Tag: tyler childers

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)

1. Eatin’ Big Time
2. Dirty Ought Trill
3. I Swear (to God) (from Purgatory)
4. Trudy (Charlie Daniels) (unreleased)
5. Rustin’ in the Rain (from Rustin’ in the Rain)
6. All Your’n (from Country Squire)
7. In Your Love (Childers/Geno Seale) (from Rustin’ in the Rain)
8. Jersey Giant (unreleased)
9. Bitin’ List
10. Watch Out
11. Lady May (from Purgatory)
12. Nose on the Grindstone
13. Follow You to Virgie (from Live on Red Barn Radio)
14. Old Country Church (J. W. Vaughn) (from Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?)
15. Whitehouse Road (from Purgatory)
16. Down Under
17. Honky Tonk Flame (from Purgatory)
18. Way of the Triune God (from Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?)
19. Snipe Hunt
20. Universal Sound (from Purgatory)
21. House Fire (from Country Squire)

My other concert reviews can be found here.

My fiction writing can be found here.

Monday 19th February 2024

O2 Apollo, Manchester, England

For each and every gig I’ve attended in this country music and roots scene (with the occasional blade of bluegrass thrown in), I’ve made the claim in one way or another that it’s the best gig I’ve attended. And to be sure, each of those gigs has had an element to them that has marked them as special in some way, and makes it impossible to choose between them.

Unfortunately, there’s no chance of continuing that praise here. Though it should be stressed that it’s no fault of any of the musicians on stage, the O2 Apollo on Monday night is by far the worst night of live music I’ve ever attended. And the sole reason is that a good third of the thousands-strong Manchester crowd is absolute dogshit.

Ever since starting these concert reviews I’ve been aware that I’m not qualified to critique the music itself, having no musical ability of my own. So instead I’ve always pivoted to providing narratives of the night – the venue, the atmosphere, the ebb and flow as a singer or band takes an audience where they want them and everyone becomes lost in the music.

But it’s impossible to provide a positive narrative of this particular night. Tyler Childers will prove to be in good voice, his band is rocking, and his opening act is stellar. But, due to the ignorance of perhaps a thousand or so philistines among the crowd, it’s hard to even hear them at all.

You know that background chatter you hear at the start of every live event? That swarming, dominating white-noise of conversation as the venue fills? Usually it tails off when the opening act starts their set; at worst, it continues until the main act takes the stage. But tonight, from first moment to last, at least a third of tonight’s massive crowd on the venue floor just carry on loud conversations (not always drunken ones) and not even paying attention to the music. It’s not even a chatter that grows progressively louder as the night goes on and people become more drunken and uninhibited – something I’ve experienced and accepted at other gigs. It is, as I say, there from first moment to last, and drunkenness cannot even be used as an (already-flimsy) excuse.

It makes me ashamed of my city. And the one who I feel I should apologise to the most is John R. Miller, tonight’s opening act, who graciously endures the outright disrespect. I would apologise to him not on behalf of those who talk incessantly throughout his set, for no doubt they don’t even see what they are doing wrong, and I would find more empathy and intelligence in the venue’s urinal cakes, but out of a general guilt of association, a shame at being a part of this “audience”.

I remember how lucky I felt when this tour was announced and it was stated that Miller would be opening. He would be a draw by himself, and to have him on the same bill as Tyler Childers was a real gift – a gift, it turns out, that Manchester squanders. As this excellent, sophisticated songwriter takes the stage and begins singing and strumming on his acoustic guitar, much of the audience blithely ignores him and continues their relentless chatter. Miller runs through what I think are ‘Smokestacks on the Skyline’ and ‘Shenandoah Shakedown’, but as I can only hear the occasional snatched lyric here and there, I can’t say for sure. As he gifts us a third, ‘Lookin’ Over My Shoulder’, I look over my shoulder to try to fathom the mass stupidity taking place around me.

At this point, I’m disappointed rather than angry. Maybe, I think, the audience just needs to settle. It’s tough being the opening act, particularly when your songs are lyrically complex and all you have is an acoustic guitar. After a barely discernible ‘Harpers Ferry Moon’, Miller graciously tries to interact with the crowd, but his folksy “How y’all doin?” barely gathers a murmur from the crowd. He goes through another number which I believe is ‘Ditcher’, but again I can’t make it out. Some of the worthless crowd finish their beers and queue for another one, grumbling loudly at the inconvenience of doing so. Others just stand around, yammering away and scrolling through their TikToks on full brightness. Miller casts another pearl at these swine, the unreleased ‘Outset of the Breeze’.

There’s then a moment that should have been special, had the crowd been good. John R. Miller begins to strum and sing the opening lines of ‘Coming Down’. If there was any one opportunity for tonight’s crowd to redeem themselves and begin to engage with the music, this was it. ‘Coming Down’ has, of course, been covered by Tyler Childers, and tonight’s throng of (presumably) Tyler Childers fans should recognise it. It should be a moment of goodwill and maybe even a moment for Miller to hear his song sung back at him. Instead, it is swamped by the white-noise ignorance. “Remember you ain’t alone,” Miller sings, beautifully (as far as I can make out). But I bet he feels alone right about now.

