Growing Up With The Kings

The summer of 2004, after my sophomore year of college, was a liminal space between some semblance of reality and full-blown fantasy. I left Austin with a barely passing transcript and the final snubs of my pledge sisters and roommates to attend Victoria College for both summer sessions. I spent the next few months breezing through summer school while spending every free moment attached to a boy with whom I felt both valuable and worthless simultaneously. The fall semester, I would begin my official demise by privately withdrawing from life all-together while using every ounce of my energy to keep up an appearance of mind-blowing success. This ruse would consume my entire life for the next three years.

But back to the summer at hand: it was during this time that I became an avid listener of the band Kings of Leon. These Southern bad boys exuded all the glamor and excitement of living in the moment and chasing pleasures while giving little or no thought to the consequences. In other words, sacrificing tomorrow for the sake of today. This philosophy was comforting to me at the time; I was living in sheer terror of what the future held and used that fear to fuel my increasing recklessness and to rationalize my immoral behavior. With each step down the well-tread path of self-destruction, I thought, "Better live it up now, because next year you'll probably be on the streets."

After returning to Austin, I threw myself into another relationship with similar emotional benchmarks but ten times more destructive than the one in Victoria. If I was a sinking ship, he was drilling new holes in my flooring by the day. He too was a fan of the band, only far less passionate than I (I don't think he was really passionate about anything, come to think of it). Shortly after we began dating, he gifted me with tickets to a Kings concert.

Prior to attending, I read an article in which the band admitted that they had left their Christian roots behind in favor of the hard-partying life on the road. They also claimed to be headed straight to rehab once the tour was over. I remember my boyfriend laughing hysterically as I reported what I had read, but inside all I felt was deep sadness. Everything that the Kings had represented for me, everything useful for convincing myself that this path was OK, was leading them not to blissful abandon but rather to a Betty Ford clinic. These lies had already stopped working for them - how long before they failed me, too?

Now, fortunately, I never got into drugs or promiscuity. To this day I am not sure exactly why, since every other choice I made during that time was dedicated to killing my soul. The grace of God must have somehow kept some tiny seed of hope alive deep inside me to prevent any decisions that would have left deeper scars or lasting consequences. Still, the exaltation of personal pleasure and the omission of spirituality, responsibility, and meaningfulness served as creeds for both lifestyles.

I don't know if the boys from Tennessee ever did check into a rehab clinic or even found some deeper meaning in their lives, but I do see a dramatic change in their lyrics and overall sound. Previous albums, Youth and Young Manhood and Aha Shake Heartbreak were filled with good ol' Southern rock with a '70s vibe reminiscent of Creedance Clearwater Revival or Led Zeppelin. Then, with Because of the Times in 2007, a noticeable shift towards soulfulness and honesty began. This is also the year that I abandoned my boyfriend, my friends, my apartment and my lifestyle and committed to creating a similar shift within myself.

The Kings' most recent album, Only By The Night, is a far cry from their early work but also their most popular. However, it has received major criticism from early fans who would have preferred the band to remain true to their original sound. Comments such as "Not the Kings of Leon I fell in love with" and "Where is my wild, screaming, singing, panting, ranting, squealing Caleb?" abound on the iTunes reviews. Many long-time fans feel the band has lost integrity by allowing for more studio editing and pursuing new directions. The underriding tone of most of these reviews seems to really be "Who do you think you are?" or "You totally sold out!"

I can empathize with the Kings' quandary: how do you push yourself to grow and change while not angering those who saw you at the beginning? The answer, I have found, is that there are always going to be those who want to box you up. They want to say, "I know you. This is who you are, and if you ever claim to be anything different you are a fraud and a hypocrite." Sometimes this comes from their belief that no one can really change; this "belief" is usually just a tool to help them feel comfortable with their own lack of growth. Other times these people feel abandoned or even judged, and their accusations and scorn come from a place of defensiveness or hurt.

I personally find Only By the Night the most moving and compelling of the four, but I concede that this assessment may be clouded by my sentimentality for the synchronicity of the band's journey with my own. As I endeavor to grow and make choices that nurture soulfulness, honesty, and maturity, I at times think about what people from my past might think. "Who do you think you are?" is the incredulous, accusatory voice that comes to mind - one that I believe I have internalized over the years from these former "friends." It is hard to avoid the temptation to fit into the box people have designed for you. I applaud Kings of Leon for having the courage to break the mold, and I pray that I can do the same.