Three brothers and a cousin, all former builders with an itinerant Pentecostal background - Kings of Leon ain't your typical global rock superstars. And they wouldn't care if it all ended tomorrow, bassist Jared Followill tells Tony Clayton-Lea
THERE ARE a few myths about Kings of Leon that linger in the air like stale cigarette smoke: that they are a manufactured band; that they are not actual family but stray fraternity people who met up with each other while studying biochemistry at Harvard. Their so-called father? He works out of Hollywood. Their so-called mother? She's a stylist. The boys themselves? Models, one and all. Who writes the songs? An overweight guy suffering from extreme hair loss, bad breath and reflex-gagging body odour. Their life? Soon to be seen in a biopic directed and starring Adam Sandler (who will, naturally, play all four members).
The truth is more prosaic: the four members of Kings of Leon are, indeed, family (three brothers and a cousin). They are, in fact, from an itinerant Pentecostal background on the poor side of the Tennessee tracks.
They are actually part of an impressively large extended family and were indeed raised on the road between Memphis and Oklahoma City by their mother (Betty-Anne), while their father (Leon, after whom the band is named) preached the Bible in churches near and far. Their first claim to fame (before they themselves became famous) was that they once lived in the same town that spawned the mighty Justin Timberlake and the almighty Al Green.
Brothers Caleb, Nathan and Jared Followill, and cousin Matthew Followill, have lived with the lies and misdemeanours for too long, however. So, after the myths circulated and refused to die, they took it upon themselves to kill the stories stone dead by doing what they knew they did very well: make happy with the music, and ignore the gossip.
From then to now, the band has amassed such a huge fan base, it's almost embarrassing. Ireland, too, has fallen for their rugged, slim-hipped charms, and if their music resembles nothing other than a turbo-charged Marshall Tucker Band jamming with Lynyrd Skynyrd in a hay barn at the side of the road, then so be it.
The truth (it's prosaic, remember?) is that Kings of Leon are big enough to headline Oxegen, big enough to play Dublin's new O2 venue, and big enough not to care what's written about them.
They are also big enough to stay humble. Which, in a circuitous manner, brings us to Paris a couple of months ago. The City of Light isn't exactly known for its humility, but there's a veritable thrum of it in and around a fourth floor suite in the five-star Hyatt Hotel. The Ticket is here for a playback of the Kings' new album, Only by the Night, which we hear up to a dozen times before we're shown into an ante room to talk to Jared, the youngest of the brothers, and it would seem, the most obvious object of desire for their multitude of female fans.
Jared Followill cuts an unusually casual rock-star figure, all skinny jeans, slim-fit shirts and petite plimsoles. His hair is Topshop model-style, his manners are impeccable, his demeanour affable. In short, he doesn't appear to have the right kind of personality for the rock'n'roll lifestyle.
"It depends on what kind of rock star you want to be," he reasons as he begins smoking a chain of cigarettes that he subsequently rubs out in a nearby beer glass. "There are certain people who get off on being the 'rock star', and it kind of brings out the worst of them and makes them want to be an asshole. But then you meet people like Pearl Jam's Eddie Vedder, who is just a chilled, laid-back person, and who only cares about doing good. He has his head on his shoulders, and that's the kind of rock star I'd like to be. I don't really necessarily want to be a rock star, to be honest."
Yet you're doing what you are doing, and fans say how fantastic you are, so it's virtually impossible to get away from it. How do you match that with your own view of what the "rock star thing" is?
"I've come to find that the most powerful, the best and most influential people in the world are nice and humble, and that it's only the people who struggle with themselves that are brash. The people who you think are always going to be the biggest assholes are always nice, and the people who you think are going to be nice end up being assholes. I just want to be humble and normal more than anything, and that ties in with my background."
It's easy to believe that if the success of Kings of Leon were to suddenly end, they might just take it in their cowboy-booted stride. Remember, the Followill brothers - all former construction labourers - began writing rough-and-ready country/roots songs for other people in their adopted home of Nashville. Strategy didn't figure in their game plan; world domination was, they guessed, the work of the devil.
"I wouldn't care if it ended tomorrow," says Jared in a firm tone. "Really - and I mean that. I like doing what I'm doing, and being in a band is great, but it's all about the music. It's the only part of the experience that doesn't involve stress, getting to create something that you're proud of and excited about."
Getting to see the world is well and good, he implies, but all the other stuff, including the promotion duties, is a necessary evil.