After ‘Coming Down’ has been dragged down to the audience’s level and sullied, Miller actually breaks through with what follows. ‘Conspiracies, Cults and UFOs’ is a more up-tempo number, strummed more energetically. Because of this it smothers some of the ignorant noise, but only briefly. The following songs, which as best I can make out are ‘Motor’s Fried’ and ‘Faustina’, are pretty much made unintelligible by the Manchester crowd. Miller leaves the stage, graciously thanking the audience – something which makes me feel even more ashamed. I can scarcely believe we’ve been gifted a full 10-song set by a talented singer-songwriter, before the main event has even started, and it’s been completely drowned out. I waited a long time to hear John R. Miller live in concert. I still haven’t.

At this point, I think that the worst must be over. The Manchester crowd has been unforgivably disrespectful to Miller, but surely that wouldn’t continue into Tyler’s set. In the lull between acts, however, the noise actually picks up a gear – almost as though those responsible are pleased with themselves for being considerate of others and keeping it low during the music. The queue for the bar grows and grows – it’s a Monday night, for Pete’s sake – and the floor of the venue becomes almost like a social event or conference. Not for the first time, and unfortunately not for the last, I get the impression that tonight is seen by many as a pub crawl or a social media networking event, with live music attached but safely ignored.

Tyler and his band now take the stage, to cheers – the crowd for once making a noise it ought to. Surely now we’ll be able to focus on the music. Staggeringly, the mass obnoxious nattering continues, but at least now it is competing against an amplified band. Rod Elkins’ booming drums on the opener, a fiery ‘Honky Tonk Flame’, overpowers some of the witless mob, but it shouldn’t need to be a competition. About a thousand people tonight are suffering from Main Character Syndrome – contemptible behaviour when they are faced with the far more evident talents of John R. Miller and Tyler Childers.

The disruptive nattering continues, though James ‘Bloodbath’ Barker proves to be able to bark louder on his guitar on the second song, a fast-tempo ‘Way of the Triune God’. Alternating between electric guitar and pedal steel tonight, he will battle gamely against the ignorant mob alongside his bandmates. Stood alongside Barker is “the Professor” Jesse Wells on fiddle and electric guitar. Behind him is the afore-mentioned Rod Elkins in a bright red shirt, on those booming drums. Tyler is at centre-stage in a bright orange jacket, sometimes on acoustic guitar and, during some songs tonight, removing the instrument completely and gesturing with his hands as he sings. On the left-hand side, behind Tyler, Craig Burletic lurks on his bass, his head bopping along. C.J. Cain strums an acoustic guitar on the far-left side, and on a raised platform a man in a cap sits behind the organ and keys. (It’s not Chase Lewis, the keys player from the band’s previous visit to England. Later tonight, Tyler will introduce the man by name but, of course, it’s drowned out by the chatter of the crowd. I learn later that it’s Jimmy Rowland.)

“It’s lovely to be in Manchester – with you,” Tyler says after ‘Way of the Triune God’. The crowd cheers, but Tyler’s compliment is more than we deserve. He mustn’t have heard Miller’s reception earlier tonight (the poor man might as well have had eggs thrown at him), for if he had he would surely have something to say about our treatment of his friend. I was there in London last year when Tyler stopped mid-song to break up a fight that was taking place in the crowd. But on that night in Islington the fight was the only blemish. If this time around Tyler was to direct security to throw out the disruptive elements, it would be like a Looney Tunes sketch – up to a thousand people would be out on their arse. Maybe Tyler does know, and is just trying to salvage something from what’s quickly becoming a shitty night.

“I’ve got a new album out,” Tyler says, to half-hearted cheers. “That song wasn’t on it. This song was.” And with that he launches into ‘Percheron Mules’. The band is game even if the audience, in their still-ceaseless chatter, isn’t. Jesse Wells provides a ripping solo, and everyone in the band gets a chance to shine. There are some nice harmonies, a feat repeated on the following song, ‘Born Again’, but I’m not really in a position to say much about the songs. About any of the songs tonight. I find myself having to strain to hear, my brain working hard to try and filter out the overwhelming mass of garbage noise which is smothering the sound I have paid – and waited months – to hear.

The next song, ‘In Your Love’, actually gets a good reception, receiving some whoops and a decent singalong. But it doesn’t last, and ‘Country Squire’, which follows, is drowned out by the returning wave of crowd chatter. It was ‘Country Squire’ which was paused mid-song in London last year, as Tyler directed security to break up a fight, and in my review I marked this as ‘Country Squire (with Bellend Interlude)’. This time around, the poor crowd behaviour is not an interlude but a full-blown Bellend Orchestra, and one that has not paused any one song but disrupted each and every one.

Straight from ‘Country Squire’, Tyler and the band dig out a slightly grungy version of ‘Bus Route’, its twisting lyrics unfortunately washed out by the mob. There follows a pretty killer version of ‘Deadman’s Curve’, though the funky groove is lost on the unappreciative audience, as is the screaming guitar from Jesse Wells.

“I ain’t never been to Manchester [before],” Tyler says to cheers, and at the risk of beating a dead horse in this review, the moment gets me thinking again about the lost opportunity tonight. “There are 110 things you could’ve done with your evening,” he says, “and you chose to be here, so thank you.” But it seems like many have decided to show up for no reason at all – certainly not to listen to any music – and furthermore they disrupt the show for those who did put 110 things aside because they wanted to listen to some Tyler Childers music.

