Tyler Childers, 'Jersey Giant', and the Snipe Hunt: Embracing an Artist’s Growth

This past June, Tyler Childers officially released ‘Nose on the Grindstone’, a song that many, for years, recognized as one of the highlights of the artist’s beloved catalogue.

Up until the arrival of this studio recording, the near-decade-old tune had lived its life as a concert staple, and a live acoustic version from his 2017 OurVinyl Sessions EP remained one of the only keepsakes of the cherished song.

‘Nose on the Grindstone’ would be confirmed as the lead single of his latest album, Snipe Hunter. Instantly, fans were sent on a wild goose chase–a literal snipe hunt–to uncover what other well-kept offerings would grace the tracklist. Some even speculated that the album might consist entirely of unreleased oldies. This was fueled further when ‘Oneida’, another long-sought-after track, received a formal release just weeks later.

‘Follow You to Virgie’, ‘Her and The Banks’, ‘Messed Up Kid’, ‘Harlan Road’ – these hidden gems cropped up in comment sections and message boards as fans brainstormed which would make it to the soundbooth next. Yet, none were name-dropped with quite the same fervor as ‘Jersey Giant’.

The story of ‘Jersey Giant’ is a curious one. It first appeared more than a decade ago, gracing occasional early live performances and even Childers’ Soundcloud, but remained elusive, unreleased. Today, it rarely graces a setlist, despite being a favorite among fans. This spring, however, marked the first time Childers had performed the song live in years–and notably, the first time with a full band. This raised expectations and acted as yet another scent marker on this ongoing snipe hunt.

But when the tracklist was finally unveiled on July 2, ‘Jersey Giant’ was nowhere to be found.

Feathers were ruffled, and fans were likely left feeling bamboozled–perhaps even let down. The anticipation and subsequent disappointment were palpable, and the underlying conundrum that surfaced is one that seems to arise with each new release that arrives sans our expectations: Why do we feel owed by the artists we love?

This question is more than just about ‘Jersey Giant’, it speaks to a larger dynamic between artists and their fans. Childers, especially, has made a name for himself as the everyman's singer-songwriter–he crafts music that makes us ordinary folk feel seen, weaving together a soundtrack for all of our problems and failings, for every hope and dream. We feel connected to him, like he’s one of us. Because of this, we feel as if he is beholden to us in some way, obligated to give us those familiar pieces of himself that could very well no longer exist in the form we remember.

But the truth is, many of those unreleased songs that we hold so dear no longer belong to Childers. In fact, many of them have become “standardized” in the wider country music scene. It seems like every rising country star with an acoustic guitar has redone ‘Her and The Banks’ and all but beaten ‘Jersey Giant’ to death. The Sam Barbers, Evan Honers and Max McNowns–any young act who can piggyback off of the song’s simple chords and honest words has done so, and will continue to. In this way, the number has become a standard, a tune that many more will mimic years from now. Tyler shouldn’t be expected to continue performing it just because it’s become a staple of the genre.

Childers has, after all, outgrown many of these songs. He has evolved and matured into an artist capable of consistently producing genre-shaping works that evolve the landscape of country music. Still, we feel robbed when we don’t get what we want because we’ve shouted it into the void of the internet, believing the absence of a ten-year-old tune to be a betrayal or personal attack. Why are we so resistant to the fact that our favorite artists grow and progress, choosing instead to be married to this idea of who we think they should be?

This very resistance led a contemporary and collaborator of Childers, Sturgill Simpson, to make a radical choice just last year. When his name and mythos began overshadowing his music, he took on the pseudonym Johnny Blues Skies to release an album free from the weight of fan expectation. By adopting a new identity, Simpson gave himself the creative freedom to make music on his own terms, away from the restrictions of his public persona.

While Childers isn’t resorting to those extremes by any means, he is often tasked with bearing the hefty weight of public presumption. With each release fans demand something new while simultaneously holding onto the past. Yet time and time again, Childers exceeds those expectations, crafting songs that resonate with people in ways that we might not have envisioned. Still, we ask for more: Where’s this? Where’s that? Where the hell is ‘Jersey Giant’?!

And even when we do get exactly what we ask for, it’s still never quite enough. When ‘Nose on the Grindstone’ finally received the studio treatment, it was met with some backlash. Fans lamented the loss of its original soul, especially after the opening verse was censored. The line “Daddy fucked up his back” was changed to “He messed up his back, couldn't work anymore”, and for some, that alteration was seen as a betrayal of the songs authenticity. Critics also took aim at Childers for his perceived shift toward sobriety and “woke” values. They grumbled about wanting the “old” artist back, forgetting that the “old” Childers was no longer home.

So, if we did get an official version of a song like ‘Jersey Giant’, would we even be satisfied? Would it be the same song we cherished so dearly in our memories, or would it be forever altered by the weight of public expectation?

On July 25, we’ll be gifted an album filled with mostly new and never-before-heard material, marking the first taste of fresh music from Childers in nearly two years. This should be an exciting moment and, for most fans like us, it truly is. When Snipe Hunter arrives, let’s not get hung up on what's missing. Let’s relish in what’s there.

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