A snipe hunt is a prank where the trickster sends their unsuspecting victim out into the woods to hunt for a massive bird that doesn’t exist. It’s part joke and part rite of passage. Tyler Childers’s latest album, Snipe Hunter, seems to do just that for the faction of fans still clinging to the rowdy, whiskey-bent boy who sang “Feathered Indians” eight years ago. Instead of a return of the “old Tyler,” we got something stranger, sharper, and more sober.
Tyler Childers has never made the same record twice. However, his latest album is more than just another record in his discography. It marks a pivotal moment, not only in his career but in his journey. Snipe Hunter pulls back the curtain on an artist wrestling with sobriety, identity, and what it means to create art on his own terms. This record challenges listeners, confounds expectations, and ultimately redefines what Tyler Childers can be beyond the raw, wild persona that first captured our attention.
If you were to ask the general country music fandom, many would say Tyler’s first few albums, Bottles and Bibles, Live on Red Barn Radio, Purgatory, and Country Squire, represent the peak of his appeal. Those records captured a young, wild artist with a bloodshot soul and a gifted mind. Since his sobriety, Tyler sounds undeniably different. He’s not the same man, and at times, he hasn’t felt like the same artist. Long Violent History leaned heavily on old-time fiddle tunes, almost as if Tyler needed an Appalachian cultural mask to perform behind. Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven? was overtly gospel-inspired, again framing the album around a specific thematic conceit. What is perhaps most striking about Snipe Hunter is how it breaks away from the gimmicks that seemed to underpin his sober-era albums. This new record doesn’t lean on any such artifice. It’s Tyler, sober and raw, figuring out who he is without a crutch. It’s a natural evolution, and it’s exciting to hear him settle into that space.
On the surface, this record can feel jarring and even alienating at times. Rick Rubin’s production is undeniably strange and unexpected, with vocals that sometimes sound as if they were recorded through a kaleidoscope. Some songs feature clean, straightforward vocals, while others warp and distort. These choices might deter fans on the first or second listen, but the key is that they were, in fact, deliberate choices. It might be easy to scratch your head at them, but there is no denying the intentionality behind the project as a whole.
To understand a piece of art, we need to understand the artist, and to understand the artist, we must examine their art. As he always has, Childers wrote every song solo, which eliminates any middleman or co-writer interference, preserving a direct and uncompromising connection between the artist, the art, and the audience. Childers has always been more involved with his art than anyone else, and Snipe Hunter is no different. The way he writes is unique and distinctly his own. His writing style is fully immersive, often more invested in a journey than a destination. He might spend an entire verse exploring a single image or idea that another songwriter might breeze through as a throwaway metaphor. Even when it’s something as silly as:
“I wonder if it’s hotter than the devil’s dick on fire
In a wool sock that is soaked, I mean, completely doused
In kerosene and set ablaze the way it’s here right now”
Outside of the lyrics, even the odd production choices also serve the record’s larger purpose. The unorthodox instrumentation and clashing textures create tension and discomfort, mirroring the complexity of Tyler’s sobriety journey and the discomfort of personal growth. It’s a record that invites thought, deep feeling, and understanding over time, not just consumption.
Sonically, Snipe Hunter explores unmarked territory not only for Childers but for a country record in general. The inclusion of an 8-bit video game synth in “Getting To The Bottom” is unexpected in any country album, much less from an artist rooted in Appalachian traditions. The mix often layers a bewildering variety of textures and sounds that find themselves at odds with the polish and predictability of modern popular music.
This experimentation can feel overproduced or self-indulgent at times, but at its core, it’s purposeful. It creates a sonic landscape that enhances the album’s themes of unease, reckoning, and rebirth. Some of these production choices, especially the vocal processing, feel awkward or downright strange at first. Still, they challenge the listener to step outside the comfort zone of what our ears are accustomed to and engage with Tyler’s evolving artistry. It’s risky, and it doesn’t always land perfectly, but it’s intrinsically artistic.
Another telling choice is Tyler’s decision to include studio versions of “Nose On The Grindstone” and “Oneida.” For fans who’ve waited years to hear these underground staples given the full studio treatment, their release felt like a long-overdue reward. However, in hindsight, they also functioned like the first steps in a classic snipe hunt: bait for those expecting a return to the old Tyler. These songs seemed to promise one thing, only for the album to deliver something completely off the wall. However, more so than just a silly prank, the inclusion of “Oneida” and “Nose On The Grindstone” sees Childers using familiarity as a doorway into transformation. Rather than abandoning his past, Tyler reframes it. These tracks serve as nods to the boy who wrote them; familiar yet reframed through the lens of the man he has become. By revisiting these songs, Tyler refuses to abandon his past; instead, he integrates it into his sober present. It’s a subtle but powerful statement about growth and continuity. He isn’t trying to erase who he was but rather hold both past and present in tension as he navigates his artistic identity.
This album isn’t for the casual fan hoping for more of the same. It’s not casual at all. Instead, Snipe Hunter feels like it exists primarily for Tyler himself, a deeply personal work, meant to document his journey and exploration.
That said, it’s also an album for listeners who want to meet an artist on his terms, who appreciate complexity and aren’t afraid of challenge or discomfort. From the production to the subject matter, it demands active listening, undivided attention, and patience. Fans who are exclusively drawn to Purgatory or Country Squire may find this record challenging or perplexing at first. Those who engage deeply will find a record that expands the idea of what Tyler Childers and, by extension, country music can be.
Snipe Hunter is not an easily digestible record. It’s alienating, jarring, and weird, which is exactly what makes it compelling. Tyler Childers has delivered a deeply personal, sober, and unapologetic work that dares to think and feel on its own terms. This album is Tyler shedding old skins, confronting sobriety, and embracing a new version of himself as an artist. It’s a record that doesn’t pander or soften its edges for easy consumption. Instead, it stands as a fearless piece of artistic existence, one that will reward listeners willing to listen beyond surface-level expectations. Snipe Hunter is a challenging yet ultimately rewarding chapter in Tyler Childers’s ongoing evolution, a testament to an artist growing into his sober self and expanding the boundaries of his craft.