“I’ve played this with every band I’ve ever sung in,” Tyler says, introducing the next song. He gives us a potted history of the bands he started out in, and an anecdote about a competition he came third-place in, but I’m unable to hear any of the details above the noise. As Tyler smiles and tries to shares his story with his fans, everyone beyond the first few rows is consumed by the incessant selfish wankery of the mob.

Tyler then roars into ‘Trudy’, the Charlie Daniels song he has just tried to introduce, and it’s a freewheelin’ version in which every member of the band will have an opportunity to shine. Guitar lines are traded between Bloodbath Barker and Jesse Wells, before a long organ solo from the man on the keys. The Bellend Orchestra, still suffering from their Main Character Syndrome, provide their own lyrics of gormless chatter over this organ line from the band, and drown out the following bass solo from Craig Burletic. ‘Trudy’ ends as every other song tonight ends; an exercise in frustration for those of us who actually came to hear Tyler Childers and the Food Stamps tonight.

Next up there’s a brief break in the rain of crowd ignorance, as people recognise the first lines of ‘All Your’n’ and begin to sing along. Tyler has put down his guitar and gestures with his hands as he sings, with thousands joining in, “I’m all your’n – you’re all mine”. While there’s still been some chatter, the song’s come over well and it’s a bittersweet example of what could have been, had the crowd been good.

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Unfortunately, the music will now sink completely into the pit of ignorance dug by the crowd. The band leaves the stage and Tyler pulls up a chair and sits down with his acoustic guitar. People are talking over him, but from what I can make out he’s talking about how C.J. Cain was surprised he was “gonna do [his] acoustic set in the middle”.

With that, Tyler starts to strum and sing ‘Matthew’, from the Country Squire album, and you can see that maybe C.J. was right in having some reservations. Tyler now faces the same problem as John R. Miller did in his set; his voice may be more powerful, but the crowd bluster will still wipe out a set of acoustic music. ‘Matthew’ is not a fan favourite and so, bafflingly, many in the crowd here on the floor treat it like an intermission. The chatter of conversations increases in volume, and many stream towards the bar to queue for another drink, or head to the toilets to release the better part of themselves.

Unlike ‘Matthew’, the next song, ‘Shake the Frost’, is a fan favourite and does get a bit of a singalong, but it’s a far cry from the full-blooded singalong I encountered in London last year. Many are still milling around and treating it as an intermission, and after ‘Frost’ Tyler is still trying to engage with the audience. “It’s my first time in Manchester,” he says, and at the mention of the city’s name those who have been facing away from the stage, having their own conversations or queuing for alcohol, turn around and join the rest of the crowd in whooping and cheering.

I’m not opposed to singalongs or whooping; when done well, it can be magical for a night of music. Just a couple of weeks ago, I was in awe as a Manchester crowd sang along cathartically to Oliver Anthony’s ‘Rich Men North of Richmond’. But tonight it’s like people have gained admittance to Theme Park Tyler, and are chatting to pass the time while stood in the queue for their favourite rides, the moments they can whoop along to. Drown out Miller, and drown out ‘Matthew’, but get your phone out for ‘All Your’n’, so that the moment can be uploaded to TikTok as an ‘I was there’ moment. With the emphasis on ‘I’.

The remaining two songs of Tyler’s acoustic set, ‘Nose on the Grindstone’ and ‘Lady May’, get a sort of warped reaction: some people sing along and others talk through them. In London, ‘Lady May’ received a warm and crisp singalong, but here it’s washed out by the mindless chatter. So far in the night my anger and frustration has been tempered by sheer bafflement, but after ‘Lady May’, with the acoustic set ending and the band coming back on stage, I end up arguing with a couple of lads stood just behind me. They’ve been having a full-blown conversation for some time now, talking about nothing, looking side-on at one another and not even engaging with the music. Again I think of how so much behaviour tonight has been as though this were a pub or club and the music just an after-thought, and I find myself asking them why they even paid to come here if they weren’t going to pay attention to any of the music. It’s a question I’d like to ask upwards of a thousand people tonight, and these two are just the closest. They have no answer. They just stare at me dumbly.

My blood’s up now, and that takes a lot – I don’t really drink (I haven’t tonight) and in my previous reviews I’ve mentioned how I’m pretty much a wallflower at the gigs I attend. But I can’t fathom chattering ignorantly with your mate while, on the other side of the room, Tyler goddamn Childers is singing ‘Lady May’. It’s one of many examples tonight of astonishing fucking ignorance. My anger means I can’t even enjoy the music which, in rare moments, continues to break through the wall of sound erected by the crowd.

The band’s back now, and bring some excellent slide to Tyler’s cover of ‘Help Me Make it Through the Night’. I wonder if any of us are going to make it. Then there’s a surprise: I can scarcely believe my ears as they pick up the opening notes of ‘Whitehouse Road’. When I was in London, this was a song repeatedly shouted out by members of the audience, and which Tyler repeatedly refused. The shouts were a blemish – a small one – on an excellent night, and I didn’t expect Tyler to begin including the song in his setlists again. Just a couple of weeks ago, at the Oliver Anthony gig, the opening act gave us a vibing cover of ‘Whitehouse Road’, and I wrote in my review that it was a good consolation prize considering Tyler himself was unlikely to sing it.

And yet here Tyler is, singing that very song. It settles into a great groove and raises the prospect that perhaps Tyler is rehabilitating some old favourites that he thought had been overplayed. The London crowd would have loved it – particularly those hecklers – but the Manchester crowd treats it as it does every other song tonight. In spite of this, ‘Whitehouse Road’ still sounds good over the relentless chatter.

