The Misty/Tillman axis delivers another gloriously overblown tour-de-force.
Fewer than ten seconds into the opening and title track of Father John Misty’s new album and we are knee-deep in thudding percussion, sweeping melodramatic string crescendos and pounding piano chords. Nine minutes and 20 seconds later the first song climaxes with a thrilling supernova that combines Mike Scott’s ‘Big Music’ (a sound with a very different relationship to faith than our Misty hero), the spectacularly sumptuous instrumental surges of ‘Deserters’ Songs’, Phil Spector and the Walker Brothers’ 60s productions and some final moments of otherworldly clangourous noise that seems to presage the dystopian world that the song may (or may not) hint at. In the intervening minutes we have heard about a mythology of Hindu burial grounds, corpse dances, organised religion as get rich quick pyramid scheme and flashily dressed courtiers “Resplendent in donor class panache”. The anthemic grandness of this opening song feels like the culmination of a lifetime’s work, rather than a route into the latest record.
So far, so Josh Tillman then… only more so. There may be nothing on ‘Mahashmashana’ (the song and the album) that we have not experienced previously in Tillman’s lavish canon; the lush orchestral pop of last record ‘Chloe and the Next 20th Century’ through the vocal-rich psyche-tinged Laurel Canyon vibes of ‘Fear Fun’ and ‘I Love you Honeybear’ to the winsome, sadly beautiful representations of life on his earliest solo material. Everything on ‘Mahashmashana’ though is ramped up, the dial on the grandiosity generator is notched even further into the red so that the record soars higher, spreads wider and delves deeper than anything he has previously delivered. It presents like an enormous, still magnificent, yet slightly crumbling old chateau of a record. At once with the peeling decoration and the cracked facade but maintaining a bravura and grandiloquent don’t give a fuck affect to the world.
Given that Tillman pretty much eschews interviews and any requests to reflect on his art these days, it is no surprise that much of what is written about it focuses on meaning. The records sound as though they have something interesting and important to say, and people feel the need to try and decipher what that is. As ever with Tillman, for most of ‘Mahashmashana’ the lyrics can be exquisitely poetic whilst remaining opaque and abstruse (“Come on let’s make things interesting, Parachute into the Anthropocene, An amnesiac, a himbo Ken doll” anyone?). Interpretation is a challenge, though enquiry might bring to light the dark humour and scabrous wordplay that seems to, only partially, obscure the apparent insecurities in which he can seem to revel. Or perhaps the ongoing self-referential nature of much of his work; given away by eponymous track ‘Josh Tillman and the Accidental Dose’ (as well as previous efforts such as ‘Mr. Tillman’ ‘The Night Josh Tillman Came To Our Apt.’) as well as the numerous lyrical and musical references to previous songs and albums – the call back he makes in ‘Summer’s Gone’ to the ‘Fear Fun’ LP for instance.
This looking in the rearview mirror of his recorded output might suggest Tillman is feeling closer to the end than the beginning of something (Father John Misty?). Nostalgia has always been there in his work but not in a sentimental way. Now though in the closing ‘Summer’s Gone’ he worries about missed opportunity and lost potential as he navigates LA: “I drive around the city, The place I knew is gone, There’s no fun left to fear but, To Georgie it’s still Babylon”. He seems overtaken by the concern that in the wash up he may be nothing more than “A lecherous old windbag”. The song feels like an ending of sorts (not just to the record) and his “Wish for skies of grey, In the heat of the day, Until summer’s gone” seem to echo ‘Screamland’s ’ proposition that it is “always darkest right before the end”. This feeling reverberates in turn from the LP’s title and its opening track ‘Mahashmashana’, which references a Hindu burial ground where “all is silent”, on throughout the rest of the record. There are so may references to endings, loss and defeat that we experience genuine concern for our hero’s destiny. In turn he wonders “What becomes of the longing, Once your love’s been spent, And the world becomes a stranger?” frets over “The loser’s exodus” and how come “The champ is on his knees, He lost the rematch, He lost the comeback”. He seems resigned to what may be his ultimate fate suggesting that “I know just how this thing ends” and noting that “At this late hour won’t have to beg mercy for defeat”, before consenting that “Most of us old men die at the firing line, Just waiting for our number to be called”. Celebrating success, this record is not.
It doesn’t take much insight to observe that Josh Tillman and/or Father John Misty are at the centre of ‘Mahashmashan’s’ lyrical concerns and all of Tillman’s regard for his (or Misty’s) ultimate fate appears established on the record’s central theme of identity. Questions about just who he is and who we think he is; whether we are supposed to love or hate him and does he love or hate himself, seem to impinge on every second of the record but find their embodiment in the track ‘Mental Health’. From the title on, this may just be the most direct and straightforward lyrical offering in Tillman’s canon, offering a real indication as to why these questions never seem to be resolved.