"If it all stopped, I would continue to make music, probably in another band, but also perhaps to get into production. It wouldn't cripple me, that's for sure, I wouldn't go into a great depression. I might even let out a long sigh, sleep for a couple of weeks and carry on. I would love to stay in Nashville and make records; we could make a record a year, no problem. But it just doesn't work that way, you have to tour and do all the peripheral stuff.
"As for the magnitude of our success being overwhelming, well, it isn't necessarily. You can't worry too much about things, because once you stress over them, it can make them come true. I just go with the flow. It's a difficult thing not to think about it too much. Playing gigs like Glastonbury or Oxegen means you have to think about it, but you try not to."
The new album has been hotly anticipated. There are very few "event" releases these days that aren't the preserve of the likes of U2, Coldplay and Oasis. Kings of Leon can now be added to that list, such is their popularity. Does the commercial pressure to deliver the goods impinge on what you do?
"There never was before," considers Jared, "but now that we've had a number-one record, there is a level of pressure to get up there again. That kind of thing creeps into the mind, but for the most part, we just worry about the record being leaked onto the internet.
"I'm old enough to remember that there is something special about the day a record comes out. From my own experience, on the day the record from a band you love comes out, you wake up in the morning, go to the record shop, possibly queue for hours, and get the album. The download thing kills the romance of that stone dead."
Jared has touched on what is perhaps, for a certain generation, the unspoken dread of downloading: it simply isn't fun; it takes away the sense of community that comes from fanboy crushes, and (as he so correctly phrases it) the relationship between listener and music act isn't going to develop any further than a wet kiss.
"There is so much more to a record than hearing it as a download. There is the artwork, being able to hold it and reading the sleeve notes, the lyrics. The truth about the downloading thing, for us, is that it isn't about the money - it just doesn't give us a sense of who or how many like us. Knowing how many people bought the album on the first day or within the first week can give a great sense of achievement or accomplishment to a band. We try not to think about it too much, and hope that the record company will do their job to make it not happen."
Jared stubs out another cigarette, and immediately lights up another one. It's a concentration thing. He makes a face.
He admits to having done "the download thing" when he was younger. "It sucks now just thinking about it. Kids these days seem to only want to buy the download after they've heard the record. And they invariably end up not buying it. I liked buying great records from great bands, but I also bought bad records from good and bad bands, and that informed me. Now, people only want the good stuff."
The actual collecting of records, he opines, will become a thing of the past. "It is just the so-called tastemakers who will have a collection. There's no suspense in buying a record anymore, and that's a bad thing, too."
He looks as if he's about to cuss, so we steer the conversation closer to home. Is it a help or a hindrance to have family so close? Jared brightens up. "It's somewhere in the middle. It's hard to compare it with anything else, because we've never been in other bands. We definitely fight quite a bit, but I think all brothers do if you live in such close proximity to each other."
At the very least, though, there is a bona fide home to go to following the touring; peace and quiet after the soul-destroying aspects of a day spent talking about this, that, everything and nothing in five-star hotels around the world.
"Yes, it's great to be able to go home," nods Jared. "We all have our own houses, and we do our thing. We're normal people, we do what we want, we don't get recognised. Sometimes we'll meet up and jam. We meet up at night and drink at the bar. It's the polar opposite to the kind of thing we do on the road."
• Kings of Leon play Dublin's O2 on December 19th and Belfast's Odyssey Arena on December 20th. Only by the Nightis out today on the Sony/BMG label
SIBLING REVELRY
OASIS
Noel and Liam Gallagher continue to bicker, despite the fact that one without the other would knobble Oasis in an instant. The one thing they agree on: they love their Irish (Duleek, Co Meath) mother, Peggy.
THE STUNNING/THE WALLS
Through the early days of The Stunning to the latter period of The Walls, Steve and Joe Wall have seen 'em come and go. The Stunning played to 7,000 punters at this year's Electric Picnic. Fair play, then.
THE NOLANS
Between 1979 and 1982, Dublin-born siblings Anne, Maureen, Bernadette, Linda and Coleen Nolan notched up seven UK Top 20 hits. They haven't bothered the charts since, yet remain obscure objects of desire for strange men living in remote parts of the country.
THE OSMONDS
A pin-up band of the 1970s, Jay, Merrill, Alan, Wayne, Donny, Jimmy and Marie Osmond remain successful touring concerns, with Donny in particular keeping the band profile steady via his musical theatre work.
THE JACKSONS
Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, Marlon, Randy and Michael Jackson remain the most successful sibling pop act in the world (more than 100 million sales, not counting Michael's solo work). Rumours abound that a reunion tour will come to these shores in 2009. Don't hold your breath.
