Saturday 15th November 2025
O2 Arena, London, England
schilderwald (noun)
a “forest of signs”, a place overwhelmed by directions and signs competing for attention
Heading south on a train out of Manchester once again, I pass the now-familiar sight of the Jodrell Bank observatory, its 250-foot white dish trained at the gloomy stormswept sky. The iconic radio telescope has become a familiar sign on my increasingly frequent journeys to London; as a casual science buff it’s a welcome early treat as the rail takes me to the capital, and on my return journeys it becomes my very own Angel of the North, a sign that I will soon arrive at the comforts of home.
The train passes the great white dish slower than usual, a speed limit imposed as a consequence of delays and damage to the railway line by Storm Claudia sweeping over the country. Its ear cupped skywards, the radio telescope has long been used to observe stars and pulsars and further our understanding of the universe. It has searched for signs of extra-terrestrial life. At the dawn of the Space Age, it diligently tracked Sputnik in its flight. But soon the train trundles past, and all this passes from my mind. For today my thoughts are trained London-wards, my ears directed towards a rather different star.
Because, like it or not, Tyler Childers is a ‘star’ now. Some fans are disappointed by this; they are pushed away or leave, disenchanted, for various reasons. But other ones take their place. The fanbase grows, the faces change; even the face of Tyler, with his youthful and clean-shaven look tonight a commendable change from the grungy, bearded hellraiser of what many consider his ‘peak’ years. From the stage of the O2 Arena tonight – capacity 20,000 – he remarks that the first time he played in London, not a great many years ago, it was to eight people – “including my road manager” – in the Slaughtered Lamb pub.
To my surprise, at the end of the night I leave the gig in an odd state of mind, unsure of how I have felt about it all. It has been a warm, energetic performance, and Tyler and his band really put on a show. And yet, something about it, or at least my experience of it, has felt a tad hollow. I would fully encourage those reading this review to listen to this artist, and to see this powerful act live, but I think a review merely glazing the arena-level Tyler Childers experience would have little worth. The more interesting thing for me, in writing this review, is in exploring this unexpected feeling of hollowness after seeing one of my favourite contemporary artists.
As a disclaimer, I should say this is not a hit piece, and it’s certainly not political. Tyler Childers has come in for some criticism for political stances over the years, but I’m personally indifferent to it all. Long Violent History didn’t do anything for me, but it didn’t do anything against me either. I find his rationale on refusing to perform ‘Feathered Indians’ a bit silly, but nothing to get heated about, even if I would love to hear the song live. I didn’t like ‘In Your Love’, but that wasn’t because of any gay miner video, but because I find the song itself consciously safe and mainstream, a worrying sign of an authentic artist trending more hollow than holler. I’ve written my thoughts on artists getting political in numerous other reviews, seeing neither a need for fans to get angry about it nor a need for artists to burnish themselves with it. My thoughts on that are probably not worth the bytes they’re coded on, and besides, there’s nothing political about tonight.
Rather, I think what disconcerts me is the polish. This is very much a “show” tonight, and not exactly what you’d expect when a bunch of country boys show up with guitars and pedal steel. Everything is curated, everything is smooth and prepared. Large screen projects fantastic coloured videos tailored to each song; a visual feast, and something I’d seen done to great effect by Paul McCartney in Manchester last year. But Paul McCartney is the most famous musician in the world and has played his songs a million times over. You know you’re going to get ‘Hey Jude’, ‘Blackbird’, ‘Live and Let Die’. With Tyler Childers only 34 and – with respect – only one truly, truly great album in his catalogue (Purgatory), the tailored visuals betray the fact that there’ll be no spontaneity tonight. Everything is pre-planned and everyone is going to stick to the script; you know what you’re going to get. Tonight we’re watching an artist at their peak in terms of commercial success, an independent artist who has drawn a crowd of 20,000 to an arena in a foreign country. But we’re not watching an artist at their peak, creatively. A week earlier I saw the Red Clay Strays set the night on fire in Birmingham through sheer talent and upwards momentum. Tyler and his band should still be in that same thrilling moment. An artist of this level of talent should set the nearby Thames on fire. But theirs is a flame that is carefully stoked rather than set loose.
