Kings of Leon @ Brixton Academy

It’s funny how the most clued up, forensically aware fan of indie rock can sometimes miss the glaringly obvious; following the trials and tribulations of your average struggling act du jour may be all well and good, but it can mean that when you take your eye off the previous batch of potential heroes, one might just have become massive before you even realised it.
Case in point being Tennessee’s Kings of Leon. Tonight’s show, a warm-up before headlining the vast fields of V Festival, takes place in what they now consider to be the intimate charms of Brixton’s 5,500 capacity Academy theatre. It may not be quite on the scale of say, Metallica (who consider their upcoming gig at South London’s 02 Arena to be something of a low-key jolly) but it does mark the familial quartet to be quite the notable act these days.
This is reflected in the crowd. No schmindie kids here, just vast amounts of couples, groups of city workers out on a night out and readers of something a little more glossy than your average indie rag. That’s not to mean that these people aren’t fans; this show sold out quick enough to mark out ticket buyers as bona-fide worshippers. Certainly the empty-handed touts outside seem to be a little exasperated by the whole affair.
Inside, the appearance of the group at 9pm sharp is greeted by roars of joy and expectation in equal measure. The confidence imbued in the band whilst on these shores is similarly reflected in their choice of opener; the as-yet unreleased ‘Crawl’ is heavy on the rock riffs, doesn’t skimp on the posturing and includes a screaming stadium rock solo to boot. It says: “Hi there, we’re a really fucking big band, welcome to our little gathering”. Playing out in front of an almost oversized stage set – clearly designed with their upcoming arena tour in mind – the various mirrorballs, hanging screens and vast array of brilliant lights set the band apart from the usual “will this do?” collection of alternate flashing lights invariably found in the rock theatres of the world. Production-wise, it seems unlikely they’re making too much of a profit tonight.
Not that that’s the aim of the Kings of Leon game; theirs is to entertain a crowd hungry to devour their near non-stop delivery of strapping, FM-pleasing rock, and it seems almost too easy. Every song thrown out to the crowd is devoured mercilessly, from the staccato drumming and fuzzy, sleazy bass of ‘My Party’, to the robotic southern boogie of ‘Razz’ through to dustball grunge of ‘Molly’s Chambers’.
There is of course, a new album to play out, and the handful of choices aired show no indication that the band’s popularity will abate any time soon. ‘Sex on Fire’ – in part a knowingly-titled nod towards their randy young men status that’s held since day one – already sounds like the biggest song in the set, an anthem in mid-realisation, set to slay by Christmas. ‘Manhattan’ and ‘Knocked Up’ thrum with power and intensity and illustrate the results of slogging through the arenas with the likes of Pearl Jam in the past 18 months. Indeed, there’s very little of the coiled-snake venom about frontman Caleb and co tonight, largely relaxed and handling the crowd with ease, with this evening’s one hour forty-five minute show feeling like a mass knees up.
Any notions of them not being able to hold such large crowds for so long are quickly dispelled as they run through what seems like an endless slew of hits. There’s one particular tranche of songs as the band gallop towards the main set’s conclusion that definitively outlines their particular qualities and, indeed, mass appeal as they impressively dispatch ‘California Waiting’, ‘The Bucket’ and ‘On Call’ with nary a breath in-between.
Cynics might suggest that the during a night with Kings of Leon, the songs ultimately blend together into a vast mulch of up-tempo rock with little to separate one powerchord and drums onslaught from the next, but that’s to ignore the subtle qualities that make songs like the omni-riff ‘King of The Rodeo’ so compelling. There’s also the fervent reaction from the heaving audience to consider. Nearly six thousand people can of course, be wrong, but probably not entirely.
“It’s good to be home” announces Caleb with an affectionate smirk – a less than disguised nod towards their huge popularity on these shores compared to their relative lack of profile in the United States. As if he needed to make their affinity with the English crowd clearer, he adds that “we only played one show in the States before we realised we wanted to be back here again”, to an expected roar of approval.
Given the two hundred thousand or so people who have bought tickets to see them play in the upcoming months on these shores, don’t expect them to be leaving ‘home’ any time soon.
‘Crawl’
‘Black Thumbnail’
‘Taper Jean Girl’
‘My Party’
‘Razz’
‘Molly's Chambers’
‘Wasted Time’
‘Sex On Fire’
‘King Of The Rodeo’
‘Fans’
‘Arizona’
‘Milk’
‘Four Kicks’
‘California Waiting’
‘The Bucket’
‘On Call’
‘Mcfearless’
‘Pistol Of Fire’
‘Trani’
‘Knocked Up’
‘Manhattan’
‘Charmer’
‘Slow Night, Slow Long’

Gareth Dobson