Pitchfork

Kings of Leon remind of when I was young boy, and I would go to the grocery store with my mom. I would ride in the cart until it got too full of cookies and whatnot, and I hated the produce department because nothing in it would ever enter my mouth. Back then, grocery stores always stocked generic versions of everything. Peas in cans with white labels reading "peas" in black letters; bread in a white bag that said "bread." "The Bucket" should come in a white jewel case that reads "Southern rock." It doesn't deserve adoration, nor does it trigger contempt. It's generic. It resembles something good (Allman Brothers, Skynyrd, The Strokes, whatever), but it lacks those secret little ingredients that make the namebrand stuff just enough better to warrant blowing a couple extra pennies.

Judging from the Followill boys' bio, maybe they just haven't experienced firsthand the necessary pain and tragedy that infuses much of their influences' music (excepting The Strokes, who substitute this with magic). What these boys need is a little alcoholism, drug abuse, some tour bus herpes, maybe a brush with Death or two. Oh yeah, and miserable and abusive childhoods. All I know is that Gregg Allman's bio doesn't say shit about the stress of going to a bunch of different grade schools. Shame, too, because Caleb Followill has one of those God-given voices that you really want to tell you about drugs, herpes, and the devil. I'm sure it will sound fine on "The O.C."