At Toronto’s Scotiabank Arena, Oklahoma country star Zach Bryan gave his fans what they wanted, ad nauseam

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Oklahoma everyman Zach Bryan and his band offered more than two dozen songs at Toronto’s sold-out Scotiabank Arena on Sunday, the first night of two. In which key were the tunes? The people’s key – every time.

Bryan is a Navy veteran who works the fields of folk, country and heartland rock to produce simple, earnest, swelling music marked by drawling, raspy-voiced displays of vulnerability. His output is prolific: since 2019, four albums – two self-produced and two on major label Warner Music.

Breakout single Something in the Orange, a sorrowed relationship song from the 2022 album American Heartbreak, reached the top spot on Billboard’s Hot Country chart and on the Hot Rock and Alternative chart.

The New York Times insists he is “music’s most reluctant new star,” perhaps because he doesn’t court the press. But there is nothing unwilling about him. The aw-shucks superstar works social media like the devil down in Georgia works a fiddle. Onstage, he is a dogged ingratiator; the fawning is tiresome, sincere or not.

“I love you guys so much,” Bryan told the crowd countless times. He thanked Toronto repeatedly, even during songs. With conspicuous modesty and puppy-dog eyes, he introduced more than one number with, “I hope you guys don’t hate it,” as if that was even a remote possibility. The Great American Bar Scene was converted to “the great Canadian bar scene” for the occasion. On Tishomingo, “Toronto” was a close enough rhyme.

Because it was St. Patrick’s Day, the unshaven star rocked the Toronto Maple Leafs’ new St. Pats jersey in the team’s own arena. He wore it sleeveless – more room for his heart.

He has more than a few tattoos. If he doesn’t have one dedicated to “mom,” the teary ballad Sweet DeAnn, a tribute to his late mother, serves the purpose.

I don’t want the stage

I don’t want the girls

I want back the days

You were breathin’ in this world

Bryan and his seven-piece band performed in the round – everybody received a clear view. Mid-song pauses weren’t for dramatic effect, but to allow the star attraction to move across the stage to sing into another microphone and face a different group of fans.

Three band members wore cowboy hats. As a group, they looked as though they might have arrived to the concert having just taken on the Earp brothers. Though Bryan called them the world’s greatest band, they were unremarkable. The same-sounding material did not call for virtuosity. There were mandolin moments, pedal-steel spotlights and time for trumpets, but the arrangements were uncomplicated.

Often Bryan and the others shut down completely, allowing the audience to take on the choruses a cappella. Each time before handing over the singing chores to his customers, Bryan told them, “Don’t let me down.” They never did.

As for the songwriting, Bryan is generously thought by some to be a poor man’s Springsteen. The songs are catchy, but emotionally rather than melodically. There are no riffs to grab attention, no vivid storytelling evocations to be had. This is ardent pablum, with formulaic crests and falls – Mumford and Sons for the pickup-truck people.

Apparently, Bryan is a pool player. He gave the Toronto billiard hall the Charlotte Room a shout-out early in the show. Before the melodrama of Nine Ball (presented with the Matthew McConaughey-starring video shown on the giant screens above the stage), Bryan feigned ignorance about his fame. “I don’t know how we got here,” he claimed.

The simple answer? Pandering. For the encore song, Revival, the backing band all wore the classic white Toronto Maple Leaf jerseys. Bryan plays Edmonton and Vancouver in November. Bet he’s already ordered the Oilers and Canucks sweaters.