"The End" opens the album, an ominous eulogy for sororities across the globe, but calm down ladies, its's a joke. Like sororities. "Radioactive" is the feathering single that proves once again the priceless value of bible verse Folliwill: Cousin. As in the Bible and my experience, Matthews are formidable. Cousin Matthew has silently urged this band further into the choppy musical waters that makes the pain believable. Sure, he's a barbecued Joey Santiago in tight tight pants, but it's never been needed more. As with most Kings albums, the radio gems come first and loud and wet, but the musicianship follows. Though Keith Richards may never notice, "Mary" is a rip-off from the first swell, but molds into a decent fireside tale. While "Back Down South" offers violin-fed free passes into the life of Jacob, the teasing beginning is just that. It rivals the albums' best efforts, but as much fun as it would be to join the Kings family reunion and sing by the fire, listeners are stuck in traffic. The albums later tracks embrace the dirty and honest, finally. "No Money" ups the tempo and reminds us that doubt and insecurity got the Kings this far, and has now earned the right to let go completely. "Pony Up" is plain fun. "Mi Amigo" fearlessly talks girth. With "Pickup Truck", the Nashville sex folk revivalists have officially stated their appreciation for the Pearl Jam gospel of putting a session's best effort last.
The Kings have embraced the mood of 5 years ago in the songwriting and simplicity, but stepped on all the pedals money can buy to create a sonic middle-of-the-road that could possibly wrangle fans from both eras of fandom. This is a band that still needs to be seen live, from the bowels of the church hall to The Garden this Fall. Sundown is appeasing, hopefully for the band as much as the listener. Kings of Leon are the new arena rock. That's a fact, and I can only offer congratulations and condolences.