Perhaps this hollowness then is merely sadness on my part, or even ingratitude. The common objection I’ve seen to criticisms of Tyler Childers, particularly after his odd, dissonant Snipe Hunter album released earlier this year, is that an artist is free to go where they will, and “if you don’t like it, don’t listen to it”. Fair enough, and certainly I’m not one of those who crudely retort that “he was better when he was on the drugs”, even though at that time he seemed a force of chaotic genius, deeply soulful and firing off incredible songs in such number that, years later, there are still unreleased gems that fans are desperate to hear as proper studio recordings.
I live clean myself, and have never liked the ‘tortured artist’ trope. I remember the first time I really saw Van Gogh’s famous ‘Self Portrait with Bandaged Ear’ – I mean, really saw it and understood its power. A self-portrait is an artist sitting down and, stroke by stroke, analysing themselves. Van Gogh faced what he had done to himself in his self-mutilation and painted it and admitted it to himself. I realised then that Van Gogh wasn’t a great artist because he was crazy. He was a great artist in spite of being crazy. Who knows what greater wonders that poor man could have done without that horrible burden. And while of course Tyler Childers is not on that level of creative genius, the same logic applies. Everything that Tyler did “when he was on the drugs” was done in spite of them, not because of them, and getting sober is one of his most admirable achievements.
And yet, something has been lost. A spontaneity, an exuberance. The night’s far from joyless: there’s a great energy and quality of song, and Tyler himself beams with smiles and a verbose – though clearly rehearsed – humour when talking to the crowd. He sells it well, but I’m reluctant to lionise salesmen. The beard has been shaved, and the rough edges shaved off with it. The upstart Kentucky boy who wrote killer songs in his head while working odd jobs, producing more dynamite than you’d find in the local coal mines, is now actively angling for Grammys and mainstream acceptance. The breath of fresh air from the Appalachian hills has now been bottled for mass consumption. The thing that made us sit upright when we heard ‘Nose on the Grindstone’ or ‘Lady May’ or ‘Shake the Frost’ for the first time is now much harder to find. And the fans who became fans because of that special quality, well, they drift away – or, like me, arrive in the O2 in the hope of catching a remnant of it. But nothing halts that spit-in-your-eye alternative momentum than showing that you want to be accepted by the mainstream after all.
In attempting to find the right words for this peculiar feeling of unease, of disquiet, even when I have thoroughly enjoyed the night, I come across the German word schilderwald. Coined for the bewildering array of competing traffic signs and signals at busy intersections, it literally means “forest of signs”. I seize on it gratefully to explain my unknown feeling. In the O2 Arena tonight we’re in the Childerswald. There are many competing signs, many directions to go, and no one path is any clearer than another. As thousands of phones light up around the arena for people to record ‘In Your Love’ for their TikTok feeds, many raised high to show themselves singing along or crying performatively, I find myself thinking that many of these people wouldn’t be caught dead in places like The Slaughtered Lamb. Which isn’t to imply in any way that I’m a better fan; only that I’m one who has perhaps been left a few steps behind on the path Tyler has chosen to go down. These are Tyler’s people now. To use the corporate phrase his management team may well deploy as they chart his future course, they are his ‘target audience’.
For better or for worse, Tyler Childers has become an artist known as much for his left-turns and divided fanbase as for his undoubted quality as both a singer and a songwriter. This is evident in the live experience; the night at the O2 is opened by Omni of Halos, a Swedish alternative grunge-rock band whose sound is a heavy and distorted one. For people who like this kind of music, it’s the kind of music they’ll like. But even though the band have a pedal steel player, it’s an incongruous sound for a night of country music. The Swedes are followed by The Magic Numbers, a British indie rock band who are closer to the vibe we’re looking for with their melodic ‘Love’s a Game’ and the slight dissonance on ‘Sweet Divide’. They get deservedly warm applause from the crowd, but fans are still having to work to forge a path through the Childerswald to get back from where Tyler, in his latest left-turn, has sent us.
