she's such a charmer, oh no.
Today, a rather fashionable colleague of mine asked me where I was from while we waited at the same elevator bank. I told her; no surprise there. "Oh- accent?" I asked. "No," she said, "you dress like a southerner."
I certainly didn't have a Confederate flag backpack nor was I wearing a tattered Dollywood tee. How does a southerner dress anyway? Was it my coat? My shoes? I hadn't questioned my sartorial choices since well, last Thursday when I switched my floral flats out with my Chuck Taylors for the Kings of Leon (here on out, referred to as KoL) concert at Madison Square Garden to fit in with the effortless hipsters (oxymoron, right?).
While my friends imbibed $8.75 beer after $8.75 beer at the venue, I bebopped to the carefully honed riffs and Caleb Followill's (the lead singer) nonsensical growling with no buzz under my belt. I'm not saying some alcohol would have improved their muted, not in volume, performance, but maybe I would have enjoyed the concert more had, save the 2 taller individuals blocking my floor seat view, the Kings themselves had succumbed to the rip-roaring snarling and rabid hollering brought on by many an illicit substance. (The audience caught them sober or at least convincingly so; it's like a lunar eclipse or finding Cadbury eggs stateside after Easter, so rare is this). Madison Square Garden, as Caleb reminded us, performing there, well, it's a Big Deal, and the boys' anxiety inhibited what could have been an exceedingly stellar performance. I'm no enabler, but I wasn't swayed enough by the collective experience of hearing some of my most favorite songs with their eager fanbase.
The 4 kings- 3 brothers, 1 cousin- have written their own backwoods mythology: sons of a preacher man, born in Tennessee, they leave the Pentecostal church once their father is defrocked for drinking, and now they pop bottles and date models. Their story is gritty, intriguing, and beckons for a second listen, much like their product, indecipherable wailing against women, booze, et al. I've referred to their schtick, their reputation if you will, as a sailors on leave act: Every week is Fleet Week! And for all their devil-may-care bravado in tight pants, perhaps for all their excessive debaucheries, they really are rebelling against their ascetic past. But they're at their best when they're indulging in degeneracy, on-stage at least.
From the tiny towns of Tennessee to cosmopolitan European centers, the group is touring on the heels of their fourth album, struggling to gain a foothold over the American audience. This concert was a major make-it-or-break-it moment. Yes, MSG was filled to max capacity, and the casual fans who scalped tickets last minute are more fervent admirers now, but I would much prefer the snarling, sputtering group in a smaller venue where the boys can let loose and offer more commentary than "Thank you so much" six-times over.
Live: Kings of Leon Do MSG, to Their/Our Amazement [Time Out New York]
