Father John Misty’s newest is his best yet
It’s time to take Father John Misty seriously.
The Fleet Foxes drummer-turned-folk rock prophet has become something of hipster punchline, best known for his stoned interviews, sardonic presence on social media and cultish fan base of earnest twentysomethings who take his songs at gospel. (“I’m basically a meme at this point,” he confessed to the Los Angeles Times last year.)
But much like the similarly egocentric Kanye West, Josh Tillman’s output under stage name Father John Misty consistently outshines his headlinemaking antics, and four albums in, he’s never been better than on God’s Favorite Customer ( ★★★★), out now.
While last year’s cynical Pure Comedy bemoaned life in the digital age with razor-sharp wit, God’s Favorite Customer is less performative and more introspective, yielding some of Tillman’s rawest, most honest music yet. Existential dread permeates the album’s lean 10 tracks: “I’m treading water as I bleed to death,” he cries on world-weary opener Hangout at the Gallows, repeatedly questioning his reason for living.
He mulls suicide, drunken benders and loss on the bluntly titled Please Don’t Die, while the divine title track is a haunting rumination on loneliness and faith. The Songwriter is an affectionate tribute to his wife, photographer Emma Tillman, as he imagines if their roles were reversed over soft piano: “What would it sound like if you were the songwriter and loving me was your unsung masterpiece?”
Of course, it wouldn’t be a Father John Misty album without a generous helping of his trademark humor. Mr. Tillman hilariously sends up his fastliving rock-star persona, taking on the perspective of a frazzled hotel concierge attempting to meet his outrageous demands. Evocative imagery paints his matter-of-fact lyrics as he casually compares a deep romantic love to a rotting carcass and a pervert in a crowded bus on the anthemic Disappointing Diamonds Are the Rarest of Them All.
But for all his apparent smugness and self-absorption, God’s Favorite Customer suggests that Tillman has finally made peace with the world he so bracingly lampoons. Album closer We’re Only People (And There’s Not Much Anyone Can Do About That) finds him humbled — a word rarely associated with the singer — and reminiscing about lost connections, sending good vibes until they meet again. “Friends, all my friends, I hope you’re somewhere smiling,” he croons. Listening to him bare his soul with a knowing smirk and a wink, it’s impossible not to.