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.

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)