music
Popularity is related to visibility, right? Example: A majority of high schoolers have seen the homecoming queen, even if they don’t know her personally. Using the same logic, “Law & Order” must be the most successful crime drama in history, because I am yet to find an hour during the day when I can’t find an episode of “SVU” on the tube.
Following this logic, it was no secret that Kings of Leon was the lucky gal (metaphorically speaking) at the Charlottesville Pavilion. From behind the large black square of fabric bearing a skull surrounded by the words “Black Rebel Motorcycle Club” (not to mention the smaller LCD screen used by Irish-born opening act Simple Kid), a few letters from the Kings’ backdrop peeked out—a “Ki-” on one end, a “-on” on the other.
On the count of three, everyone look fabulous! The strapping chaps in Kings of Leon delivered equally stylish rock tracks at the Pavilion.
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Of course, the popular crowd often deals with the most constraints and expectations; this being said, tonight’s gig belonged to the opening acts.
With an unassuming appearance to match his name, Simple Kid took the stage promptly at 7pm. Referenced frequently as the “Irish Beck,” Simple Kid shares a few loves with the man who brought us “Loser”: trip-hop drum samples mixed with acoustic instruments and a self-aware desire to screw around with performance expectations. The LCD screen—Kid’s only back-up—projected his digital accompaniment, his lyrics and (for a memorable duet of “It’s Not Easy Being Green”) Kermit the Frog.
If Simple Kid uses visuals to draw attention to himself, then Black Rebel Motorcycle Club structure their light show around taking themselves out of the picture. Fog wafts around the stage and the band is lit from behind—the audience sees spectres (and, occasionally, the mutton chops of guitarist Peter Hayes) shifting around the stage as if caught in the riptide of their hazy, crashing guitar noise.
The Rebels don’t say much—a simple “Good evening” before launching into “Love Burns” from their self-titled record. With the lights low, the growing crowd in front of the stage is free to let their minds follow the free associations of the sound—an occasional mix of Billy Corgan and cuts from Nirvana’s In Utero—or to simply be spooked by relentless waves of distortion that thud against the docks of their ears.
The Kings of Leon are attractive fellows, all lean, angular style—their shirts cling, their hair swings and their lighting emphasizes the band’s marketable physical features. It’s similarly hard to find a tune that isn’t a perfectly packaged anthem, from the vaguely U2-ish “True Love Way” to the acoustic shine delicately placed over “Fans.” It is vaguely assembly line—a homecoming court—with all the beautiful guitar trills and drum fills arriving at perfectly crafted moments. And the crowd, the band’s classmates, celebrates its Kings from a packed Pavilion floor, singing every word.
