Challenged to a game of ping-pong backstage after the gig last winter, the band's rather athletic drummer told reporters, "I'm not sure what the etiquette is when you play a prince at table tennis, but hey, I am a king aren't I? It was a hard-fought battle but I took him in the end."
Well, apparently Harry got the last laugh. When his brother William and Kate Middleton's reception was winding down at around two a.m. on Friday night, the younger prince asked the DJ to play the King's "Your Sex On Fire," to disperse the hard-partying crowds, announcing "This is dedicated to William."
The band has no comment, but that might be due to the fact that Nathan Followill just got over a bad bout of food poisoning that sent him to a hospital on April 27. No, it wasn't bad Easter eggs, the culprit was raw oysters. The upside: Nathan is model thin after the how-you-say purge according to a tweet he posted on Saturday: "Good morning. Up early and feeling so much better. Pool time all day. Gotta show off my new body. Lost 10 pounds, jealous?"
As a matter of fact we are!
For more tales of the Princes and Kings keep your eyes open for their new documentary Talihina Sky: The Story of Kings of Leon, screened as a work-in-progress at the Tribeca Film Festival in New York last month. But don't expect it to demystify the band's epic story of upbringing as sons and nephew of an itinerate preacher who was defrocked. Instead it makes their story larger-than-life, showing the exactly how bumpy the road was from being a preachers son (or nephew) to actually playing the devil's music.
So how did they come to be one of the number one rock stars in the world, with fans as famous as Eddie Vedder, Bono and Anthony Bourdain?
According to Caleb Followill it happened when he, Nathan and their cousin Nacho were painting houses in suburban Oklahoma City years ago. They were sniffing the fumes in pursuit of a cheap altered state -- much like the Ramones before them -- when something snapped inside Caleb. "'This is too much like my dad,'" I thought," he tells the Morton Report. "I couldn't go on this way and waste my life. I heard a voice in my head say, 'Write music.' Maybe it was the fumes."
Clearly it wasn't.