Kings of Leon review – mesmeric power from masters of the restrained anthem

Kings of Leon review – mesmeric power from masters of the restrained anthem

Formed in 1999 by travelling preacher’s sons Caleb, Jared and Nathan Followill and their cousin Matthew, Kings of Leon delivered two benchmark albums of Dust Bowl garage rock Americana before losing their way among the compromises and sibling rivalries brought by huge success. However, lately Caleb has talked of a “renewed passion and kind of fire in us” and new album Can We Please Have Fun rekindles the old edge. The Tennessee rockers play eight songs from it here, opening with the gently epic Ballerina Radio and unveiling the likes of the hurtling punky Nothing to Do, which suggests an unlikely kinship with the Ramones.

Getting signature smash Sex on Fire out of the way early on is brave but means the show isn’t geared towards to the big number. In fact, that song’s XXL-sized chorus and “whooooah-ohhhhh”s prove something of an aberration among an enormous 27-song set list which gradually recasts them as masters of the beautifully restrained anthem.

This is a show that thrills an arena by shunning many staples of arena rock. There are no 30-foot robots or call-and-response routines. The visuals are beautifully but tastefully presented while Caleb’s chatter and stage moves – a fraction of an Elvis hip shake here, a marginal shimmy of the boot there – are so wonderfully minimal they’re almost hilarious. He’s as weirdly charismatic as his brewing sandstorm of a voice. With guitarist Matthew at his unshowy best and manically grinning drummer Nathan’s snare work and backing vocals bringing much more than they let on, there’s a hint of the National in the way songs are delivered with such mesmerically controlled power. There are so many highlights, although wild-eyed early favourites Molly’s Chambers and The Bucket, yearning newie Don’t Stop the Bleeding and a gorgeously emotive Comeback Story are certainly among them.

Waste a Moment and Use Somebody are more conventional big hitters, by which time there isn’t a voice in the house that isn’t yelling along, but these are relatively rare grand gestures in a marvellous show that’s otherwise a refreshingly understated triumph.

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Source: theguardian.com