In the ever-expanding empire of Taylor Sheridan—the visionary showrunner behind the juggernaut Yellowstone franchise and gritty dramas like Landman—ambition knows no bounds. From the rugged landscapes of Montana ranches to the oil-soaked badlands of West Texas, Sheridan’s storytelling has redefined modern television with its raw authenticity, moral ambiguity, and unyielding focus on the American underbelly. Yet, his latest venture, the CBS music competition series The Road, which premiered on October 19, 2025, has sparked a firestorm of debate among country music aficionados and TV critics alike. At the heart of the controversy? The inexplicable underutilization of Keith Urban, the Grammy-winning Aussie icon whose electrifying stage presence and guitar wizardry have defined a generation of country rock. Instead of unleashing Urban’s full arsenal of talents, The Road relegates him to a stoic host and mentor role, one that feels more like a cameo in his own show than a starring turn. As fans tune in to watch 12 emerging artists vie for a spot as Urban’s opening act, the question looms large: Why is Sheridan squandering one of country music’s most dynamic legends on a format that barely scratches the surface of his genius? This isn’t just a missed opportunity—it’s a downright travesty that leaves viewers craving more from a man who could single-handedly elevate the series to legendary status.

The cast of CBS’s ‘The Road,’ featuring Keith Urban at the center, highlights the emerging artists competing in Taylor Sheridan’s new series.

Keith Urban’s journey to stardom is the stuff of country lore, a tale of grit, innovation, and unrelenting passion that has cemented him as one of the genre’s all-time greats. Born Keith Lionel Urbahn in Whangārei, New Zealand, on October 26, 1967, and raised in Caboolture, Queensland, Australia, Urban’s early life was steeped in the twang of country legends like Glen Campbell and Dolly Parton. His father, a country music enthusiast, gifted him his first guitar at age six, igniting a fire that would burn through decades of chart-topping hits and sold-out arenas. By the early 1990s, Urban had relocated to Nashville, the mecca of country music, where he honed his craft in dive bars and honky-tonks, blending traditional twang with rock-infused riffs that set him apart from the pack. His self-titled debut album in 1999 spawned the breakout single “But for the Grace of God,” marking the beginning of a career that would amass four Grammy Awards, 19 No. 1 hits on the Billboard Country Airplay chart, and over 20 million albums sold worldwide.

Urban’s appeal lies in his multifaceted artistry. He’s not just a singer with a voice that can shift from soulful croon to rock growl; he’s a virtuoso guitarist whose live solos have drawn comparisons to Eddie Van Halen. Tracks like “Blue Ain’t Your Color” showcase his emotional depth, while “Long Hot Summer” pulses with infectious energy. His live performances are legendary—marathon sets where he prowls the stage, shredding on his signature Fender Telecaster, connecting with audiences in ways that transcend the music. Urban has headlined major festivals like CMA Fest and Stagecoach, collaborated with icons from Eric Church to Taylor Swift, and even dabbled in acting, appearing in films like Our Country and voicing characters in animated hits. Married to Nicole Kidman since 2006, Urban’s personal life has been a tabloid staple, but it’s his resilience—overcoming substance abuse issues in the mid-2000s—that adds layers to his legend. As he told Rolling Stone in a 2020 interview, “I’ve always chased the feeling of being alive on stage. That’s where the magic happens.” Yet, in The Road, that magic is frustratingly muted, confined to brief cameos and advisory quips rather than the full-throttle showcase Urban deserves.