Tyler and the band busting out a powerful version of ‘Old Country Church’ that even the crowd can’t spoil. At its end, Tyler says how good it is to be “here in Manchester – with my friends” (referencing the lyrics of ‘Old Country Church’). He then gives an extended introduction of each member of the band. It’s the same entertaining circus-ringleader spiel he gave in London, only this time the crowd drowns it out, and when the new keys player is introduced I can’t hear his name. The man I later learn is Jimmy Rowland stands and takes off his hat and bows.

While Tyler has been making these introductions, the band have been playing bars from ‘Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?’, and as their frontman finishes speaking the song begins. It’s one of my favourite songs and comes across well, although, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, the enjoyment is tempered by the backdraft of the mob’s nest-spoiling ambience.

Jimmy Rowland then begins some soaring organ notes and chanting ‘Hare Krishna’; the left-field oddness seems to jolt some of the crowd out of their imbecility, as from here on out the crowd disruption – while never going away – seems to become less voluble. The Hare Krishna chants lead into a pretty kicking ‘Two Coats’ instrumental but, incredibly, I begin to see people leaving the hall entirely and heading into the foyer. It’s as though we were in a football stadium in the last five minutes of a match, two-nil down, and had to beat the traffic.

If it’s a comment on the band it’s embarrassing behaviour, particularly as the music’s been good on the rare occasions those same people, pausing for breath, have allowed it to come through. But I don’t think it is; it’s just the low attention-span of a crowd that had never paid much attention to the music anyway, and were now wandering away to their next witless endeavour.

It’s been a small number who have left, and many still remain who are chattering amongst themselves, but a little goes a long way and the next few numbers are the most aurally clear of the night. It helps that ‘Tulsa Turnaround’, which follows ‘Two Coats’, is a loud, rocking number, with Tyler roaring the vocals of this Kenny Rogers cover.

Next up is ‘House Fire’, one of the best Tyler songs to hear live. The audience stomps along with their feet, but the moment is less special than the same foot-stomp I heard when the song was played in London. The band has set the song alight on both occasions, but it’s not their fault that this particular night has been less special. In an act of self-sabotage, Manchester has clipped their wings. Many no longer seem into it; as I look over the crowd there’s very little swaying or groove as the song takes off.

From my vantage point, the audience seems pretty zombie-like. ‘Universal Sound’, which follows ‘House Fire’, gets another singalong, but the only universal sound in the O2 Apollo tonight continues to be the chatter of large elements of the crowd. For the final number, Tyler puts his whole heart into a cover of ‘Space and Time’. It’s a grandstand finish for a night that, regrettably, had no chance of living on in the memory.

At every gig I’ve attended there have been memorable moments, but as I stand and watch the crowd filter out – noting, with a shake of my head, that they are talking less now than they were when the music was playing – I can’t put my finger on any such moment tonight. After London last year, whenever I was listening to music and ‘Shake the Frost’ or ‘House Fire’ came on, the songs were sweeter for having that memory of how they had been played. Through no fault of their own, the band haven’t really been allowed to deliver any special moments tonight. Live music is a two-way street; it’s a reciprocal miracle.

In the days following the night at the O2 Apollo, I will have one or two reservations about the gig. The setlist wasn’t that much different from the one in London a year previously; four songs in Manchester tonight came from Tyler’s new album, and I had heard one of them (‘Percheron Mules’) in London and two of the others were covers. Considering Tyler is such a fantastic songwriter, with a wealth of both released and unreleased music, it seems a shame that the setlist is so similar. And that Rustin’ in the Rain, the new album being toured tonight, has just seven songs – including two covers.

But in truth, this was just me trying to think of how the night could have been different, what idiot-proof formula could have been concocted to extinguish that one overriding memory of the night: the relentless, obnoxious crowd chatter which disrupted each and every song. I have the London show to compare against the night, but while the London show was superior it wouldn’t have mattered if the crowd had willed it to be a good night tonight. The music could have been special had we been allowed, by our fellow “fans”, to actually hear it. A great many people in the Manchester audience should be ashamed of themselves, and for those like myself who came to hear the music, the lasting memory of the night will be one of bitter frustration. When Tyler claimed earlier in the night that he’d never been to Manchester before, he was mistaken (he played the Manchester Academy in January 2020). I find myself hoping he forgets tonight’s embarrassing encounter with the city as well.

As the crowd filters out of the O2 Apollo, the Tom Petty song ‘Runnin’ Down a Dream’ comes on over the tannoy. The moment feels bittersweet. I mentioned in my London review that when a couple of Tom Petty songs came on after the band left the stage, it was a remarkable moment of kismet for me. As I wrote in my review, I had made no effort to attend a Tom Petty concert in the years before he died, and so going down to London and making sure I didn’t pass up another opportunity for fine music felt vindicated when I heard those songs.

Certainly, had I waited until Tyler was coming to Manchester, I would have had to wait until tonight – and have it ruined by a disruptive, ignorant crowd. As sickening as tonight’s lost opportunity has been, it would have been worse if this had been my first experience of Tyler Childers live – as it surely has been for others tonight. Ours is the city that once shouted “Judas!” at Bob Dylan when it was felt (wrongly) that he had disrespected the music. To our shame, we have now provided justification for an artist to shout it back at us.