But it’s in the main set that the bewildering array of signs and lights competing in this forest become more evident tonight, even if the power of Tyler and his band do much to bring us through. Tonight is part of a tour to promote Snipe Hunter, Tyler’s latest album, which has drawn mixed reactions from his fanbase. I place myself firmly and unapologetically in the ranks of those whose reaction was ‘mixed’. I expected more from the production (particularly as the producer once made one of my favourite albums, Tom Petty’s Wildflowers). It was needlessly sloppy and dissonant, with naïve experimentation that criminally distorted the vocals of one of modern music’s most characterful singers. Even more disquieting was that half the songs on the album were instantly forgettable, which is quite alarming for such a talented songwriter. Recognise that Snipe was the latest addition to an album release run that comprises 2023’s lightweight Rustin’ in the Rain, 2022’s bloated, indulgent Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven? and 2020’s irrelevant fiddle instrumental Long Violent History, and it becomes easier to understand the frustration of long-time fans.
These concerns – or admissions of disappointment – can be scoffed at by the vigilant stans who man the keyboards in Tyler’s defence, or drowned out by the off-key singing of the TikTok day-trippers and drunken cosplay cowboys who now flock to his shows, but their validity is proven somewhat by the fact that when the Snipe Hunter songs are played tonight, they’re actually pretty good.
‘Nose on the Grindstone’ is of course a fan favourite that was unsullied long before it was attached to the album, and it gets a fine reception tonight in the middle of Tyler’s mini acoustic set. Rather, it’s other songs which blossom when freed from the consequences of Snipe Hunter‘s bad decisions; the throwaway ‘Down Under’ becomes a bit more agreeable, and ‘Watch Out’ proves itself to be a good song underneath – not a beloved ‘Purgatory’ or ‘Country Squire’-level song, but maybe a ‘Creeker’.
Without the distortion of the album cut, which makes it pretty much unlistenable, the titular ‘Snipe Hunt’ emerges as a rather pleasant rocker when played straight by Tyler and his band. The opening one-two punch of ‘Eatin’ Big Time’ and ‘Dirty Ought Trill’ are good enough on the record but really show their worth live, setting us up for a rewarding night. But even so, that note of disquiet and hollowness which I keep returning to is there from this very first song. The artist who once wrote and sang compassionately – and does so again tonight – of the grandmother sitting in the corner in ‘Follow You to Virgie’ now sings of “blowing a thousand fucking dollars” on a Weiss wristwatch he’s now “flexing”.
But the hollowness I refer to is not solely attributable to Snipe Hunter. After all, ‘Bitin’ List’, another new song from the album, is already a crowd favourite and gets a roar of recognition from the London crowd as Tyler introduces it. He clearly loves it too, barking manically during the coda. If ‘Bitin’ List’ does seem a bit of a novelty song, there’s no harm at all in revelling in it while it still remains, for the moment, fresh and fun.
Instead, the hollowness resounds at some surprising moments. An early rendition of ‘I Swear (to God)’ is slightly pedestrian, a far cry from the energy with which I heard it live in London a few years ago, where it was one of the best songs on the night. ‘Jersey Giant’, which has become something of a country standard despite Tyler having not recorded a studio version of it, is capably done and yet rather bloodless, lacking the magic of his old lo-fi version that circulates among more devoted fans. Once Tyler’s found the right way he wants to do the song, I’ve no doubt he can revive its understated, wistful charm. But charming understatement is not the tone Tyler and his Weiss watch have been looking to strike in recent years; it’s not the path he’s chosen through the Childerswald. Tonight ‘Jersey Giant’ feels routine and out of place, as though Tyler feels obligated to sing it and reclaim it following its success with other artists.
