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Joshua Tillman, aka Father John Misty, has done a Dylan and stepped off the media carousel. The singer-songwriter last gave a round of interviews in 2017 while promoting his album Pure Comedy. That was when he became a talk-show staple, swapping repartee with wisecracking hosts in suits. Tillman, in the guise of Misty, was at risk of going the same way — a licensed satirist shilling for laughs amid the flattering glare of attention.
So: no more interviews. A shame, as he is a great interviewee, with more to say and a sharper way of saying it than the majority of his US indie peers. But Tillman was getting in over his head — a common condition in the songs that he has been making as Father John Misty since 2012’s Fear Fun. He has learnt, over the course of six masterly albums, how to come up for air.
His current tour is in support of last year’s Mahashmashana, which turns every dial up full and switches all the lights to green. A seven-strong band brought its full-bore sound to life at the Royal Albert Hall. Tillman-as-Misty stood out front in a sharply cut dark suit and open-necked shirt, with a big beard and handsomely coiffed hair, looking like Kris Kristofferson in the Rat Pack. He sang with hand in pocket or on hip, a crooner’s stance, until the musical waters rose up and some of the old countercultural-rock poses were brought out.
The opening song was “I Guess Time Just Makes Fools of Us All”, from his new album. It was louche funk with a blaring edge, courtesy of Tony Barba on saxophone, with sardonic verses about washed-up would-be heroes taking a swing and missing. Then came another new track, “Josh Tillman and the Accidental Dose”, a witty portrait of a crackup. The song’s slinky groove became overwhelmed by menacing orchestral swells (played on a synthesiser). The singer ended it holding the microphone stand horizontally above his head, as though trying to stay afloat through recourse to the clichéd entertainment of wild man stagecraft.
Switchbacks between being in and out of control took place throughout the set. The lighting made subtle use of murkiness and illumination. The amplification had a deliberately pushy quality, as if a chaotically big sound were latent in even the most hushed songs (of which “Summer’s Gone” was a highlight). Instrumental textures were well mixed, such as David Vandervelde’s Laurel Canyon-style pedal steel guitar parts. The lilting voice of Misty in full flow rang out, at times rising into a torrent of words and feelings. Songs began quiet and got louder. They often came to a sudden halt, like the cartoon moment just after the precipice.
“Here’s another interminable number about ageing,” the singer said when introducing “So I’m Growing Old on Magic Mountain”. He is 43, a stage of life that suits his alter ego. Middle-age has sharpened the tragicomic contrast between masculine swagger and infirmity in Father John Misty’s persona. This staging showed him at the peak of his powers.
★★★★★
fatherjohnmisty.com
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