Setlist:

(all songs written by Tyler Childers, unless noted)

1. Honky Tonk Flame (from Purgatory)
2. Way of the Triune God (from Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?)
3. Percheron Mules (from Rustin’ in the Rain)
4. Born Again (from Purgatory)
5. In Your Love (Childers/Geno Seale) (from Rustin’ in the Rain)
6. Country Squire (from Country Squire)
7. Bus Route (from Country Squire)
8. Deadman’s Curve (from Live on Red Barn Radio)
9. Trudy (Charlie Daniels) (unreleased)
10. All Your’n (from Country Squire)
11. Matthew (from Country Squire)
12. Shake the Frost (from Live on Red Barn Radio)
13. Nose on the Grindstone (unreleased)
14. Lady May (from Purgatory)
15. Help Me Make it Through the Night (Kris Kristofferson) (from Rustin’ in the Rain)
16. Whitehouse Road (from Purgatory)
17. Old Country Church (J. W. Vaughn) (from Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?)
18. Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven? (from Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?)
19. Two Coats (Traditional) (from Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?)
20. Tulsa Turnaround (Alex Harvey/Larry Collins) (unreleased)
21. House Fire (from Country Squire)
22. Universal Sound (from Purgatory)
23. Space and Time (S. G. Goodman) (from Rustin’ in the Rain)

Friday 10th February 2023

Islington Assembly Hall, London, England

A pilgrimage, then. I’ve been fortunate, in the gigs I’ve attended in the last eight months – Sierra Ferrell, Charley Crockett and Nick Shoulders – that they’ve all been close to my home in the north-west of England. Since first discovering this alternative country music during lockdown, I’ve been determined to attend whatever gigs I could, but Tyler Childers’ UK tour consists of just a couple of dates down in London. At the back of my mind is the memory that I made no effort to attend a Tom Petty gig on the rare occasions he came to England, something I still regret deeply. When Petty died in 2017, I felt there would be no more great music for me to find. But though I wouldn’t be aware of it for another few years, Colter Wall had released his self-titled album a few months earlier, and Tyler Childers released the masterpiece that is Purgatory.

Determined to attend, and fresh off the disappointment of missing out on Billy Strings tickets when he came to Manchester in December, I attacked my F5 key during the pre-sale and managed to secure a ticket to the second date of Tyler’s two-day Islington residency. Still rueing the lack of effort I once made for the Tom Petty dates in similar circumstances, I take the train down from Manchester to London: two and a half hours through plain, unscenic country, and perhaps the only train journey you couldn’t write a song about.

Tyler comes on stage alone, to cheers from the 800+ people in tonight’s audience. He wears a blue denim jacket and a beanie hat and carries an acoustic guitar. While his band waits in the corridor backstage, he pulls a chair up to the microphone at centre-stage and throws his beanie hat to the floor, his closely-cropped ginger hair bleached by the shine of the venue’s spotlights. Perhaps appropriately for his solo segment, Tyler opens with the Hank Williams song ‘I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry’.

But it’s with his second song that the night truly begins. The opening lines of ‘Shake the Frost’, one of Tyler’s finest displays of lyricism, draws a roar of recognition from the crowd, who sing along to every word. It’s a special moment worthy of a special song. “And I love you like the mountains/Love the way the morning opens/To a soft and bright greeting from the sun.” The song ends to rapturous applause and Tyler grins. There’s a reason this show sold out in minutes: to hear Tyler Childers sing in that distinctive pained wail of his is a powerful experience, and he’s arguably the greatest songwriter of his generation. There hasn’t been poetry like this on a London stage since Bill Shakespeare was out here hustlin’.

Speaking of provincial artists who made their mark in London, Tyler sits and tells us how this mini-UK tour came about. When recording Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?, his most recent album – tonight is considered part of the Send in the Hounds tour, which truly kicks off in April back in the States – he thought it would be “pretty cool if we could roll some of the stuff through the plates at Abbey Road”. Due to Covid, this had to be done over Zoom, but Tyler thought it’d be cool if, “when we got the opportunity, if we could just go over and bum around a little bit and have a field trip”. This is his field trip now, and he thought, “well, shit… the whole entire band’s gonna be there, we might as well try to pick up some shows”. I don’t know how true this anecdote is, or if it’s just a bit of colour Tyler’s decided to add to the night, but it gives me a buzz. I’m as big a Beatles fan as I am a Tom Petty fan – I pondered for a whole three seconds before buying tonight’s concert poster, a psychedelic Magical Mystery Tour and Yellow Submarine-inspired piece, from the merchandise counter at the entrance, and I spy a Höfner bass – the iconic ‘Beatles bass’ – on stage tonight. But if it gets played at any point tonight by Craig Burletic, Tyler’s bass player, I’m unaware of it. I’m in the front row, but on the opposite side of the room.

“I wrote this song for my lady,” Tyler says, before launching into ‘Lady May’, the tender love song written for his wife Senora May. The audience sings along from the start, as they do for the follow-up, the tear-jerker ‘Follow You to Virgie’. Ironically – or perhaps intentionally – when Tyler reaches the line “make sense of all these strings” in this second song, he hits a bum note and has to find his way back to the rhythm. He does, his acoustic guitar singing again, and it’s a fine end to his solo set.