In the preceding track ‘Josh Tillman and the Accidental Dose’ he has acknowledged his difficulties, confessing “But I can’t drive, and I sure can’t sleep, Around this time, I publicly, Well, nevermind, you can read, I was unwell…”. In ‘Mental Health’, Tillman clearly equates these struggles with his issues of identity. The song is a mess of contradictions, at once full of judgement but also an acceptance that you do care about what other people think of you; which is particularly difficult to deal with when you yourself are unsure of who you are. He begins arguing that “no one knows you better than yourself” and then spends a good portion of the song trying to grasp a clearer sense of his own identity whilst battling with people trying to label him as one thing or another, filling him with self-doubt and insecurity as his identity remains “always one step ahead of you”. The “gods”, “cathedrals” and “prison” that all arrive in quick succession, emphasise the judgments he is clearly experiencing. There’s no doubt that it’s Tillman being judged but also doing the judging and it remains unclear whether or not he regards these judgements as entirely unwelcome or inaccurate. At 4:20 the track opens out, the horns come to the front, the orchestration winds up and a ghostly choir emerges from the mist.
Atop all this Tillman changes tack, taking a much more accepting, even positive perspective on the issue, becoming adamant that “Insanity babe it’s indispensable for the true endeavour of your soul, to find the edge and baby go, go, go”. He seems to be coming to embrace his mental health as part of who he is and (possibly) part of his creative process. Has he learned/decided to turn it to his advantage for his songwriting. The final line, “it’s all in your mind” would suggest he’s now at ease with his mental health and is nowhere near as fraught as he appeared earlier in the track. This could represent a reflection of how fickle our mental health can be or perhaps a continuation of the self-doubt plaguing him throughout or just a performative, self-referential way to round off the song – a nice bit of story-telling with a hopeful ending. Perhaps most likely, all three of these.
Again it remains unclear as to whether he has resolved the questions with which he is beset or decided to simply embrace the ambiguity as a positive force. The outcome of all this might just be that maybe we should cut him some slack as he seems to be doing for himself. Whilst all this is unfolding over six and a half monumental minutes, the musical accompaniment heaves and haws gloriously behind his still languorous croon. Beginning like a gentle piano ballad version of Bali Ha’i from South Pacific the temperate orchestration is suitably restrained and super melodic. As the song develops the increasingly theatrical arrangement becomes an almost ridiculous counterpoint to his reflective and downbeat musings. There are further reflections of Spector productions, Scott Walker crooning and a whole new sax sound until the instrumentation falls away and the song ends like the poignant personal heartbreaker in a Disney movie.
As with much of his earlier work, there is always a nagging doubt as to whether he is being truly personal and reflecting his own circumstances here or whether he is using his own self-reflection as a way to make the personal universal, pointing out through an examination of his own challenges that it might be the vicissitudes of modern cultural experience that is the source of much of his, and by extension, our current ‘unwellness’. That there is more than one reference on the record to a ‘true self’ may point us in one direction but either way this song, and much of the rest of ‘Mahashmashana’ provides solace and agitation in equal measure.
The iconoclastic outlier that is ‘Screamland’ follows immediately after ‘Mental Health’ and together these two songs make up the beating heart of the record and may just be the most perfect 13-plus minutes of music you will hear this year. ‘Screamland’ is a thing of shadowy resolve, not giving up its secrets easily yet still feeling utterly essential. Its gentle/cacophonous dynamics are compelling – muted piano led verses giving way to droning, heavily treated electronic choruses (Alana Sparhawks’ guitar) with the entreaty to “stay young, get numb, keep dreaming”. He is taking us back to one of his favourite stomping grounds – Hollywood – and that chorus could almost be a mission statement for LA as a whole. Sonically though, ‘Screamland’ is possibly the least ‘Hollywood’ sounding track in Tillman’s entire oeuvre. It is melodically humble, the arrangement almost simplistic and the loud/quiet stuff deliberately eschews his usual big/bigger dynamic. The effect is almost alienating in its harshness and positions the track as out of sync’ with almost anything he has done previously. Despite its outsider status though Tillman can’t resist giving the track another mighty crescendo of a conclusion, until it just stops dead mid-drone, once more emphasising the ‘ending’ leitmotif.
That these two songs, together with the title track, are apex Tillman is unquestionable but that is not to dismiss the rest of this record. Throughout it is rich in heartfelt, beautifully fashioned melody and breathtaking in its musical scope and ambition. ‘I Guess Time Just Makes Fools of Us All’ comes across as nothing more nor less than Leonard Cohen on the dancefloor, like a glorious outtake from Ze Records classic ‘Mutant Disco’ compilations. Single, ‘Cleaning Up’ is hyper rhythmic indie dance-punk and ‘Summer’s Gone’ is an out-and-out Broadway show tune.
After all this then, what are we left with? Fundamentally ‘Mahashmashana’ is a magnificent, overblown, indulgent glory of a record. It is consistently thought-provoking and hugely enjoyable at the same time. It will reinforce everything you previously thought about Father John Misty / Josh Tillman. That he/they are a pompous, self-aggrandising pain or a borderline visionary songwriting genius. And, guess what, you’d be right on both counts.
As usual, when we think we have come to terms with a new ‘Misty record, it’s easy to think it might just be his best. Right now ‘Mahashmashana’ feels like the apogee of his art and it is very difficult to know where he can go from here, how he can top this. Here we end up back to the theme of ‘endings’ that recurs throughout the LP. We can imagine Tillman sitting there listening to Misty singing these songs and thinking ‘what now then’. Hopefully another masterpiece in two years’ time, but maybe not?
