The joy of Chris Stapleton

Chris Stapleton is a barrel-chested man of 46, who hides his face beneath a beard that must have taken years to grow, hair that tumbles down past his shoulders and a hat that could probably accommodate rather more than ten gallons. He sings songs about being imperfect, with a band behind him making a sound that one might have heard in 1972. He is so purely, absolutely and definitely American he might as well have petrol for blood and ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ on a permanent loop in his head.

Still, 40,000 people came to the O2 over two nights in London, and not just 40,000 people who remembered 1972 first time round – young couples, girls dressed up in pink cowboy hats, tattooed lads. Even in these confusing times when country music has become cool in the UK – something I wrote about in these pages earlier this year – it came as a surprise to see the make-up of the crowd for this show, one entirely free of big production, with none of the strange genre crossovers into modern forms that have made stars of other country singers.