By Isa Jones
By Mary Willson
By Brian Turk
By Drew AIles
By Taylor Boylston
By Bree Davies
By Emerald O'Brien
Thankfully, the band leavens its approach with humor and on-stage shtick, which has helped the group gain ground across the South. "We're like a damn comedy routine," Moore says. "We've developed this rapport on stage; we're like Laurel and Hardy between songs. I have so many people ask for bootlegs that say, 'Man, please don't take out the stuff between songs.' It's entertainment, and it goes a long way."
Despite this goofiness, Moore says the band has been lumped into the same camp as bands like critical darlings Wilco and Son Volt. He makes it clear he doesn't think he and his pals belong there.
"A lot of those bands take themselves too seriously," he says, "and everything is so depressing."
with special guests
10 p.m. Friday, June 23, and Saturday, June 24
3263 South Broadway
"We're not terribly serious, that's for sure," Woolworth says. "When you write songs, it's like an approach to life: You take the good with the bad, and hopefully, you can convey it all and still laugh about it in the end. The idea is to loosen it up."
That's something the Kings do nicely, and their sound is a welcome dose of greenery in the sometimes bland, browned-out genres they so adroitly straddle. That the band's catalogue is being welcomed across their homeland is making the group's name that much more appropriate.
"Let me put it to you this way," Woolworth says of his band's kudzu kinship. "If you look at where we started and where we spread to, it's a natural connection. We've been south and east, but not very far north, because it's not a very hospitable climate. But where it's hospitable for kudzu to grow, you can find the Kudzu Kings, too. The only thing unnatural about us," he notes, "is that we've crossed the Mississippi."