Use Somebody
There’s something about Caleb Followill’s voice that just works. It’s got this worn-in quality, like he’s been screaming into a microphone in dive bars for years, which I guess he has. Kings of Leon came up in that era when rock bands were supposed to have something to prove, and Followill’s delivery had real hunger in it—not performative, just genuinely hoarse and present.
Use Somebody
is the obvious one, the song that got them everywhere. It’s a perfect pop-rock structure if you strip away the earnestness: big hooks, a chorus that builds, that propulsive rhythm. But what works is how much restraint lives in it. It’s not trying to overwhelm you. Followill’s voice cracks a little, stays intimate even when the whole thing blooms out. The lyrics are simple enough—wanting to be wanted, the specific ache of needing someone who sees you. Everyone gets that. That’s why it stuck around.
I went back to this song recently for the first time in years, and it still holds up. Not because it’s clever or groundbreaking, but because it’s got sincerity without being sappy, and Followill commits to every line like it matters. That’s the thing about Kings of Leon that people sleep on now—they were always better than they needed to be, even when they were just making radio hits. There’s craft underneath the accessibility. You can hear it in the production, in how the song builds, in when Followill pulls back and when he lets it rip.
The band peaked somewhere around here, maybe a little after. They got bigger and slicker, and something about that rawness got sanded down. But this song—this one’s got all the DNA you need. It sounds like wanting something you might not get, and knowing that you’re going to want it anyway. That doesn’t change.