I settle back to watch some nice classical music from support band Manchester Orchestra... Hold on a minute, these guys aren’t from Manchester, and this isn’t classical music. It’s a sub-shoegazing fake-epic pastiche from Athens, Georgia!
But hark at the crowd instead – why are over a thousand people here in this huge hall drinking beer from plastic cups for Kings of Leon? Are Kings of Leon that popular? When they first emerged with their long hair and beards, dirty southern rock drawl and primitive indie/country/rawk, it looked like a band was finally dredging up the spirit of Creedence Clearwater Revival and Lynyrd Skynyrd for 21st century indie kids. And I’ve always been pleasantly surprised when I hear their music come up on the iPod, but I’ve never really bought into them as a real band with a pulse and sweat-glands.
Live, they do little to change my mind. There’s something laminated about them – the jagged guitar chops, drawling vocals and primitive solos all have a strangely glossy sheen, as do the leather jackets, complicated haircuts and skinny jeans. They’ve pyrotechnics and visuals nicked from the back of U2’s van, and the live production has the highly polished grittiness of Girls Aloud or the Sugababes (not necessarily a bad thing). There’s a lot of power in them amps and there’s a lot of rawk gyrations coming from those preacher’s sons and nephew. But it’s eerily unsexy.
Many of the songs rock, and the singles from the last two albums – ‘On Call’, ‘Fans’, ‘The Bucket’ – are impressive slabs of stadium indie (inching away from the Southern rock template with every release) but there’s something wrong. Maybe it’s that singer Caleb’s new haircut makes him look like Bryan Adams. Maybe it’s the fact that when they play ‘Molly’s Chambers’ (their first single) it sounds like the best song. Or maybe it’s the lack of commitment in Caleb’s eyes as he utters rock clichés. “Are you all having a good time?” he says at one point. “Party-time” he says half way through. “Are you going to help us get fucked up?” he asks towards the end. And I feel dead inside. One way or another, despite above average songs, good looks, and hip clothes, Kings of Leon don’t feel like a headline act.