FUCK YEAH KOL
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Caleb Followill, he’s unbelievably skinny and has curious corners on the backs of his ears. He is much given to delicately smoothing his flowing hair round the sides of said lugs. To match his girl’s hips and lady’s face, he has apparently dressed in woman’s clothes too - a pinch-waisted, calf-length coat and a floppy felt hat. He is part-elf, part-1930’s English ma’am. The cherry on this strange cake is a rough, scratchy singing voice seemingly made from eating cigarettes and gargling Bourbon at the bottom of a swamp.
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Nathan Followill is the drummer, the eldest of the three brothers and a cousin who comprise the most feted - and most lusted-after - American band since The Strokes. He is heavily bearded and shorter than you’d think. He is the band’s most sage member, but also their biggest liar and greatest joker.
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Jared Followill, on the other hand, is the picture of effusive, eager-beaver, comically agitated youth. The band’s bass player, he was 15 when Kings of Leon started, 16 when the band made their big splash at Glastonbury 2003.
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Matthew Followill, the cousin, is a serious-faced chap, he doesn’t say much at all. He still has the puffy face of youth, and wears an unfortunate vest that scoops down towards his nipples. He may be a bit of a whizz on the guitar but he looks baffled, and ultimately frustrated, by the ret of what goes on around the job of being in a band. If he’s not a hobbit, he’s like Beck’s fat wee brother.
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