A note here should also be made for Tommy Prine, who opened for Tyler tonight with a strong acoustic set of his own. Talented and affable, the son of John is just starting out and hasn’t yet released an album, but his single ‘Ships in the Harbor’ is a strong piece of songwriting and gets an enthusiastic reception from the crowd. Other highlights from his set include ‘Gandalf’ – “it’s kinda like when Gandalf came back all in white” – and ‘Cash/Carter Hills’, a wistful song about soaking up the magic in a special place.

But there’s no more special place than London tonight, as Tyler’s band the Food Stamps join him on the stage. They get themselves set up behind their instruments, and the anticipation in the crowd grows. As well it might, for with a wink to James Barker on pedal steel, Tyler launches into ‘I Swear (to God)’, a fan-favourite he’s not played live in years.

As the crowd sings along, the band introduce themselves through a series of solos – first Tyler and then C.J. Cain on guitars, then Jesse Wells on the fiddle, Chase Lewis on the keys and finally James Barker on the pedal steel. Only Craig Burletic on bass and Rod Elkins on drums don’t get a solo, but their rhythm section is keeping the whole thing together. It’s a cracking song, and the shouts from the audience are particularly lusty during the line “Fire in the hole!”

Tyler and the band follow up with another song from the Purgatory album, ‘Tattoos’. A beautiful song, kin to ‘Shake the Frost’ in its lyricism, this number quietly demonstrates one of Tyler Childers’ unsung qualities as an artist. His band can rock – as they will demonstrate later tonight – but what makes Tyler perennially country is the space he provides in his songs for some glorious pedal steel. Barker has the task of providing this dreamy sound to ‘Tattoos’ tonight, and provides it well.

After this one-two punch of songs from Purgatory, Tyler moves into left-field. Picking up a fiddle, he leads the band into a four-minute bluegrass instrumental. I don’t know what the song is – setlist.fm will later claim it is ‘Ways of the World’ – but it’s a good ‘un. Tyler’s fiddle dominates, but there are some nice touches from Barker’s pedal steel, and Craig Burletic’s bass solo fits the song well. As unusual as it is to witness one of music’s most magnetic vocalists commit to an instrumental, it’s a pleasant diversion.

We’re back to normal for the next number, the fun and wholesome ‘Country Squire’. It’s impossible not to bask in the humble goodness of this song, as Tyler sings of providing for his family by buying a caravan: “It’s a 24-foot-long vessel, measures eight feet wide… Hey! Hey! Hey! Woah!” This isn’t part of the song. “Hold up? What the fuck are you doing? Hey!” The song stops – Tyler’s seen something happening in the crowd to my far-left. “What the fuck is your problem? How old are you?” I crane my neck to see what the trouble is; from the balcony above, people lean over to look.

Send in the hounds. Security staff move into the crowd, though I can’t see anything happening from where I’m stood. Perhaps provoked by Tyler’s song about honest self-improvement and domestic bliss, it seems a fight has broken out. From the stage, Tyler says security should take “the dude in the orange probably, too, and the dude in the white”. There’s a murmuring in the crowd, and I try to transform my neck into Tyler’s 24-foot-long caravan to get a look. Someone takes the opportunity to shout for ‘Whitehouse Road’, not for the first time tonight – or the last.

“Everybody good?” Tyler says, to cheers from the 800+ members of the audience, now numbering a few less. He picks up from where he left off and finishes the incendiary song. It’s something to note on the set-list: ‘Country Squire (with Bellend Interlude)’.

The band are unfazed, soon finding their rhythm again with ‘Bus Route’, which steers into ‘Deadman’s Curve’. Perhaps deciding the rowdier members of the audience need some Jesus in their lives, Tyler puts down his guitar and launches into ‘Heart You’ve Been Tendin” and ‘Old Country Church’. The experimental gospel album Hounds has been divisive among Tyler’s fanbase, for a number of reasons not worth getting into here, but its songs sound great tonight.

The band begins the backbeat to ‘Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?’, but Tyler doesn’t immediately begin the song. Instead, he formally introduces the band to the audience – a long, colourful introduction with Tyler as a sort of circus ringleader. As each band member is introduced (“keeper of the keys, Mr Chase Lewis… the Professor, Jesse Wells”), they punctuate it with a piece of flair from their chosen instruments. But they’ve already introduced themselves with their playing tonight, and they stamp their mark on the night again with a fine version of ‘Hounds’, the slower album version rather than the up-tempo version Tyler has fired up at past concerts.

After ‘Hounds’ ends, Tyler picks up his fiddle again. While he tunes it up, some members of the audience shout out more song requests. ‘Whitehouse Road’ again, of course, which is a non-starter, but someone a bit more realistic shouts for ‘Greatest Story Ever Told’, which at least is something that Tyler still plays live. There’s no indication Tyler is going to bend to these hecklers, and nor should he. I’m already irritated by them, and I’m at my first Tyler Childers concert. He must be pig-sick of it. But it’s become a bit of a meme at this point, and perhaps there’s a subset of Tyler Childers fans who don’t consider the experience complete unless they’ve shouted for ‘Whitehouse Road’, the way ‘Free Bird’ was once shouted. But still, I’m a bit surprised that the behaviour has followed him to England, like an albatross around his neck. It’s not even one of his better songs.

Tyler’s response to the requests for old favourites is clear: another fiddle instrumental. Again, I don’t know what the song is – setlist.fm informs me it is ‘Cluck Old Hen’ – but it’s another fun digression. Tyler and the Professor Jesse Wells trade fiddles nicely, and there’s room for some screaming pedal steel from ‘Bloodbath’ Barker and some powerful drumming from Rod Elkins.

