Let me start by saying I know exactly how this sounds.
Several years ago, I saw Tyler Childers open for Lukas Nelson & the Promise of Real at the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco. The beautiful venue has a capacity of 470, and there was room to spare that evening.
Childers, still long-haired and quite stoned, put on an epic show filled with zippy one-liners and long renditions of trippy songs, primarily from his recently released “Purgatory” album.
Yes, I saw Tyler Childers before it was cool. And yes, I’m a tool for saying so.
That night was fantastic. I got there early—as any good middle-aged person does at a GA show, so I would not miss the chance to stand around and have my feet hurt. During the long wait for music, I made eye contact with Childers as he walked about the venue, getting his things from the bus and putting them on stage.
I was shocked that he was just walking around. I thought he was a much bigger deal because of the quality of his music and songwriting. What stuck with me the most that evening was what he said inspired “Whitehouse Road”—his boredom during a delivery shift on the namesake road.
While I left a few songs into Nelson’s set to get a roast beef sandwich at Tommy’s Joynt (which is a story for a different time), I remember Childers being one of the best performers I had ever seen close-up.
Fast-forward to last Saturday night, when I joined more than 17,000 people singing every word to every song Childers’ played at the Kia Forum.
A few weeks ago, I got a note from fellow LA-based country music fan and writer Dave Pidancet of the “Country Music Dads” podcast asking if I’d like to see Childers at the Forum. This converted sports arena holds 17,505 people — Childers sold out two nights. Additionally, nearly 75% of the people we saw were carrying bags of merch.
Again, I was awed by his presence on the stage. His sobriety has only enhanced his performance and ability to deliver snarky, touching and now a bit more self-deprecating one-liners.
The music and songwriting were still incredible. But as I sat there with my lovely wife, Dave and Kim, his wife — I was grateful for the night of fellowship — as Childers called it from the stage. And I was proud of him for his success.
Childers preaches an evangelical gospel of togetherness. And perhaps it was a message I needed after a rough few weeks, but it hit hard. His honesty, maturity and use of his platform for inclusion were powerful in that moment.
But it wasn’t just my emotional vulnerability. Childers has been platforming under-represented performers on his tour. He featured a gay coal mining couple in the music video of the only radio hit of his career. He addressed the Black Lives Matter movement on an album of old-time fiddle tunes. He does all of this within the framework of a religion often seen as ultra-conservative.
He’s bridging a gap, finding a middle ground without giving up his identity. He’s doing what so many aim to do and fail—he’s setting a good example of how to succeed in a career and be a good person—one who is true to himself, his family and his fans.
That makes me proud of him. And I don’t care if that makes me sound like a tool.