The Followill clan certainly have a fascinating story behind them. Products of an errant Pentecostal upbringing and a wildy itinerant lifestyle, their formative experiences were seemingly driven by God, alcohol and poverty. An everyday tale of folks down Oklahoma way.
This strange upbringing is probably why Kings Of Leon have been acclaimed as a breath of fresh air. Inappropriately dubbed 'The Southern Strokes', the mark of of a stylist - surely the bane of everything bad about the music industry - is conspicuously absent in just about everything about them. Nobody would inflict haircuts quite that bad on another human being. They are beyond fashion.
And musically too, the band seem to offer some sort of unsullied purity. Crawling out of history like those Japanese commanders who were still fighting WWII in 1953, they've seemingly been beamed down from another era. As the cliché goes, it's like punk never happened - only, for this lot, it probably didn't. They might think Richard Nixon still has his finger on the button. Their nearest rivals, unlikely as it might sound, are probably Creedence Clearwater Revival.
Yet, this unaffected heart is at the centre of the Kings' appeal. They play old men's music in the spirit of youth - with a straight bat and unparalleled enthusiasm. Unlike The (proper) Strokes there is no sense of textbook irony, pastiche or second hand poses. They are for real.
As such, 'Youth and Young Manhood' is nothing more than a great rock'n'roll album. The hyperbole is unwarranted. Driven by Caleb Followill's peculiarly affecting voice - surely the most indecipherable since Michael Stipe circa 1983 - their songs are basic, succinct and shorn of effects. The jangly guitar and melodic bass line on 'Joe's Head' almost leap out in this company. 'Trani' is a Velvet's ballad played by the Stones while, in the yearning 'California Waiting', which half-inches a Blondie riff, they have one bona fide classic. The likes of 'Red Morning Light', 'Happy Alone' and 'Holy Roller Novocaine' are close behind.
Whether 'Youth and Young Manhood' will sound as good in six weeks, or six years, is another matter. It's almost too much of an anomaly for 2003 - an artefact removed from another decade's soil. A reminder, in these days of marketing and hype, that the best music is made by those who are true only to themselves.
