Post by Replicant on May 10, 2007 21:43:36 GMT
.Holy Rollers
Why we need the Kings of Leon more than they need us
The recent Kings of Leon show at City Hall proved a couple of things. One, people will do anything to get into an invite-only show, including participating in the wild-goose chase that was hunting down Camel reps at the Bang Bang Bang gig the previous week at Exit/In, and handing over vital stats. Some of these people weren’t even smokers! Two, Nashville loves the Kings. Capital “N” Nashville, that is. The local rock scene—incestuous, provincial beast that it is sometimes—is another matter. If anyone was still unsure how the Kings of Leon feel about that uneasy relationship, the answer was clear that night: they don’t give a fuck. And why should they? Loved by Dylan, Pearl Jam, Elton John, U2, fans nationwide, press, supermodels and a large portion of the U.K. population, it seems the Kings of Leon need Nashville about as much as Nashville needs downtown lofts.
I met the Kings some five years ago, when they were still the Followill brothers. They were still on the cusp of discovery—not yet a rock band—and were being shopped by industry powerhouse Ken Levitan. They were nice, talented guys. Simple country boys, really, and still a little in awe of the machine churning around them. I saw them play for the first time during that same period—an acoustic set at Loews Vanderbilt for a music showcase—and even then, with just a few chords and some harmonies, their talent was evident. I had no idea what would become of them, only that, with their scruffy good looks and raw charisma, they were bound to do something.
I never saw exactly how it all transpired for them, either—the band’s career developed far from the glare of Nashville stage lights. But the next thing I knew, the Followills were the Kings of Leon, signed to RCA by the same guy who signed The Strokes. Now they’re Nashville’s most visible rock export. Soon after the Loews showcase, KOL were at a roller-rink photo shoot in Brentwood for Blender, hot off the press from their debut, Holy Roller Novocaine. As we watched the band skate around with cashmere scarves, a limo of booze outside, and a handful of hangers-on, we knew they’d made it. They were now young rock stars with impish grins and a staggering allowance to blow. So what was all the fuss among the local rock scene, whose message boards were overflowing with suspicion and hatin’? Was it the fact that the band seemed to arrive fully formed, like Athena sprung from the head of Zeus, that made it difficult for some locals to share in the excitement? Was it that it all seemed to come too easily? Probably.
There’s something in the rabid music fan that needs to say, “I saw band X when nobody gave a shit.” These are battle scars for rock lovers, the only proof, alongside their dusty record collections, tattered T-shirts and fading ticket stubs, that they stood as witness to the revolution. Seeing an act evolve and pay its dues in the form of a few too many crappy shows at The End or The Basement played to 12 people matters to some people. Does it matter to bands? Of course not. They take what they can get.
City Hall holds something like 1,500 bodies, and it was all but filled that night. The only elbowroom was way in the back. Everywhere I spied, folks were singing all the words, dancing around and eyeing each other excitedly with the first strum of every tune. The Kings played song after song of bruised, swaggering, achy heartache. Songs that stomped through sinning and suffering and made their way back to redemption.
I’m still not sure how their story unfolded, or what considerations there were in terms of the musical direction of the band. We’d all heard quite a bit in the way of speculation. Were they originally going to be a country duo? Did RCA push them to be a rock band, or was it the band’s decision? How big of a role did songwriter Angelo play in developing their sound? In country and pop, of course, songwriting teams are nothing new. Nashville has a large middle-class of songwriters with cuts performed by your favorite country stars, and most fans are none the wiser. But for rock bands, this is sometimes a dubious thing, though even scores of rock acts have had songwriting and production help.
But I’m certain of one thing. It doesn’t matter how it happened. What matters is that this is a band worth its salt, and, as I’ve said many times before, that any Nashville rock act spreading the word about the music scene here bodes well for all of us.
At least the Kings have used their enviable position to uplift other Nashville acts. They took The Features out on the road, and have name-checked Nashville acts in press as often as they’re asked about it. You can see them out any night of the week when they’re in town, checking out local bands and taking the party back to the Gold Rush or Layl’a Rul. They claim Nashville again and again, even as it sometimes holds them at arm’s length. Before they closed the show, singer and guitarist Caleb Followill thanked the crowd for coming out, saying, “It’s good to be back in Nashville.” I think he actually meant it
