kings of leon - youth and young manhood

If I ever realize my far-off dream of becoming a respected, influential music writer, my first order of business will be to completely rewrite the critical interpretation of the Kings of Leon.

For some reason, rock critics love to hate this band. Sure, they look like they came straight out of a 70s arena rock wet dream, and their music isn't exactly innovative, groundbreaking stuff, but goddammit, this is good music. Even publications like Allmusic, which celebrate the redeeming quality of mindless pop music (a stance I defend for the most part, but not to the point of giving Paris Hilton's album a 4-1/2 star review), still refuses to acknowledge that this band holds any merit.

I suppose it's understandable on some level. If you grew up listening to bands like Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones, bands who became superstars by absolutely pillaging American blues and playing it a little heavier and a lot whiter, you might object to hearing a group of 20-somethings rip off second-generation blues-rock bands to similar effect. Kings of Leon never come close to what those guys did to Robert Johnson or Chuck Berry, but hey--I'll bite. Wolfmother gets a similar rap for recycling Sabbath riffs, which leads me to believe this is a real, widespread response to these bands.

I get it. It's bullshit, but I get it. I'll admit to having comparable reactions to the neverending wave of teeny-bopper punk-pop assholes trying to be blink-182, even though in the back of my mind I fear I'm being just as irrationally dismissive of a real musical movement.

I just can't hate this music. In fact, I can't help but completely love it. It's catchy as hell, it's got attitude absolutely seeping from every note and downbeat, and fuck you, rock writers--the lead singer is an irresistible hunk of pure rock 'n roll bravado. You guys helped build up that pedestal, don't cry now that it's reaching its final conclusion.

The ultimate sadness in this story is that after three (okay, two and a half) albums of fantastic Southern blues-rock, they stopped doing coke and resigned themselves to becoming the next Coldplay. Place any song on this album (which, admittedly, is vastly inferior to Aha Shake Heartbreak, and maybe even Because of the Times, but still) next to "Sex on Fire" or "Use Somebody," those pseudo-rock chart-toppers that blanketed every media form in existence for years on end, and it's hard to believe they're the same band. I mean for fuck's sake, "Use Somebody" is just plain awful. There's nothing fun about it, there's nothing good about it, just the same shitty chords on repeat with a few angsty repeated bullshit lines about being lonely and a cheap two-note stadium vocal melody that gave every music editor in the world a collective orgasm and had every movie, TV show, sporting event, and celebrity death punctuated by the same echoing call of false emotion and plastic sentimentality that permeated our culture like a fucking virus and will probably follow me to my grave. The funeral driver will have that song playing in the front seat of my hearse as he leads a procession of friends and family down whatever cheap hellhole of a city I'll have decided to lay my sorry ass down for the rest of my days, no doubt spent prattling on endlessly about how Kings of Leon used to be something real and true, and how John Darnielle was a better songwriter than Bob Dylan. Which would be just fine by me. As long as I get a few kids to give Aha Shake Heartbreak a listen, it'll all be worth it.