16-04-2025
Father John Misty, review: The eccentric star turns the Albert Hall into a church of rock
Part rockstar, part preacher – and totally mesmerising. How else to describe Father John Misty (or, as his evangelical parents baptised him, Joshua Tillman)? At Tuesday night's superb gig at the Royal Albert Hall, the 43-year-old bearded bard of the dispossessed hipster proved, once again, that he is the most striking talent in contemporary indie: sexy and pretentious yet self-deprecating, with a voice so effortlessly powerful that the walls of the Hall seemed to shake with every note.
Backed by a terrific band – a particular shoutout goes to saxophonist Tony Barba, whose feverish playing on the opener I Guess Time Just Makes Fools of Us All and flagship single Mahashmashana, the title track from Tillman's latest album, made the evening feel like a sort of jazz-soundtracked special congregation. Tillman shimmied across the stage, lithe and charismatic in a tailored black suit. His pointing fingers seemed to incite more of that religious fervour – an apparent invitation for his adoring subjects to submit themselves wholly to him.
Following the universal acclaim for Fear Fun (2012) and I Love You, Honeybear (2015), Tillman could have rested on his laurels and established himself as the saviour of commercial indie rock. But the nihilistic old-school Americana of Pure Comedy (2017), and the big-spirited jazz and Big Band standards on 2022's epic Chloë and the Next 20th Century, hinted that he wasn't content with playing it safe. Late last year, his sixth album Mahashmashana took it further, with its long, slow songs proving challenging on first listen – but joyfully, they came alive at the RAH.
Frantic, pounding percussion heralded the start of that album's standout track, She Cleans Up, as flashing orange lights bounced off the opulent red velvet curtains covering the Hall's private boxes and turned the space into the depths of Hell itself. Respite came – for both the audience and Tillman's brooding baritone, stretched to its limit by his frenzied, impassioned delivery – courtesy of Screamland, a beautiful, Leonard Cohen-worthy rumination on clawing your way out from rock bottom ('Like a sucker with a scratcher / Like a f--- up with a dream').
Tillman's varied catalogue must make choosing a setlist difficult, but the mix of older, humorous tracks and more serious new material made for an endearing victory lap – songs written when he was a 'precocious 33-year-old', he said, felt embarrassing to perform now, but it didn't stop him dropping to his knees and going full throttle for Chateau Lobby #4 ('I wanna take you in the kitchen/ Lift up your wedding dress/ Someone was probably murdered in').
The ghostly Mental Health was introduced as 'another beautiful ballad about getting gaslit by capitalism', while the closing masterpieces Holy S--- and I Love You, Honeybear tightened his grip on the already spellbound audience; you could hear a pin drop for much of the set.
Tillman's 'modern life is rubbish' message is not that different from other artists': the internet is making us stupider, religion can be dangerous, and sex can indeed be weaponised. But it's how he says it – beautifully, devastatingly – that sets him apart.