Enter Taylor Sheridan, the cowboy auteur whose meteoric rise has transformed him from a bit-part actor in Sons of Anarchy to Hollywood’s reigning king of neo-Westerns. Sheridan’s scripts crackle with authenticity, drawn from his own experiences as a rancher and former actor. Yellowstone, which premiered in 2018, became a cultural phenomenon, averaging over 10 million viewers per episode in its final seasons and spawning prequels like 1883 and 1923. His latest, Landman on Paramount+, starring Billy Bob Thornton as a crisis manager in the Texas oil boom, continues his theme of rugged individualism amid corporate greed. Sheridan’s formula is simple yet potent: high-stakes drama, stunning cinematography, and characters who embody the American dream’s dark side. As executive producer on The Road, alongside Blake Shelton and Lee Metzger, Sheridan brings his signature grit to the music competition genre, promising a “backstage pass into the unfiltered life of a touring musician.” But while this approach works wonders for scripted epics, it falters here, particularly in how it handles Urban—a talent too luminous to be dimmed by docu-style constraints.

The Road follows 12 up-and-coming country artists—diverse in background, from adopted Korean-American Cody Hibbard to Native American Blaine Bailey—as they hit the road, opening for Urban at small venues across America. The format is a hybrid: part reality docu-series, part competition, with eliminations based on crowd reactions, input from guest stars like Gretchen Wilson (the “Tour Manager”), and Urban’s own judgments. The grand prize? A slot at Stagecoach Festival, a $250,000 cash award, and a record deal. Premiering to solid ratings—over 5 million viewers for the first episode—the show captures the grind of touring: late nights, vocal strains, and interpersonal drama. Sheridan’s touch is evident in the raw backstories and unpolished footage, evoking the survivalist ethos of his Westerns. As Vanity Fair noted, it’s “an extension of Yellowstone’s principles on a tour bus,” focusing on real struggles without overt politics. Yet, this very authenticity becomes a double-edged sword when it comes to Urban.

Urban’s role is multifaceted but ultimately underwhelming. As headliner and executive producer, he sets the tone, challenging contestants to perform originals and covers under pressure. In an exclusive clip from Us Weekly, Urban and Wilson congratulate the group before dropping the hammer: two Dallas concerts where one from each subgroup gets cut. “He puts a lot of pressure on contestants,” the article observes, emphasizing Urban’s push for discipline and self-care amid the tour’s demands. He advises on everything from stage presence to vocal health, drawing from his own decades on the road. But here’s the rub: Urban rarely performs himself. His appearances are brief—impassive nods during sets, stoic eliminations that Vanity Fair describes as “detached,” contrasting sharply with Shelton’s animated coaching style from The Voice. Where are the impromptu jam sessions? The masterclass guitar solos? The moments where Urban steps into the spotlight to remind us why he’s a legend? Instead, he’s sidelined as a sage observer, his charisma bottled up in favor of contestant drama.

This waste is particularly glaring when compared to Urban’s past TV forays. On The Voice Australia (2011-2012) and the U.S. version (as a mega-mentor in 2021), Urban shone as a hands-on coach, belting duets and offering razor-sharp feedback that elevated episodes. His 2019 ACM Awards hosting gig was a hit, blending humor with live performances that had audiences roaring. Even in non-music roles, like his heartfelt turn in Kidman’s Big Little Lies soundtrack contributions, Urban brings depth. In The Road, that depth is shallow—Sheridan’s docu-follow style prioritizes “gritty reality” over spectacle, but at what cost? Urban, with his four Grammys for Best Male Country Vocal Performance and hits like “Somebody Like You” (over 500 million Spotify streams), deserves a platform that lets him unleash his full arsenal. Imagine Urban trading licks with contestants, co-writing songs on the bus, or closing episodes with blistering sets. Instead, he’s a glorified judge, his legendary status reduced to a lure for ratings.

Keith Urban headlines CBS’s music competition ‘The Road,’ produced by Taylor Sheridan and Blake Shelton.

Critics and fans have echoed this sentiment. Initial reviews praise the show’s authenticity but lament Urban’s muted presence. “Urban feels like window dressing,” wrote one reviewer on Saving Country Music, noting the irony of a competition built around opening for him yet barely featuring his artistry. Social media buzzes with disappointment: X posts under #TheRoadCBS complain of “wasted potential,” with fans clamoring for more Urban solos. Even Shelton, in promotional spots, hypes the “realness,” but it’s Sheridan’s vision that dominates—prioritizing contestant struggles over star power. This approach worked for Yellowstone‘s ensemble, but here it dilutes Urban’s magnetism, turning a potential tour de force into a tepid sideshow.

