There are few early queuers, reflecting the distance that has grown between them and the band since Aha Shake Heartbreak and their third opus sent them into the major league of inaccessible rock stars.
Outside some stylish fans are being phographed in order to portray how music can influence fashion which is understandable as the Kings have been trend setters in their own right.
The journey through Atlanta rockers Snowden was purgatory, though we at least knew we were going to a better place. They tried very hard to impress with tremendous energy and stage presence, but nobody really cared.
What Kings lack in dynamism on stage, they more than make up for in their songs. This show, more than ever before, is about civilized appreciation, with minimal beer throwing and crowd surfing.
Caleb Followill’s short hair symbolises the changes the band have undergone. Along with their maturer direction, the Kings have a better stage set up – half way through the show several disco balls appeared, blinding us with bright light to leave a silouette of Caleb as he sung Milk.
As the crowd repeatedly sing back, ‘Woah, oh, oh, woah, oh, oh,’ during Knocked Up, guitarist Matthew Followill made a shyly attempt at suppressing his smile on realisation at the recption Kings were generating. Maybe he was smiling at the appropriateness of the song Fans in which Caleb whipped out his acoustic guitar and bayed “All of London sing,” to which the crowd dutifully obeyed.
Or perhaps he still gets overwhelmed by the success of nights like these. London is their favourite city. Ending with McFearless, they left us both mystified and satisfied.