Wait a sec, I thought these guys were supposed to be Southern-rock! Sure,
they're from Kentucky or Louisiana or wherever, they have names like Caleb
and Jared, and they thank God in the liner notes of their first full-length,
"Youth and Young Manhood." But Southern-rock is about jammin', bro! So
what if these guys dress like the band in "Almost Famous", where are the
drum solos? Where are the wheezy Hammond organs and epic twin-guitar leads
you get from good ol' boys like Lynyrd Skynyrd and the Allman Brothers?
(And, except for the organ, from Thin Lizzy, the only Southern-rock band
from Ireland.)
So what do Kings of Leon have in common with these warhorses? Not much, but
you won't mind. The Kings choose punch over sprawl on this booty-shaking
LP, and if their approach is more Iggy than Allman, well, that's just in the
air these days.
For four such young men (three brothers and a cousin, barely out of their
teens), the Followills rock with confidence and abandon. Opener "Red
Morning Light" rips like good Rolling Stones; simple-stupid drums,
rhythm-guitars everywhere, and Caleb Followill throwing down a fat-ass
gauntlet with his inimitable roadhouse vocals. "Happy Alone", I kid you
not, sounds like the Strokes with John Fogarty on the mic.
The Kings have nicked the tools from the classic-rock closet; the warm,
vintage guitar-tones and clunking bass, but their songs are tight and
compact, devoid of grandstanding. "Joe's Head" edges into Allman territory
with its jangly guitars and bass countermelodies, but the chorus is pure
country-fried pop, with a rusty edge provided by Caleb's speak-sing-bark
vocals. The guy may not always hit the melody, but watching him attack it
is just as good.
The album's centerpiece shows up about halfway through, in the form of the
slow-burning "Trani." With a taste of "Exile"-era Stones and a dose of
early Springsteen, this waltzy song-story rides a gently-strummed guitar in
and out of waves of chaos, past a biting solo by Matthew Followill and back
into a full-band freakout. Caleb sings like his life depends on it,
cracking and screaming like Iggy Pop one minute, whispering and moaning like
Dylan the next. So what if his lyrics are unintelligible? As the saying
goes, I don't know what he's saying, but he's sure saying something.
Most of "Youth's" great moments come early, but there are plenty of nuggets
in the album's second half. "Spiral Staircase" has Caleb doing a spot-on
Bon Scott impression, and I think it ganks its verse from the Spiritualized
tune "Come Together." (That's the kind of band the Kings are; they take
their songwriting cues from nineties rock and their execution tips from
classic-rock radio.)
"Molly's Chambers" (dig that Thin Lizzy reference) chugs along on a bonehead
riff, gets your foot tapping and gets out before you can get tired of it.
And "Dusty" rickety feeling evokes images of the band working the song out
in their practice room. Or on their back porch.
Kings of Leon don't overstay their welcome, they know that, unless you can
shred like Duane Allman or Gary Rossington, brevity is usually the soul of
hits. These kids have plenty of game, though, and their lead-singer's
unique voice gives even their more pedestrian songs a crusty twang. Youth
and young manhood should always be so self-assured.
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