The swarm of brightly-lit phones raised high to greet ‘In Your Love’, played just before ‘Jersey Giant’, are more accurate signage on this forest path. Aside from one good line (“some men search for ages…”), I’ve never been able to really like ‘In Your Love’, and Lord knows I’ve tried. It feels written to order, a sanitised ‘Feathered Indians’ replacement targeted to pull in casual, mainstream listeners with its generic lyrics and clichéd sentiment. What’s more, two of the more recent releases from Tyler are sweeping, romantic songs that hit all the marks that ‘In Your Love’ cloyingly smothers. Neither get an airing tonight: ‘Oneida’ remains on Snipe Hunter, a tidy number among a collection of red-headed stepchildren, while ‘A Song While You’re Away’ – a real gem, and proof that Tyler can still be produced well – languishes in, of all places, last year’s Twisters soundtrack.
Happily, however, the good thing about the Childerswald is that even if one route predominates and defines this current moment of Tyler’s career, there is still an array of glittering signs to transfix those of us who are disenchanted, and who would want those paths to be taken instead.
One such path is Tyler’s acoustic set in the middle – both literally and figuratively. After ‘Watch Out’ in the middle of tonight’s set, Tyler leaves the band on the stage and hustles along a pre-planned route through the crowd, towards a smaller lighted stage in the middle of the pit. Here, he straps on an acoustic guitar and sings, solo, the fan favourite ‘Lady May’. His bandmates C.J. Cain and Jesse Wells then join him, on guitar and fiddle respectively, for the afore-mentioned ‘Nose on the Grindstone’ and ‘Follow You to Virgie’.
This is the authentic, earthy Tyler we thirst for. During ‘Lady May’, which was the first song of Tyler’s I ever heard, I pull my attention away from the red-headed figure beneath the lights and back towards the main stage, now dark. The large screens remain on, projecting the image from the camera that zooms in on Tyler. He looks young, innocent and vulnerable; his eyes impossibly bright. For all the artistic left-turns he’s taken through the Childerswald, I am at least glad that the path he’s taken has been one of sobriety. By the time of the third and final song of this mini set, ‘Follow You to Virgie’, I find myself thinking that I could happily listen to a full acoustic set from Tyler, without the bells and whistles of the newly corporatised, mainstream Tyler, without the bloat and circus of a large touring band (Tyler’s added a second keys player since I last saw them live). Here, in ‘Virgie’, I can see him through the pines. Perhaps the hollowness I identify later is not from anything negative, any smoothed-over, sanitised experience or Snipe Hunter hangover, but from this pristine moment, from knowing with sadness that, at his best, Tyler Childers can be this good.
The magic remains in Tyler Childers elsewhere in the set, back on the main stage with his band around him. Early on, an energetic ‘Rustin’ in the Rain’ is described as “not a love song, but a rut song”,and its chaser, the classic ‘All Your’n’, is delivered with a beaming smile from its creator, relaxed and gesturing from the stage with a jar of water in his hand.
Later on, ‘Whitehouse Road’ proves a hit with the crowd; its return to Tyler’s setlists in recent years encouraging. The crowd had roared in vain for the song the first time I saw Tyler live in London in 2023, drawing only a curt “nope” from the man on stage, but tonight’s now the second time I’ve heard it live. It shows Tyler’s not averse to rehabilitating songs he’s previously exiled, and as he evolves he is making peace with the older, more jagged parts of himself. It doesn’t mean we’ll hear ‘Feathered Indians’, an even more beloved song, any time soon, and certainly not by the time he returns to England in just a few months. But it does suggest that those left-turns aren’t necessarily done by an artist looking to alienate his fans, even if some of them have that effect. They are turns from an artist still learning how to navigate his way through the bewildering forest of lights and signs.
As we reach the end of the night, Tyler and his band have kindled a significant flame in the crowd, with ‘Honky Tonk Flame’ and a funky ‘Way of the Triune God’ setting us up well for a big finish. ‘Universal Sound’ is not only one of Tyler’s best songs but also one of the best songs of the night. The vast colourful screens have been something of an ill-fitting distraction for what is still, at its best, country music, but they now prove their worth, projecting animated images of the cosmos to complement Tyler’s metaphysical lyrics. A glitter ball gently scatters shards of warm light across the rest of the darkened arena like stars across the void. The big arena screens then catch light for ‘House Fire’, turning the room an intense red and orange for tonight’s final number. It’s a crowd-pleasing foot-stomper that sugars the pill of knowing there will be no encore.
