The Kings of Leon remind me of a clichéd rock band from a crummy inspirational Hollywood movie. Starting their career playing smoky bars and writing songs about finding a body in the woods, they miraculously get signed by some guy with a cowboy hat and a southern drawl. “We’re goin’ to En-ger-land” the strangely familiar cowboy announces as he dances around the room, barn-dance style. So with fire in their belly and complete reckless abandon, the band play toilets, struggling with inner battles and family relationships, take loads of drugs and fight a lot (and have kick as beards and NO stylist). Flash forward two years – now they are tighter and their craft more honed. They have released another album and it’s even better than their debut. To everyone’s surprise, the gigs start selling out in minutes. Unfortunately, the band has become increasingly suspicious of their manager. They now have no beards and shorter hair, someone in a van came and gave them loads of clothes to wear in return of money.
“Guess what fellas? The annoying fictional cowboy announces, “You need to write more songs to appeal to a mainstream audience, we have a lot of money riding on you”. So they do it, Sex on Fire is born. Unbelievably and completely unjustifiably the cowboy manager (now with horns slightly protruding from his hat) practically ejaculates, “We’re headlining Glastonbury!” Then, almost out of nowhere they somehow become the biggest thing in the world whilst simultaneously pissing off all their original fans. The shady cowboy manager fades away in a puff of red smoke, laughing and clutching something that looks like a bag of souls.
Or something like that. This, the next scene attempts to reconcile old and new fans alike. Does it work? Well…
The opener ‘The End’ (clever, see what they did there?) could metaphorically spell the end of that period. You’d hope anyway, it does actually sound like a reject from Only by the night. That sparkly U2 stadium glow and ‘Edge’ style jangle that KOL have strangely become accustomed to plagues it like a bad smell.
‘Mary” took my by surprise, its actually one of the most inventive tracks KOL have done to date. Obviously it hasn’t stretched their four-chord trick, but it sounds exactly like a 1950’s rock and roll ballad, sped up. It won’t appeal to everyone, but it is an unexpected pleasure. No Money is a track that feels lifted straight from Aha Shake Heartbreak. A little like ‘Soft’ or ‘Velvet Snow’. It doesn’t really go anywhere, but it’s a relatively jaunty listen. Immediately after ‘Pony Up’ is fairly decent also, only down to a wicked guitar hook that creeps around now and again. Thing is, here is the crux of the issue… it doesn’t actually go anywhere.
This could be said for the majority of the album. It lacks any memorable hook or single, it merely exists. You could argue that KOL have actually found their sound. Either that or they love the money so much they will knock out any dreary guff to please the newly gathered fan base. I don’t suppose you can blame them, I think I’d rather have a shit load of money in the bank made by one album, than spend years wallowing in my own turmoil, releasing albums only a 1000 people bother buying.
Thankfully its not as drab and soulless as Only by the Night. Those that hoped Come around sundown may be the album to shake off the teenage girls that go to Leeds and think that KOL have only one album (and also like Justin Bieber and fucking Flo Rida). Sorry. It doesn’t. It does have a few good tracks. None of it is terrible, but by the end it limps across the finish line like a slightly sad whippet. Once bursting with energy, the people’s champion. Loved and adored by many and now a faded grey, shaking shell with its tail firmly between its legs and nothing but memories of good times. Perhaps its time for this metaphor to retire, or to be taken to the woods and shot.
7/10
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