uccessful bands always have shticks.

Whether it’s an image or a back story, acts that seize the public’s interest have a bit more to them than just great songs – regardless of how much it’s flaunted.

Even bands like R.E.M., whose shtick was that it had no shtick, understand the benefits of multilayered charisma.

With the Nashville-by-way-of-seemingly-everywhere quartet, The Kings Of Leon, you can take your pick of the shtick litter.

They look like they fell off a 1971 Allman Brothers Band tour bus (or off the screen during Cameron Crowe’s “Almost Famous”).

Bassist Jared Followill was only 14 when the band started in 2000.

The band consists of three brothers and a cousin who spent their childhood traveling the South with their preacher father/uncle, spreading religion and ‘70s southern rock.

Despite all the developmental quirks, that last one has played the biggest role in defining the band’s debut and hindering the follow up.

On early EPs and 2003’s “Youth and Young Manhood,” Kings were able to channel the riotous spirit of southern blues both musically and through Caleb Followill’s murky drawl.

But now, they travel the globe instead of just the Bible Belt and, more often than not, come across tired and unmotivated.

Though the moody “Taper Jean Girl,” the circular “The Bucket” and the frenzied “Velvet Snow” are as good as anything in the band’s catalogue, the remaining nine tracks splice odd rock filler between almost-there acoustic moments.

The relatives have grown tighter and more confident on their instruments, but this actually works against the band.

Despite recording live without the aid of overdubs, “Aha Shake Heartbreak” lacks the sweaty gruffness that southern rock needs. Flawless recording doesn’t make the down-on-your-luck lyrics and image very convincing either.

To regain that spark, Kings Of Leon needs to let down its guard and find that lost southern comfort.