Encores are a strange thing; at their best, they are spontaneous eruptions of joy from a crowd wanting to show an artist how much they are loved by demanding more. But many artists clearly plan for an encore and see it as part of a normal set, with everyone buying in to the odd pantomime of an artist leaving stage and then coming back again. Some, I’ve noticed, even leave for the encore hit songs that it would have been inconceivable for them not to play.
Encores, then, are far from spontaneous, though we never mind the pantomime of this. In contrast, when Tyler notified us earlier in the night that they will not be doing an encore, and sticks to this at the end of the night, it does show the lack of spontaneity more starkly than any pre-planned encore. The night will never be allowed to become special enough to make an encore a necessity. I realise afterwards that Tyler’s never done an encore when I’ve seen him live, although I admit that is a small sample size.
The Tyler Childers show, then, is tightly defined, smoothed-down; a night of a well-drilled band following their drill, the animated videos on the screens reflecting the songs at every step. It’s large, it’s colourful, it’s a damn fine show; but I do find myself thirsting more for a band and an artist who rock up with momentum, and plug into their amps looking to generate a natural wave among the crowd rather than bringing a fully pre-configured wave machine. It’s such things that make a night visceral, and the moments that I remember most fondly from the live gigs I’ve attended over the years, the ones that I wish I could bottle up and experience the sensation of once again, have always been the ones that just happened, the ones on the edge, the ones that felt like they happened only on that night and never would again and you really did just have to be there.
Tonight, in contrast, has been more on the rails; a rollercoaster, to be sure, but a rollercoaster is something with manufactured thrills, and people remember their best nights of live music far longer than they do their ride on a rollercoaster. We are fans and the Childerswald is an exhilarating place to roam, but the course has been carefully plotted, those flashing lights not competing now but pre-determined signals on an optimised route.
The following morning my experience remains on the rails, with the delayed train wending me home. Better on the rails than completely off the rails, I find myself thinking, looking back on the night. Tyler is sober and clean and making music, and I am perhaps too harsh in choosing to be fascinated by that small kernel of hollowness rather than by all the good Tyler and his band have given London. His left-turns can be odd, showing that drugs are not the only way an ex-junkie can self-harm. His live experience is now just a tad too slick, but there are yet heights he is capable of scaling. He is the conductor of his train; he can guide it where he wants, and perhaps if it had gone differently for him and badly he wouldn’t even be here anymore to do any of it. If this odd, slightly indulged iteration is the only Tyler Childers we get, then I remain thankful to have it. The better parts of what he’s done in the past remain salvageable, and they are at hand to pick up again and bring along if Tyler wishes it.
The train passes Jodrell Bank; an exit sign from the colour and lights of the Childerswald. I will soon arrive at the comforts of home, where I will be restored and no doubt find myself willing to return to this forest again.
Setlist:
(all songs from the album Snipe Hunter and written by Tyler Childers, unless noted)
- Eatin’ Big Time
- Dirty Ought Trill
- I Swear (to God) (from Purgatory)
- Trudy (Charlie Daniels) (unreleased)
- Rustin’ in the Rain (from Rustin’ in the Rain)
- All Your’n (from Country Squire)
- In Your Love (Childers/Geno Seale) (from Rustin’ in the Rain)
- Jersey Giant (unreleased)
- Bitin’ List
- Watch Out
- Lady May (from Purgatory)
- Nose on the Grindstone
- Follow You to Virgie (from Live on Red Barn Radio)
- Old Country Church (J. W. Vaughn) (from Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?)
- Whitehouse Road (from Purgatory)
- Down Under
- Honky Tonk Flame (from Purgatory)
- Way of the Triune God (from Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?)
- Snipe Hunt
- Universal Sound (from Purgatory)
- House Fire (from Country Squire)
My other concert reviews can be found here.
My fiction writing can be found here.
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