The broader implications for country music TV are troubling. In an era where The Voice and American Idol thrive on mentor-performer dynamics—think Blake Shelton’s banter or Luke Bryan’s energy—The Road opts for restraint, aligning with Sheridan’s anti-Hollywood ethos. But country thrives on spectacle: Urban’s 2018 Graffiti U Tour grossed over $50 million, fueled by his pyrotechnic performances. By sidelining that, The Road risks alienating fans who tune in for Urban, not just the underdogs. As Parade previewed, the show promises “a wild journey,” but without Urban at full throttle, it’s more detour than destination.

Sheridan, for his part, defends the format as a “journey to discover the next big star,” per CBS press releases. Guest stars like Wilson add flavor, and the live audience votes inject democracy. Yet, this setup underscores the waste: Urban’s role in decisions feels peripheral, his insights valuable but not visceral. Why not have him collaborate on originals, showcasing his songwriting prowess behind hits like “Cop Car”? Or integrate his family man vibe—father to two daughters with Kidman—into mentorship moments that humanize the grind?

Urban’s fans, a loyal legion spanning continents, deserve better. From his early days fronting The Ranch band to his 2020 album The Speed of Now Part 1, which debuted at No. 1 on Billboard’s Top Country Albums, Urban has evolved without losing his edge. His philanthropy, including the All for the Hall benefit concerts raising millions for the Country Music Hall of Fame, shows his commitment to nurturing talent. In The Road, that nurturing is there, but it’s clinical, not captivating. As one contestant quipped in the premiere, “Opening for Keith is a dream”—but viewers dream of seeing more of him.

Perhaps the series will pivot in later episodes, unleashing Urban in grand finales. But early indicators suggest otherwise: Urban’s “detached” demeanor, as per Vanity Fair, hints at a deliberate choice to keep the focus on contestants. This mirrors Sheridan’s style—subtle, simmering tension—but it shortchanges a legend. In a genre battling pop crossovers and streaming wars, Urban could be the bridge, blending tradition with innovation. Instead, The Road cruises in neutral.

As the series unfolds Sundays at 9/8c on CBS, the verdict is pending. But for now, it’s clear: Taylor Sheridan’s bold experiment is squandering Keith Urban’s legendary status. Country music needs its icons to shine, not simmer. Here’s hoping future episodes hit the gas—or risk leaving fans in the dust.

To truly appreciate the mismatch, consider Urban’s storied discography. Albums like Golden Road (2002) and Defying Gravity (2009) produced anthems that dominated airwaves, earning him 15 Academy of Country Music Awards. His fusion of country with rock and pop—evident in collaborations like “The Fighter” with Carrie Underwood—has broadened the genre’s appeal. Yet in The Road, these elements are footnotes, not features.

Sheridan’s track record invites scrutiny. While Yellowstone empowered stars like Kevin Costner with meaty roles, The Road treats Urban like a prop. Blake Shelton, an EP, brings his Voice flair to promos, but Urban’s restraint feels imposed. As Deadline reported, Urban was chosen for his “headliner” status, but the show underdelivers on that promise.

Fan reactions amplify the frustration. On Facebook, posts about the premiere laud the contestants but query Urban’s airtime: “Where’s Keith’s performance?” one user asked, echoing thousands. Ratings hold steady, but buzz centers on the underdogs, not the icon.

Ultimately, The Road could redefine music competitions with its grit. But by wasting Urban, it misses the mark. Sheridan, master of redemption arcs, might yet course-correct. Until then, country fans mourn what could have been: a series where Keith Urban doesn’t just host—he conquers.