BY EMMA GASE
Daily Arts Writer
Published October 26, 2010
One thing is for certain: the guys from Kings of Leon take themselves very, very seriously. The band’s new record Come Around Sundown proves there is no self-awareness in sight for the dudes that hit it big with their fourth album, Only by the Night, in 2008.
Kings of Leon
Come Around Sundown
RCA
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From the rumpled haircuts that probably cost more than their amplifiers to the skinny pants and the vests worn over bare chests, there is no doubt that these guys worship the idea of being “rock stars.” Nothing Kings of Leon does appears effortless, yet that seems to be precisely the image they desperately want to project.
The album begins with “The End.” Those cheeky bastards, could this be a modicum of humor? As the song strides in with screechy, ethereal guitars and then cedes to a lone bass-line and simple drumbeat, you realize there is no intended irony here, just overreaching, inflated stadium production. Lead singer Caleb Followill laments, “This could be the end / Cause I ain’t got a home / I’m out here all alone / I’ll forever roam.” Deep shit.
“Mary” is Kings of Leon’s borderline offensive attempt at retro-rock balladry. The rhythm recalls The Beatles’ “Oh, Darling!,” but then again, the Fab Four could belch out their lyrics over a xylophone and it would still be more innovative than Kings of Leon. The bluesy '50s guitar riff and harmonized “aahs” are not enough to distract from the whining scream of Followill’s voice, which he intentionally cracks like a pubescent teenage boy at the end of every chorus. Lead guitarist Matthew Followill busts out a competent, albeit boring and predictable, guitar solo during the middle eight.
All the tracks on Sundown have something in common (other than their glaring mediocrity), and that’s reverb. Perhaps the band thinks that dousing every chorus and opening guitar riff in reverb gives its music an authentic, serious sound. Sorry, Kings of Leon, but reverb a good record does not make.
Since the guys hail from Tennessee and their dad is a preacher, that means if they lay down a fiddle track underneath the guitars and repeatedly sing “I’m going back down south now,” then they're authentic Southern-fried rockers like Lynyrd Skynyrd and have automatic credibility. Or at least that is what they appear to believe on “Back Down South.”
When their songs become boring to the point of annoyance (which inevitably happens on every track), their go-to fix is a reverb-soaked crescendo of guitars accompanied by Followill’s strained voice crying out something forlorn and profound, e.g. “I won’t ever be a cornerstone.”
To be fair, there was a time when Kings of Leon didn’t suck quite so badly. Once upon a time (a.k.a. 2003), they recorded songs like “Molly’s Chambers,” a two-minute punk-influenced tune with a kickass guitar riff and unaffected vocals, instead of moody sleepers with melodramatic production like “Pyro” or ridiculously over-the-top single “Radioactive.”
But alas, we cannot live in the past. Some fat cat record exec probably pronounced them the new U2 after the inordinate amount of Grammys they won, and the band’s ambition seems to have taken over to make sure that became a reality.
There are precious few moments on the album that do not sound contrived, manufactured and calculated. The moments that don’t, notably found in the drums, are so fleeting that they are forgotten when the next spectacularly average song begins.
Kings of Leon appears more concerned with matching the success of “Use Somebody” and being old school “rock stars” than spending time artfully constructing original songs. Perhaps the success of the tasteful and subtle 2008 single “Sex on Fire” has gone to their heads. Or not. Maybe Kings of Leon really is the most affected band in the universe. Is there a Grammy for that?
