Father John Misty Returns with ‘Mahashmashana’
After two years, Father John Misty returns. Josh Tillman, a veteran of the indie rock scene, has been performing since 2001; his first album under the stage name was released in 2012, and he’s cranked out five albums since. Point is, Tillman’s been doing this for a while; one might think after two decades of performing we’d see a plateau, but Tillman only ever seems to keep growing. Flippant, humorous lyrics and satirical social commentary are staples of his sound, and Mahashmashana is no different; but instead of sounding like a replica, the album is a reinvention.
If you’re unfamiliar with Tillman’s work, “Mahashmashana” provides a perfect preview: tongue-in-cheek lyrics playfully poke fun at the human condition as passionate strings swell and contract in perfect harmony. It’s easily one of the best on the album, if not the best; the instrumentation is lush, and the lyricism raw, making the titular track an instant classic. “Mental Health,” another standout on the record, barrages listeners with an array of questions: do we need suffering to make good art? Isn’t the concept of mental health simply a more dignified cry for help, a privilege we can focus on when unburdened with other hardships? The addition of flutes and strings elevate the lament, making it almost nostalgic; Tillman’s work is perplexing in this regard – biting, sardonic commentary is underscored by ethereal instrumentation, miraculously creating one harmonious contradiction.
“Screamland,” a brooding seven-minute ballad, begins with a paradox: “The optimist / Swears hope dies last / And shoots the lamplight clean from the brakeman's hand.” While open to interpretation, the song seems to be critiquing the forced optimism some tend to adopt in the face of adversity. Consistently, the speaker ignores the consequences of his actions – getting their hip brace wet, extinguishing the lamp whilst preaching hope, “This year's wine tasted suspicious but just enough like love” – they know it’s bad for them, but adopt an attitude of blind optimism regardless, intentionally living in ignorance and “get[ting] numb” to the issues that surround them. The song, like much of Tillman’s work, is laced with allusions to Christianity, creating a story that’s powerful and haunting.
“I Guess Time Just Makes Fools of Us All” is a swampier, funk take on Tillman’s nihilistic ramblings. Over the course of seven verses he explores the irony of human nature, impishly referencing his own controversy with Rolling Stone and reinventing the opening lines of Howl: “The greatish minds of my generation / Gladly conscripted in war / Of defending any Goliath / That would darken the door.” The song poetically conveys a depressing truth: humanity is screwed from the get-go. Tillman isn’t the first to chronicle the bleakness of human existence, but he does so much better than most over the course of the eight-and-a-half minute track.
Tillman closes out the album with “Summer’s Gone,” wistfully and regretfully glimpsing back on the past. The song, interestingly enough, ends on a hopeful note: after spending 45 minutes contemplating time’s humbling forces, Tillman finally sings, “But you eat a peach or you skin your knee / And time can't touch me.” Maybe it’s that blind optimism, or maybe it’s more of his trademark sarcasm, but either way, it’s a beautiful end to an album that so cynically grapples with time.
Mahashmashana is one big riddle, each song with its own labyrinthine set of secrets to unravel. Tillman doesn’t make it easy; in inspecting his lyrics, you’re also forced to look at yourself. His blend of humor and sincerity acts as a mirror – you can laugh at each quip, but not without examining your own place within it all, contemplating your own complex feelings on the matters at hand. Mahashmashana is elegant, refined, and charmingly snide, a lovely testament to Tillman’s time and growth as Father John Misty.
Father John Misty begins his tour this February.
