Artist: Kings of Leon

Album: Come Around Sundown

Label: RCA 

Christians often show an interest in—perhaps even empathize with—Kings of Leon, the multi-platinum mainstream band that won 2010's Record of the Year GRAMMY ("Use Somebody") and whose mixed message of religion and rebellion matches its back story. Three of the members are brothers and grew up on the road with their traveling Pentecostal preacher father, Leon Followill. When hard drinking led to the end of his ministry, the Followill sons, not surprisingly, spent less time in church and more time pursuing rock-and-roll, discovering all the righteous and raunchy things that go along with it. But roots run deep, which may explain a 2007 interview with Entertainment Weekly where topics of conversation ran from the band's pre-show ritual (singing "Have a Little Talk with Jesus") to seemingly nonchalant accounts of experimentations with sex and drugs. Three years later Kings of Leon's fifth album, Come Around Sundown, while a great musical achievement, still appears a little too resigned to that double life.

Make no mistake, this band, which sold 6.5 million copies of its previous record, Only by the Night, possesses a rare creative spark that deserves attention. Lead singer Caleb Followill has a voice as strong and memorable as established legends like Levon Helm, Bruce Springsteen, and Eddie Vedder. Likewise, the dynamic interplay of bassist Jared Followill, drummer Nathan Followill, and first cousin/guitarist Matthew Followill is magnetic and comparable to the likes of U2 or R.E.M.; passion and invention before virtuosity. It's all there on Come Around Sundown—the emotional rock ambience of set opener "The End," country charms of "Back Down South" (the band is from Tennessee), unexpected funkiness on "Pony Up," and fuzzed out ‘50s pop and doo-wop on the hit-bound "Mary" are fresh and superior to most modern alternative efforts.

Thematically, however, for every moment of spiritual pursuit ("When the roll is called up yonder I hope you see me there," Caleb sings on first single "Radioactive") there seems to be a retreat into aimlessness ("Mi Amigo" is alright with drunkenness and a coarse anatomical reference). While the deep lyrical truth in one of the band's favorite tunes, "The Immortals," invites eternal reflection ("Don't forget to love before you're gone"), it's hard to just breeze past mildly suggestive lines in "Back Down South" or the outright cursing in "No Money." In that regard, this Sundown becomes a minor letdown. If you listen, do it with discernment.

**This Review First Published October 26, 2010