can you help but smile at even the mention of “Dancing Queen”?

It’s easy to see where the Killers, the hot new American band that co-headlined the San Diego Street Scene concert Friday, got their catchiness: listening to two decades of British synth-pop and rock.

When lead singer Brandon Flowers led the group into such manic, hook-filled tunes as “Somebody Told Me,” tens of thousands of fans sang along with such enthusiasm you’d think they were paid extras in a video.

The best of the Killers’ tunes are tales about the desperation of young love that have sly images sometimes as catchy as the beat: “Well, somebody told me/ You had a boyfriend/ Who looked like a girlfriend/ That I had in February of last year.”

Alas, Flowers sighs elsewhere in the song about the hopelessness of finding true love, “Heaven ain’t close in a place like this.”

But catchiness only takes a band so far and the young Las Vegas-based outfit, with only one album under its belt, seemed over its head co-headlining a two-day rock festival as prominent as this one.

For all their individual charm, the Killers’ songs on the band’s “Hot Fuss” album feel too much like separate pieces. There is little of the interlocking intelligence or wit of, say, Franz Ferdinand, the young Scottish band whose songs, including “Take Me Out,” touch on similar influences and themes.

The Killers, however, weren’t alone in having trouble trying to live up to expectations. The Street Scene’s new location was also on trial.

A popular fixture in San Diego for more than 20 years, the musical extravaganza was located most of that time in the city’s historic Gaslight district, giving it a quaint, local feel. The music, too, tended to be eclectic, mixing blues, roots rock, jazz and other styles.

Because it outgrew the downtown Gaslight area, the event moved a few blocks last year to parking lots near the new Petco Park, but that, too, proved inadequate, space-wise. So this year’s home was the parking lot of Qualcomm Stadium, home of the Chargers.

The Scene’s musical direction has also undergone adjustments. This year’s lineup, which leaned heavily to such classy alt-rock forces as the White Stripes, the Flaming Lips, the Pixies and Death Cab for Cutie, seemed aimed at the excitement and buzz generated in recent years by the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival.

But Coachella is more than excellent talent. The setting, the Empire Polo Field in Indio, is so comforting that it’s easy to let the music transform you from big-city stress.

If Coachella is the rock ‘n’ roll equivalent of a wine tasting, the Street Scene is a giant tailgate party.

At Coachella you not only stand on a comforting grass field, but you can see soothing palm trees in the distance. There’s also a warm sense of community as fans share a certain aesthetic because the Coachella acts are chosen mostly for artistic merit, not just popularity.

On Friday, you stood on the hard, hot concrete of a football stadium parking lot, looking over the wall at a mammoth IKEA store, and the crowd seemed more intent on partying than listening to music.

Aside from the location, the Street Scene staff did a good job at making the event as civil as possible. There was plenty of food at reasonable prices, top-grade staging and sound, and even a carnival fun zone with rides and games of chance to give the event a county fair charm.

They could have booked a few more bands, however. There were only 15 acts Friday on three main stages over some 8 1/2 hours, which meant there were times when nothing was going on stage.

When there was action, Social Distortion, of the veteran acts, played with the commitment and fury that have made them a punk landmark in Southern California, while England’s Kasabian showed more individuality and punch than such other newcomers as Hot Hot Heat and San Diego’s own Louis XIV. Garbage, which once reflected the catchiness of the Killers, now has little to offer.

The Black Eyed Peas had to cut their set short because they were caught in a massive traffic jam between Los Angeles and San Diego. But there was nothing in their punchless hip-hop music to make you feel you missed something.

Unfortunately, the day’s headliners, the White Stripes and the Killers, were put on opposite stages at the same time, forcing you to pretty much make a choice.

The Stripes are an infinitely more important band, but they’ll be playing the Greek Theatre for four nights starting Aug. 15, so I devoted Friday to the Killers.

The building blocks in the group’s sound start with the elegant, pulse-driving synth-pop exuberance of New Order, the Pet Shop Boys and the Buzzcocks’ Pete Shelley. Add rich, U2-like guitar lines and vocals that move between the swagger of Oasis’ Liam Gallagher and the endearing croon of Morrissey.

The danger in employing such obvious building blocks is you come across as somewhat generic. That problem was compounded by Flowers’ performance. For all his fascination with such colorful performers as David Bowie and Morrissey, he didn’t assert much presence. He was neither mysterious, eccentric nor warm, merely confident and pleasant.

After several numbers, I gave up on the Killers and walked across the parking lot to catch the end of the White Stripes set.

It was clear quickly that Jack White hasn’t abandoned his guitar-slinger role on stage even though he downplayed guitar on the key songs on the Stripes’ new “Get Behind Me Satan” album.

Mixing old and new material, the Stripes played with the passion and spontaneity that have made them the most exciting band in American rock in years.

For a moment, you forgot about the concrete and industrial surroundings, and were transported a la Coachella. That’s what great music can do when it goes beyond catchy.

The Street Scene, meanwhile, is a good idea in need of a home.

Robert Hilburn, pop music critic of The Times, can be reached at Robert.hilburn@la times.com