On album No. 2, these three brothers and their cousin continue to put a trashed-up, mysterious-South spin on garage rock. Caleb Followill's slurred drawl and lewd-boy lyrics are still undeniably riveting; he's like a Faulkner character fronting a band, especially when he lurches into a yodel on ''Day Old Blues.'' Alas, the singer makes a more lasting impression than the songs; beyond the morning-after ballad ''Milk,'' the tunes amount to sharply played but disjointed riffs.

