Kings of Leon finally reign on stage in an impassioned union with fans
Kings of Leon 02 Arena
After two years in financially precarious suspension, live music is finally, unapologetically, back. To judge from the BBC’s coverage, Glastonbury went off like there was no tomorrow, and in the capital last week, this writer witnessed explosive performances from Jack White, LCD Soundsystem and even the septuagenarian Rolling Stones, each unleashing pent-up energies in thrilling communion with ecstatic audiences. For better or worse, it’s just like the pandemic never happened.
One had to wonder whether Nashville’s notoriously monosyllabic Kings of Leon would drop their usual frosty demeanour sufficiently to engage with this magical moment.
In the 2000s, with five albums in seven years, the hirsute Tennessee quartet were firing on all cylinders in all departments – except onstage, where they appeared curiously frozen, like deer caught in the headlights of the very success to which they’d aspired.
Had they rolled up at Hamburg’s Kaiserkeller in 1960, à la the Beatles, club owner Bruno Koschmider would surely have barked “Make show! Make show!” at them to the point of cardiac arrest.
On the first of two nights at the O2, the capital’s favourite enormodome was properly packed, with nary a vacant seat in its vertiginous upper tier. Rowdy singalongs greeted supporting Scots pop-rockers the Snuts, and the intermission’s crowdcam (a nod to Kings of Leon’s latest album title, When You See Yourself) prompted couples of varying gender mixes to snog enthusiastically for the big screens.
There was so much energy in the room, and the three Followill brothers and cousin Matthew expertly capitalised on it with a robust display of rockin’ son-et-lumière, all but bereft of cheap showman’s patter, often recalling Pearl Jam with more visual pizzazz and less of the Eddie Vedder hand-wringing monologues.
After a pair of looseners from the new record, a three-track run from 2004’s UK-conquering second album Aha Shake Heartbreak culminated in Taper Jean Girl’s irresistible Motown beat, which took the concert to a thrilling early high. In the ensuing Knocked Up, Matthew relinquished his guitar to corral a massed “oh-oh-oooh” chorus, while Caleb’s melancholy alt-rock songcraft resounded to the point of rattling the roof structure.
Out front, 40-year-old Caleb cut a less terrified figure than in the 2000s, swept up in every song, his voice a one-setting bark which brought uniform soulful urgency to each song.
Before Fans, he reminded the crowd that he’d written the song as a thankyou for Britain’s initial acceptance. As the mighty refrains of Use Somebody and Sex on Fire soon sailed forth, it was hard to imagine a more impassioned union of performers and audience.