Promising.

How many bands have been labeled promising by the hype-happy music media, only to come crashing down to Earth with their first album?

For some reason, Kings of Leon looked like the band that could live up to all of the hype: a brilliant EP, a major-label deal, a full-length album with producer-extraodinaire Ethan Johns. These guys looked like nothing could stop them. They were even photographed for Rolling Stone hanging out with the Strokes, for God's sakes.

Made up of three sons of a Pentecostal minister and their cousin, Kings of Leon peppered the Holy Roller Novocaine EP with high-energy, Southern garage rock that sounded like the Strokes mixed with Exile on Main Street-era Rolling Stones and the poppiest tunes of Lynyrd Skynyrd.

And now the first album is upon us. Aside from featuring one of the worst titles of all-time and a ridiculously bland cover design, Youth & Young Manhood also showcases overly glossy versions of the songs that made the EP so great.

Gone is the unchecked aggression and raw edges that defined the EP. Instead we get glossy singles and paint-by-numbers filler.

"California Waiting," which was utterly brilliant before, is reduced to a muddled mess on Youth & Young Manhood. Cowbells litter the intro of the song and the whole thing smacks of overproduction.

"Wasted Time" suffers from similar issues. Lead singer Caleb Followill sings the lyrics in a more syncopated manner than before, over exaggerating his Southern accent. But hey Caleb, we get it. You're Southern. You don't need to sound like a moron.

Luckily, the other two holdovers from the earlier recording, "Holy Roller Novocaine" and the first single, "Molly's Chambers," are left essentially unscathed and, as such, are easily the highlights of the album.

The eight songs that make their debut on Youth & Young Manhood are, for the most part, uninteresting.

The album-opener, "Red Morning Light," is the rare exception. The song bustles with ramshackle charm, building to a sing-along chorus that leaves the listener anticipating what the album can't deliver.

"Spiral Staircase" sounds like a great song musically, but falls victim to Caleb Followill's fumbling Southern accent.

The truly awful also exists on the album, evidenced by such missteps as "Joe's Head" and "Trani." I'd call them forgettable, but that's really just wishful thinking on my part.

Don't be fooled by the rave reviews that have been falling on the Followills. This family band is capable of much, much better. And if we're all lucky in a year or two we'll be discussing Kings of Leon's brilliant sophomore effort.