Kings of Leon, “Can We Please Have Fun.”

The last the world heard from Kings of Leon, the Southern rockers had scrapped the remainder of a 2021 tour to grieve the passing of their matriarch, Betty Ann Followill. What began as a hopeful post-lockdown return dissipated like the sun’s rays overtaken by clouds.

During that break, the band moved on from its label and stayed out of the limelight, which seems to have provided much-needed rest. Brothers Caleb, Nathan and Jared Followill, and their cousin Matthew, have described making their ninth album (and first on Capitol Records) as their most enjoyable, pressure-free experience ever—even more so than 2003 debut Youth & Young Manhood.

Can We Please Have Fun, both an album title and KoL’s mantra while making it, really feels like the early days for the band. Produced by Kid Harpoon (Harry Styles, Florence and the Machine) and mixed by Mark “Spike” Stent, it largely forgoes anything akin to anthemic radio single “Sex On Fire” in favor of jangly rock that sometimes meanders and sometimes wallops just hard enough to vary the pace. This isn’t an entirely new direction; Kings of Leon showed some interest in going there on 2021’s When You See Yourself, but it’s more pronounced now, as is Caleb Followill’s lyricism, which looks more outward and shows more concern about where we’re all headed than ever.

The easy-going, pressure-free and positive mindset of Kings of Leon while making the album didn’t translate to songs about breezy, sun-kissed days and butterflies. Numerous times, themes of trying to come up for air during tragedies both shared and private pop up on Can We All Have Fun, an album dedicated to Betty Ann Followill.

Album opener “Ballerina Radio” sets the scene and mood in a place without opportunity: “Sunday supper coming from a can/ Ravioli and plastic parmesan/… Radiator burns along your quilt/.. All the books I never learn to read/ Ones about detectives chasing leads/ Wise than I/ All philosophize.” The noir-like narrative comes not over rain-slicked tones but a restrained poppy melody, simmering to break free. Over metallic wind chimes and guitar noise, bassist Jared fervently propels the song forward.

Yet sitting right there in the chorus is some positivity—”I’m a masochist, I know”—about finding beauty in ugly things.

The ominous clouds turn darker on “Nowhere to Run,” which combines the KoL’s Southern leanings with the post-punk-influenced sound of early aughts contemporaries like Bloc Party, the Bravery or Futureheads. It also works in a relatable metaphor about being stuck on a plane with a crying baby.

“There’s a war outside/ We should all get high/ And give a kid goodbye/ There’s just nowhere to run,” Caleb Followill sings in his raspy drawl. The danceable song is an early album highlight.

The band’s post-punk bent is even more prominent on the album’s best song, “Nothing to Do,” a tangle of live wires and anxiety. There’s nothing quite like it in the Followills’ catalog, though in their younger days, Kings of Leon showed a similar type of pent-up energy release on songs like 2003’s “Molly’s Chambers.”

This taut energy, sonically represented by one- or two-note guitar and bass dirges, is also present on fist-pumping rocker “Mustang” and melodic up-tempo tunes “M Television” and “Rainbow Ball,” all three of which are the album’s strongest connections to Kings of Leon of the prior decade. But while Caleb Followill’s urgent howling is instantly recognizable, the songs are not redos of “Use Somebody.” The fast-paced percussion of Nathan Followill on the latter shares some similarities with electronic music.

The middle section of the album slows the pace down with a trio of more meandering songs in “Actual Daydream,” “Split Screen” and “Don’t Stop the Bleeding.” The first of the three mixes in angular and surf-like guitar chords and effects, as well as a chorus structure that borrows from ’50s doo-wop or Brill Building pop. The meditative “Split Screen” is softer and more ethereal—a straightforward guitar-led ballad.

The album concludes with angsty-feeling “Hesitation Generation,” folky and gauzy tune “Ease Me On,” which sounds like an apology for some sort of misstep, and garage rocker “Seen,” an effective album closer in that listeners will be stuck in its reverie. The Tennessee band mixes in some lower-register harmonies from the siblings before ending the album where it started with the wind chimes.

Follow editor Roman Gokhman at Twitter.com/RomiTheWriter.