Get your head inside the brilliantly heartfelt, unapologetically absurd musical stylings of Campfire Tyler
Campfire Tyler sings a tune by the fire on Hunting Island near Beaufort.
Some musicians can be readily analyzed, their unique life experiences making themselves known in each carefully crafted line of a song, each note of the rhythm. Then there are musicians like Campfire Tyler, players whose entire act—on stage, in the recording studio, and in person—is indefinable.
Even within the same song, it’s possible to get whiplash. For a few bars, you’re right there with him experiencing the pangs of wistful nostalgia, heartfelt soulfulness and deep introspection that mark his lyrics. But then he drops in a joke and an F-bomb that transitions right into a trumpet solo (generated by his own mouth, no trumpet needed) and you find yourself laughing despite the emotional journey you just finished.
And that’s just the songs where he’s attempting to play one song at a time. On his famous mashups that serve as the highlight of his live shows, there’s an entirely different process.
“The process is called Attention Deficit Disorder,” he said. “I’ll sit down to play one thing and realize I was playing something else.”
As a stage persona, it’s a delight to watch, joyfully towing the line between sentiment and silliness. But perhaps the most intriguing thing about Tyler Littlejohn, or Campfire Tyler as he’s more famously known, is that you’re never entirely sure it’s a stage persona. It could be that Campfire Tyler emerged, Tyler Durden-like, from Littlejohn’s subconscious to act on the musical impulses he had, until a few years ago, suppressed for too long.
For example, a standard question to ask a musician in an interview situation is to recall their favorite moment on stage. Some will tell you about sitting in with a fellow player they admired. Some will talk about playing for the first time in front of their hometown crowd. Campfire Tyler will tell you about the time he got paid for a gig in meat.
“One time I was playing around Christmas at a place called Rain -N- Bagels, and the owner gave me a whole ham. I mean, they paid me, too, but they also gave me this expensive ham, with glaze and all sorts of stuff,” he said, the memories of the moment dusting his tone with a slight choke. “I started crying because no one had ever given me a ham before.”
It’s a story as oddly humorous as it is remarkably fraught with emotion, which is perhaps the most Campfire Tyler way to tell a story. And the beauty of it is, to hear him talk about that ham, you realize he means it. It’s as if Andy Kaufman had chosen to go into acoustic folk rock instead of pro wrestling; it’s hard to tell where Littlejohn ends and Campfire Tyler begins.
This is, after all, the guy who took on corporate overlords to play a legendary Valentine’s Day set at the most romantic of venues—Waffle House.
“I got this email afterward from their headquarters in Atlanta that may as well have been written in Mesopotamian script, but it basically said, ‘This ain’t your show.’ Valentine’s Day happens every year at Waffle House,” he said.
Taking on corporate overlords is just the latest leg in a musical journey that started a surprisingly short time ago, considering his already massive presence on the Lowcountry music scene. In fact, up until just four years ago, Littlejohn was waiting tables until he decided to return to his love of music. His reasons, appropriately, are as sweet as they are funny.
“I learned how to play guitar at 14, then put it down for about six years,” he said. “I picked it back up when my daughter was born so I could get her to go to sleep.”
It also helped that a chance meeting with friend and musician Matt Robbins taught him a valuable lesson about the power of music.
“He was playing at what was Steamer’s at the time, and when I walked up, I couldn’t believe he was getting food and drinks,” Littlejohn said. “I realized he got free food and got paid to do this.”
Robbins would go on to help Littlejohn book his first season of gigs on Hilton Head Island, the first of several area musicians who would help him as he transitioned from part-time to full-time musician. Jevon Daly will be happy to know that he played a role in the Campfire Tyler story, introducing him to Kyle Wareham, who produced Littlejohn’s first album.
“At that point I’d started picking up a few more places and had hit the ground running,” Littlejohn said. “We put out my album on March 13, 2020, and two days later, the whole damn world shut down. But it was a nice little refresher.”
The rest, as they say, is history. From there, Campfire Tyler would establish himself as one of the most fascinating voices in local music. A little bit inspiring, a little bit mad, but undeniably entertaining, Campfire Tyler puts on the kind of shows that simply remind you how fun the world can be.
“I’m really happy with where I am with everything,” he said. “I’m hoping to record more songs, make some more videos, get some more merch out there and get better as a musician.”
He didn’t say it, but hidden behind the words was something else Campfire Tyler was hoping to get: another ham, if possible.