The next song is ‘Creeker’, and the audience sings along as Tyler, with no instrument, gestures with his hands. He sings of “the ways that the city can bring a country boy down”, and between the incessant requests for ‘Whitehouse Road’ and breaking up a fight, he’s been provided with a few more in London tonight. It’s a blessing that the vast majority of the audience is really digging the show, and roars with approval during this rare opportunity to see Tyler Childers live in England. Back on his acoustic guitar, Tyler follows ‘Creeker’ with ‘Born Again’, characterised by some great harmonies from Craig Burletic.

The good music, however, hasn’t stopped the shouts of ‘Whitehouse Road’ in between songs, and sometimes during them, as though perhaps the reason Tyler wasn’t singing it was because he just hadn’t been asked enough. To be fair, it seems to be the same few people, and I’ve heard it so often tonight that I’ve come to recognise the individual hecklers’ voices. A new one now joins the babble. “Whitehouse Road, Tyler?”, a chipper voice pipes up, as though helpfully reminding Tyler of the song. Perhaps he’d forgotten it in the thirty seconds since it was last called for. Have people not thought that perhaps the reason Tyler doesn’t perform the song anymore is that, the cost of living being what it is, it’s now impossible to get “higher than the grocery bill”?

Rather than the old, Tyler’s response is again to launch into a new song. It’s the unreleased ‘Percheron Mules’ which, with lines about “a hundred head of goat” and “picking dill”, proves to be a fun, oddball little country number. Tyler sings it with a smile on his face, trading grins with Barker on guitar. It reminds me of the Sixties rockabilly song ‘Haunted House’, at least until Craig Burletic and Rod Elkins come in with some delicious high harmonies on the line “compost that he needs”, sounding like a ghost or two has followed them from the Abbey Road studios. The harmonies are so good Tyler pauses for a moment in admiration. Naturally, someone takes the opportunity to shout for ‘Whitehouse Road’. Twice.

The next song up is ‘Way of the Triune God’, and unlike previous songs from the Hounds album, Tyler stands behind his acoustic guitar rather than gesturing with his hands. It’s a better look for him, a better feel, even if he’s not always strumming the guitar. But it must be hard to “WHITEHOUSE ROAD!” when someone is “WHITEHOUSE ROAD!” always sh–“WHITEHOUSE ROAD!”–outing for a certain song.

Everyone is too busy having fun to be derailed by these obnoxious few hecklers. The audience begins footstomping along with the opening chords of ‘House Fire’, a pulsating song that provides an opportunity for an intense display of musicianship from the Food Stamps. It’s a song made by Chase Lewis’ white-hot organ, but the others have license to display their chops: James Barker’s electric guitar, harmonies from the bass-drivin’ Craig Burletic, and fiddle from the bald, bespectacled Jesse Wells, looking every inch the Professor. At one point in the song, Tyler sits down on the chair he’d brought for his solo set, strumming his guitar and enjoying the performance from his band.

The tinderbox ‘House Fire’ leads straight into ‘Tulsa Turnaround’, a mid-tempo Kenny Rogers song turned into a hard-rockin’ number driven by Craig’s propulsive bass and Rod’s drums, that showcases Tyler’s tearing John Lennon-esque vocals. James Barker is particularly good, and with his wailing electric guitar, check shirt, thick beard and mop of hair, it’s like he’s stepped straight off a Skynyrd stage in the Seventies directly into 2023. By the end, a gleeful Tyler is bouncing on his heels at his band’s transformation into a stone-cold, red-hot 70s Southern rock band. These last ten minutes have been perhaps the best of the night.

After the fire, Tyler gives the instruments a chance to cool down. ‘Universal Sound’ is perhaps the hardest song of Tyler’s to recreate on a stage, but the band is able to capture its restful, spaced-out feel.

We’re reaching the end of the night, and there’s only a couple of numbers to go. Could it really be ‘Whitehouse Road’? Another aggressive shout for the song draws an immediate “Nope!” from Tyler, to laughs from the rest of the audience. He bobs his head from side to side; he’s determined to have fun and the cocaine song just doesn’t do that for him anymore.

Instead, it’s ‘Honky Tonk Flame’, and the fire the band kindled in ‘House Fire’ and ‘Tulsa Turnaround’ is reignited by a screaming pedal steel solo from Barker and some powerful rock drums from Rod Elkins. Tyler says there’ll be no encore – his voice can’t take it, he says – but he goes full-bore into the vocals for tonight’s final song.

It’s a cover of the Charlie Daniels song ‘Trudy’, and it allows for some fine guitar solo trade-offs between James Barker and Jesse Wells, to admiring smiles from the watching Tyler. Bloodbath and The Professor have been vying for top-dog status tonight, and I think Barker, well-named for the Hounds tour, has edged the battle. I don’t know if it’s just because of my penchant for pedal steel, but the West Virginian’s put everything into every song, alternating between pedal steel and electric guitar when the songs require. The entire band has shone, however, and in ‘Trudy’ we’re treated to an organ solo from Chase and then a bass solo from the ever-energetic Craig Burletic, bopping his huge mass of curly black hair. The song slows down and then speeds up to a fiery finish, drawing a whoop from Tyler. It ends with deserved roars of approval from the audience.

