Review: Tyler Childers at Thompson-Boling Arena
Knoxville, Tenn., seems to represent a cosmic precipice in the life and times of Tyler Childers.
It’s where, on one of his first solo tours, he split time between a gig in Nashville and an opening slot for his Town Mountain buddies in Asheville.
“I pulled into town in my [Toyota] Corolla with a guitar and a suitcase full of CDs,” he recalled a few tunes into a sold-out April 16 show at Thompson-Boling Arena on the University of Tennessee campus.
He spoke of busking in Market Square by day, swapping songs for spare change, and crashing in a parking deck by night. Shortly thereafter, a chance meeting with fellow Kentuckian Sturgill Simpson at a bingo hall paved the way to Childers’ breakthrough 2017 album, Purgatory, and his 2019 follow-up, Country Squire — both produced by Simpson.
Knoxville’s also where the seeds of Childers’ final hangover were planted in 2020, a few weeks before the COVID-19 pandemic lockdown dominoes began to fall. He toasted a two-night run on a national tour with Simpson by getting so drunk that the following day off at home was a pathetic wash.
“I remember sitting around the house and thinking, ‘This is the one place you want to be more than anywhere in the world,’” Childers said after singing the final words of “Lady May,” a love letter to his wife, Senora May. “And all you can do is nurse this hangover, you sorry sack of shit.”
He quit booze cold turkey that day and, perhaps not coincidentally, has since seen his star in the roots country galaxy rise.
“The biggest thing you get back,” the 32-year-old artist added, pausing to wince back tears, “is time.”
The extra hours afforded by sobriety and the pandemic were put to good use, personally and artistically. He became a first-time father, picked up the fiddle, and launched a charitable foundation to fund education, civil rights, and addiction recovery initiatives in rural Appalachia, and gradually explored more progressive and spiritual themes in his songwriting.
Childers has embraced the role of respectful renegade throughout his creative evolution, building his fanbase without support from mainstream country radio or conformity to Music Row templates. He’s used his art to advocate for LGBTQ+ rights and the Black Lives Matter movement — statements that have drawn the ire of his red-state base — and sidelined one of his most popular songs, “Feathered Indians,” from his live setlist, having seemingly outgrown its juvenile lyrics.
But the Knoxville crowd was with him for every note and word.
A blistering opening set from 49 Winchester served as an apropos appetizer, with the Southern Appalachian country-rockers warming up the crowd of cowboy boot-wearing, Coors Light-clutching fans with tracks from their forthcoming fifth album, Leavin’ This Holler, and barroom singalongs like “Russell County Line.” Clearly pumped at the opportunity to play for such a large (and taste-aligned) audience, the Virginia-based group attacked each of its 11 songs like an encore.
After a brief intermission, a montage of clips from Childers’ career flashed on massive screens before fading to black and stating, in stark-white lettering, the headliner’s intention for the evening:
“Fellowship.”
Photo by Jay Moye
Childers and his seven-piece backing band, the Food Stamps, strode onstage and quickly settled into the bluegrassy “Percheron Mules,” followed by a menacing, Telecaster- and Hammond-organ-powered cover of Kenny Rogers’ “Tulsa Turnaround” that showcased both the frontman’s growlier register and the seasoned swagger of his accompanists.
The show’s first segment hooked the crowd with staples like “All Your’n,” “Bus Route,” and “Shake This Frost,” as well as the diehard-pleasing bust-out “Redneck Romeo,” and a faithful reading of Kris Kristofferson’s “Help Me Make It Through the Night.”
Grounded and gracious, Childers addressed the crowd repeatedly and sincerely with a balance of humble nostalgia and presence. The stage was set up to resemble a farmhouse living room, with glowing lamps, framed family photographs, and glass mugs of hot tea atop end tables and cabinets, and a vintage console TV that flickered footage of University of Kentucky basketball, The Andy Griffith Show, and other homespun content that complemented Childers’ folksy banter and look, which is nowadays more Opie Taylor than Rust Cohle.
The two-hour, 24-song performance explored every chapter of Childers’ left-of-center country catalog — from the visceral “Follow You to Virgie” and “Nose on the Grindstone,” played mid-show, solo acoustic and seated in an antique wooden chair, to hedonistic honky-tonk anthems like “White House Road” and “Purgatory.” The power piano ballad, “In Your Love,” was an early highlight, and the locomotive, Clavinet-fueled folk/funk of “House Fire” segued into the mystical “Universal Sound,” which he calls his “redneck commentary on meditation and reincarnation” as a fitting bookend.
The cavernous venue transformed into a Southern sanctuary at the start of the second act with a spirited take on the Hank Williams hillbilly hymn, “Old Country Church” and jubilant original “Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?” Later in the set, “Way of the Triune God” chugged along with an Oak Ridge Boys baritone bounce, a guitar-less Childers testifying, arms crossed, against a stained-glass backdrop.
The chemistry and camaraderie of the Food Stamps shined during interstitial jams, extended but tasteful solos, and instrumentals laced with location-appropriate teases of “Rocky Top” and “Tennessee Waltz.”
Childers says he now writes with the band’s broad palette in mind — which fortifies his compositions with guitars, banjo, mandolin, fiddle, keyboards, and more — and it certainly shows in a live setting. Early in the night, he introduced each member, auctioneer-style, with a string of superlatives and nicknames, even surprising pianist Chase Lewis with a “Happy Birthday” serenade and candled cake. The gesture channeled the “Fellowship” theme and made the 21,000-plus fans feel like part of the extended Food Stamps family.
(Photo by Sam Waxman)
