Father John Misty Beautifully Chronicles Our Messed-Up World

The artist born Joshua Michael Tillman in Maryland in 1981 has seemingly led countless lives. Growing up in a strict Christian household where secular music was forbidden, he played drums in the post-rock outfit Saxon Shore and indie folk band Fleet Foxes, released a slew of rustic folk solo albums as J. Tillman, and eventually reinvented himself as Father John Misty (a moniker he’s admitted as being relatively meaningless). In this latest incarnation, Tillman has infused his songs with multi-layered, sophisticated arrangements while making pointed, blunt, brilliant, and usually deadpan observations about modern life and love. With Mahashmashana, he hasn’t necessarily broken a lot of new ground, but he seems to come as close to perfecting his artistry as anyone can. Put simply, Mahashmashana is a masterpiece.

Musically, Mahashmahana – clocking in at a relatively modest 50 minutes – takes advantage of Tillman’s love of a variety of styles. The opening title track has the overstuffed elegance of Phil Spector’s productions, notably George Harrison‘s All Things Must Pass, as Tillman seems hell-bent on assuring us that life might not be important enough to overanalyze. It’s “a scheme to enrich assholes,” he sings. “What the godhead had in mind / When he hid here such revelations / As only singers can describe,” with that last line possibly being a bit of self-deprecating fourth-wall breaking.

But on the single “She Cleans Up”, Tillman shimmies onto the dance floor with an irresistible slice of retro-psychedelic funk/rock. Inspired by the song “Punk Rock Loser” from the Swedish post-punk band Viagra Boys (who receive a co-writing credit), the song’s strut and swagger shake off the magisterial nature of the previous track. “I know just how this thing ends,” he sings in the chorus. “Hallelujah, guess we gave the karmic wheel a spin.” Tillman’s also typically self-referential with the curiously titled “Josh Tillman and the Accidental Dose”, which sees him embracing the dry, organic production styles of a truckload of classic 1970s records against a bluesy backdrop and baroque piano lines while also employing his classic deadpan wit: “She put on Astral Weeks,” he sings at the beginning of the song. “Said ‘I love jazz,’ and winked at me.”

Something is refreshing and a bit reassuring to see an artist like Father John Misty, who made his bones playing much earthier, folk-centric genres, really cut loose with performances that seemed inconceivable 15 years ago. “I Guess Time Just Makes Fools of Us All” is all funky, horn-spiked yacht rock, possibly designed for the listener to shake its collective ass, but it masks lyrics that are well represented in the song’s title.

Mahashmashana was co-produced by Tillman and Drew Erickson with longtime collaborator Jonathan Wilson as executive producer, and Tillman has explained in the press that his band – guitarists Chris Dixie Darley and David Vandervelde, bassist Eli Thomson, keyboardists Kyle Flynn and Jon Titterington and drummer Dan Bailey – were more involved in the process than ever before. On an episode of the podcast Talkhouse, Tillman explained, “This time around, I wanted to get the band in there and see what happened.” That’s evident all over the place, such as on the dreamy “Mental Health”, as the group mesh gorgeously with the ethereal orchestrations, and the epic “Screamland”, which shifts between piano-led balladry in the verses to epic, anthemic crashes in the choruses.

As always, Father John Misty’s musical ambitions often stretch beyond the tight-knit feel of a small band. “Summer’s Gone” recalls the Great American Songbook vibe that informed much of 2022’s Chloe and the Next 20th Century, a full orchestra backing up the singer, who seems to enjoy simultaneously channeling George Gershwin, Randy Newman, and Serge Gainsbourg. In Tillman’s hands, this type of stylistic excursion transcends nostalgia or a need to ease into people-pleasing crooner mode; instead, he is clearly immersed in the process and the art.

Mahashmashana is a Sanskrit translation of “great cremation ground.” Tillman has explained that he chose the word after discovering it in Bruce Wagner’s 2006 novel Memorial. It may be pointless to see a correlation between the title and what’s contained within. What’s being cremated? Is it us? Our beliefs? Our future? It’s impossible to tell, and Father John Misty doesn’t have the answers. As he sings cryptically on the title track, “A perfect lie can live forever / The truth don’t fare as well.”