Notes on a Thursday

Way back in early August, my parents and I went to a Kings of Leon concert. Before I really get into the experience, I'd like to address one concert etiquette rule that I did not mention in the last post, because I did not feel in necessary. It's the "this is a concert, not a porn film" rule. A little PDA is fine-- you know, you're in love, you're grooving to the tunes . . . it's all gravy, baby. But make-outage to the point where I'm more intimately acquainted with your body than your doctor is just a bit rude.


But anyway, the Followill boys are great. Caleb was the only one that spoke, and he was pretty taciturn. They played two new songs from the record they just cut earlier in the summer, "Mary" and "Goin' Back down South." If these songs are any indication of what the new album is going to sound like, than I'm pretty excited. Caleb played acoustic guitar in both, and it seems like they're going back toward their earlier Youth and Young Manhood/A-ha Shake Heartbreak sound (a move I thoroughly approve of).

They rocked the house (pavilion), each standing in their places pretty solidly the whole time. Matthew Followill moved around the most--shaking his head, moving his guitar around, and in an overall pretty jolly mood, it seems.  Jared Followill, in contrast, seemed the most stoic. They played a decent mix of several different albums, like "Molly's Chambers," "Be Somebody" and so forth. But as amazing as the music was (it sounded just like the album) and the incredible stage set-up (they had tons of stage lights clustered behind them like a wall, that flashed and glowed like burning embers) I couldn't help thinking about the conundrum that the band so excellently illustrates.

all pictures: we heart it

Of course, you want a band you love to be successful. You think they're awesome, and you want other people to think they're awesome, too. . . . Until suddenly they are successful and you don't feel that way anymore. It's frankly kind of saddening when you realize that at least a third of the people in the audience know only two or three songs--maybe the latest album at best. I mean, "Sex on Fire" IS a great song, but it's not their only great song! In fact, there are many others that I like better!


So, when the girl in front of me, who'd been sitting in her chair playing with her phone all night looking like she was miserable, jumped up to dance around . . . I kinda wanted to punch her in the back of the head a little bit. And then I felt bad . . . kida. And I think the band almost feels that way, too. They sounded almost dutiful . . . like they were reciting it. The sex, quite frankly, was not on fire, only smoldering. 


This is not to say that I don't discover bands by hearing one amazing song, then downloading the album, or whatever. And frequently, I do like just one song rather than the artist's entire cannon. I'm not saying you have to learn every single song a band has ever done before you go to their concert . . . frankly, I'm not entirely sure what I'm saying. It's just something to think about.





source: youtube