Review: When You See Yourself Is a Murky Change of Pace for Kings of Leon

Calling When You See Yourself the best Kings of Leon album in years would be damning it with faint praise. But the band’s eighth album marks the first time in well over a decade that Caleb Followill, brothers Nathan and Jared, and cousin Matthew sound like they’re pushing themselves to do something other than churn out safe, generic rock fare. It’s a slow, murky album, full of vintage synths and reverb, and a preponderance of turgid tempos and overlong running times—not to mention Caleb’s usual po-faced lyricism—turn it into a bit of a drag. Yet, it’s been so long since Kings of Leon have tried something new that it’s ultimately more endearing than any of their other post-“Sex on Fire” output.

Despite being the epitome of mainstream rock—or what’s left of it—Kings of Leon have never come close to reinventing the wheel, but at their best, they’ve incorporated distinctive, quirky elements into their sound, from Jared’s rollicking basslines to Caleb’s nigh-incomprehensible Southern brogue. And wisely, When You See Yourself gives each member of the band room to stretch out a bit. Jared, for one, gets to play a couple of unexpectedly jazzy basslines on “Stormy Weather” and “Supermarket”—the highlights of two otherwise dull tracks—and is better utilized on this album than he has been in a while.

It’s Matthew, however, who’s most crucial to When You See Yourself’s timbre. For one thing, an overreliance on studio effects had almost completely sucked all the personality out of his guitar playing on the band’s last few efforts. But there’s finally a bit of tube-amp bite and growl back in his tone, granting some edge and adrenaline to the album’s scant bona-fide rockers. It’s also Matthew’s vintage synths that are critical to its sound. A twinkling arpeggiator adds propulsion to the sweeping “When You See Yourself, Are You Far Away,” while dreamy string pads provide a warm haziness to “100,000 People.” These retro tones are risky for the band, who have crossed over into histrionic ’80s revivalism in the past—and do so again with the cheesy “Time in Disguise.” But more often than not, these elements are used tastefully and texturally here, as on “Golden Restless Age,” wherein they complement the nervy new wave-y riff that drives the song.

With the band’s musicianship in peak form, it’s Caleb’s songwriting that limits the album’s impact. Marriage and fatherhood have expanded his inner monologue beyond fratboy misogyny and rock-star posturing. But he still doesn’t have much of interest to say: “I’m going nowhere, with you on my mind,” he sings on “Supermarket.” With several plodding five-minute runtimes and arrangements that tend toward atmospherics, many of these songs rely on the singer’s mere presence to justify their sense of pomp.

Caleb’s pained sincerity and lyrical vagueness are at least more tolerable than what comes out when he actually tries to write about something. On “100,000 People,” inspired by his father-in-law’s struggles with dementia, he uses up as much space describing the layout of the protagonist’s nursing home as he does getting at the song’s emotional core. Elsewhere, “Claire & Eddie” is an attempt at a pro-environmental anthem that results in clunkers like “Ooh, fire’s gonna rage if people don’t change.” Even a single thought-provoking line, like the opening couplet of the weary, bittersweet acoustic closer “Fairytale,” is enough to emphasize how banal almost all the rest of the lyrics are: “Inconsistent love masked in a fairytale/You play along and you wear it well.”

On the few occasions where the album’s tempo kicks up a notch, Caleb’s lack of gravitas is easily overshadowed by the band’s energy and synergy. “The Bandit” and “Echoing,” both buoyed by Matthew’s sprightly riffing, are the most rousing, organic-sounding rock songs that Kings of Leon have released in ages. Don’t call it a comeback, but with enough moments like those scattered throughout, it leaves the door cracked for the possibility of a new beginning.