The band leaves the stage to applause. Tyler puts on his beanie and bows. As the crowd filters out, stereo music is played over the sound system. To my surprise, the song is ‘Breakdown’, followed by ‘Anything That’s Rock ‘n’ Roll’. Considering the failure to watch Tom Petty live was one of the things that motivated me to experience this show when I got the chance, it’s a remarkable moment of kismet. Quite unexpectedly, I find I have now – after a fashion – heard Tom Petty at a concert venue.

I find myself thinking about tonight’s increasingly rude heckling, and how we reached this almost memetic stage with ‘Whitehouse Road’. After hearing it shouted for God knows how many times tonight, between songs and even during songs, I’d be perfectly happy never to hear it again. I’ve quickly developed an aversion to it, and it’s no wonder that Tyler’s so dead-set against it; he must have it shouted at him at every gig.

But at the same time, I’d been rather hoping, despite all evidence to the contrary, that Tyler would’ve played ‘Feathered Indians’ tonight. I wouldn’t shout for it, and the lack of it hasn’t made the night any less special, but it’s my favourite song of his, and another one he regularly refuses to play live. This is a common point of discussion among his fanbase, with many speculating he won’t play the songs about drugs and drinking since he got sober, others that he won’t sing love songs that were written about women before he met his wife. But this is all bald speculation, and I find myself wondering if perhaps the reason we’ve reached the point where people can shout inanely for ‘Whitehouse Road’ at least a dozen times during a set is because Tyler is a bit too hidebound about playing his old songs, or at least in explaining why he won’t.

This comes to my mind as ‘Breakdown’ plays over the sound system. The last song Tom Petty ever played in concert before he passed was ‘American Girl’, his first hit from forty years earlier. Petty cultivated a fantastic relationship with his fanbase, and here’s what he had to say about playing the old songs, in a 2005 interview with American Songwriter magazine later reproduced in the book Conversations with Tom Petty:

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t want to play ‘American Girl’ anymore… But then maybe you’ll get two hours into the show, and the place is frenzied, and the vibe is so great, and the first couple chords of that song come on, and there’s such a rush of adrenaline throughout the building, that the next thing you know, you’re really digging playing ‘American Girl’. And I’ll feel, I can’t believe I’m digging this again, but I am.”

I don’t know what Tyler Childers’ full reasoning is for omitting certain fan-favourites from his repertoire. And regardless of what it might be, he certainly doesn’t deserve to be repeatedly dry-gulched by loud, arrogant shouts for ‘Whitehouse Road’. There’s been one particularly persistent heckler tonight, and I find myself wondering what that person’s reaction would have been if ‘Whitehouse Road’ had actually been performed tonight – I like to imagine they wouldn’t know what to do next.

I certainly can’t find fault with tonight’s show, and it’s been the best live show I’ve yet attended. Nor can I argue against the songs that have replaced old fan-favourites in the set-list: Tyler Childers continues to write and perform excellent songs. And yet, I can’t help but wonder how it would have felt if Tyler had strummed those acoustic chords that open ‘Feathered Indians’, and there had been that rush of adrenaline throughout the building that Tom Petty spoke of. Tyler’s got a taste of that tonight, smiling at the singalong recognition of ‘Shake the Frost’ and ‘I Swear (to God)’, but a song like ‘Feathered Indians’ would be something else entirely. Tyler never intended the song to become so big – it was never released as a single – but some songs just hit right, and its dreamy pedal steel guitar line can provide a transcendental bliss as much as any gospel song. I don’t doubt for one moment that ‘American Girl’ sounded incredible on that final night.

But it says a lot that Tyler Childers and his band can still provide the best live experience I’ve witnessed in spite of these petty misgivings of mine. The songwriting craft has been impeccable and Tyler’s voice an experience in itself. The band’s burned so hot at times I’m surprised the soles of their shoes didn’t melt onto the stage, and I’ll remember the footstomping to ‘House Fire’ and the singalong to ‘Shake the Frost’ every time I listen to those songs. The mini-tour in London is now over; I head back to Manchester, and Tyler and the band back to America. The fans over there have a firestorm heading their way, if only they’ll hold off on shouting ‘Whitehouse Road’ long enough to give it oxygen.

Setlist:

(all songs written by Tyler Childers, unless noted)

1. I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry (Hank Williams) (unreleased)
2. Shake the Frost (from Live on Red Barn Radio)
3. Lady May (from Purgatory)
4. Follow You to Virgie (from Live on Red Barn Radio)
5. I Swear (to God) (from Purgatory)
6. Tattoos (from Purgatory)
7. Ways of the World* (Traditional) (unreleased)
8. Country Squire (from Country Squire)
9. Bus Route (from Country Squire)
10. Deadman’s Curve (from Live on Red Barn Radio)
11. Heart You’ve Been Tendin’ (from Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?)
12. Old Country Church (J. W. Vaughn) (from Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?)
13. Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven? (from Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?)
14. Cluck Old Hen* (Traditional) (unreleased)
15. Creeker (from Country Squire)
16. Born Again (from Purgatory)
17. Percheron Mules (unreleased)
18. Way of the Triune God (from Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?)
19. House Fire (from Country Squire)
20. Tulsa Turnaround (Alex Harvey/Larry Collins) (unreleased)
21. Universal Sound (from Purgatory)
22. Honky Tonk Flame (from Purgatory)
23. Trudy (Charlie Daniels) (unreleased)

* according to setlist.fm