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Tyler Childers’ Snipe Hunter Pulls Back the Curtain On One of Country Music’s Most Fascinating Minds

The Kentucky singer-songwriter unleashes his inner oddball on his much-anticipated seventh album, talking a lot of shit, and singing about hunting, addiction, the Bhagavad Gita, and koalas with syphilis.

Tyler Childers’ Snipe Hunter Pulls Back the Curtain On One of Country Music’s Most Fascinating Minds
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Tyler Childers fans can cross “Nose On the Grindstone” off the list. They’ve been clamoring for an official release of the song for years, alongside several others the redheaded Kentuckian used to play for dive-bar crowds back in the early 2010s, but have never appeared on any of his six full-length studio albums. “Jersey Giant” and “Redneck Romeo,” “Messed Up Kid” and “Her and The Banks”—indeed, Childers has a bunch of silver song-bullets in his pocket he has not yet fired.

Only he gets to decide when (or if) to fire ‘em, and he did so in June, when he released a studio version of “Nose On the Grindstone” as the first single from his highly anticipated new album Snipe Hunter. Sparsely arranged and severely intense, it’s typical of the sound that catapulted Childers from small-town hero to still-rising superstar: rough-hewn but tuneful country-folk, constructed masterfully out of acoustic guitar strings and unvarnished tales about life and love in the rolling hills and shadowy hollers of Appalachia.

That more or less describes Childers’ breakthrough album Purgatory, an instant classic produced by Sturgill Simpson and released via independent record labels in 2017, as well as its followup, 2019’s Country Squire. Together, those two releases pushed Childers to the forefront of the burgeoning Americana scene, alongside artists like Simpson, Colter Wall, Sierra Ferrell, and Jason Isbell. A rising tide lifts all boats, of course, and these days, Childers is headlining arenas and festivals.

In recent years, he has taken his newfound fame as an opportunity to challenge his growing audience. First, Childers released an album of traditional fiddle tunes and an anti-racism protest song (2020’s Long Violent History), then followed it with a collection of gospel songs played three different ways (2022’s Can I Take My Hounds To Heaven?). When it came time to promote his short and sweet 2023 album Rustin’ In The Rain, he did so with a video for the single “In Your Love” that depicted a romance between two male coal miners.

So, you can see why some longtime fans hoped “Nose On the Grindstone” signaled a return to Childers’ early days, and how their hope swelled when the second single was “Oneida,” another relatively mellow country love song he played on a radio session in 2016, but hadn’t yet released. Over on the Tyler Childers subreddit, more than one person has wondered: What if he clears the vaults, and this album is all our old faves?

It’s not. If there’s one thing we know about Childers, it’s that he will choose to zag when the world expects him to zig, and Snipe Hunter is mostly a rollicking twang-rock and roll record full of brand new tunes and hard-won wisdom, big ideas about the big ol’ world, expansive arrangements for his band the Food Stamps, and a persistent, palpable rawness courtesy of the legendary Rick Rubin, who produced the album, and Sylvan Esso’s Nick Sanborn, whom Childers pulled in to make the songs “weirder,” Sanborn told GQ.

Things get weird right away. The opening track, “Eatin’ Big Time,” is a thick cut of greasy boogie-blues in which Childers both eats the rich and flexes his own homegrown success: “With albums gold and platinum overflowing to the ceiling,” he howls against a fuzzed-out, loping groove, “eatin’ big time is a feelin’ with the friends that I have made.” Elsewhere, he turns a high-energy country tune into a hilariously vivid warning for those who’ve crossed him (“Bitin’ List”), dishes out country-life advice backed by swampy doom-blues (“Watch Out”) and weaves lessons he’s learned about hunting and hatred into one seething lyric while the Food Stamps show off their punk-rock chops (“Snipe Hunt”).

Especially striking is a pair of back-to-back songs near the end of the album that feel intertwined. First up is “Tirtha Yatra,” a honky tonk tune in which Childers dreams of a spiritual journey to India to “get a better understandin’ of the culture that’s surroundin’ all the scriptures (he’s) been poundin’.” That’s followed by “Tomcat and a Dandy,” a droning waltz built from scratchy fiddle, pump organ, Hare Krishna chanting, and reflections on mortality. Here, Childers’ unique confluence—his deep understanding of the rural American existence, his wide-eyed world-wandering, and his personal spiritual journey—come together in a way that feels authentic, fascinating, and downright psychedelic.

To be clear, there are straightforward country songs on Snipe Hunter, too. “Cuttin’ Teeth” and “Poachers,” in particular, soften Childers’ prickly tendencies in favor of sweet nostalgia and self-deprecation, respectively, plus prominent pedal steel guitar and banjo. And the power-poppy “Down Under” might be the catchiest song on the album, and it’s definitely the catchiest song about the potential risks of encountering various critters in far-away Australia:

Koala bears get livid when they don’t get eucalyptus
Most of them carry syphilis
Or chlamydia, what’s the difference?
All I know is I don’t want no koala cuddlin’ up to me
I can see it fine from here; it is a pretty cute koala

Here’s the thing about Tyler Childers on Snipe Hunter: We get more of him—his interests, his insecurities, his inquisitiveness—than ever before. He unleashes his inner oddball. He talks a lot of shit, often hilariously. He sings about hunting and addiction, sure, but he also sings about the Bhagavad Gita and koalas with syphilis. It’s hard to imagine the guy who wrote “Nose On the Grindstone” all those years ago singing about koalas with syphilis, right? Right. Because while he is the same guy, Snipe Hunter is crystal clear proof that he also isn’t—which is exactly how it should be. That’s good for him and therefore it’s good for his fans, too, no matter how much they may love those old songs.

Ben Salmon is a committed night owl with an undying devotion to discovering new music. He lives in the great state of Oregon, where he hosts a killer radio show and obsesses about Kentucky basketball from afar. Ben has been writing about music for more than two decades, sometimes for websites you’ve heard of but more often for alt-weekly papers in cities across the country. Follow him on Twitter at @bcsalmon.



 
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