By Adrien Marenco
When I bought my ticket for the Pittsburgh show of Father John Misty’s “Mahashmashana Tour” a few weeks ago, I quite literally jumped for joy in my apartment, immediately texting my Misty-worshipping buddies about my purchase. Within moments, I received a flurry of envy-powered all-caps fury, my friends rightfully jealous of what would turn out to be one of the most powerful musical experiences of my life.
For those of you who don’t know, Father John Misty — whose real name is Josh Tillman — was born into a devout Evangelical family and had a crisis of faith when he was a young man. In the early 2000s, he began his musical career in Seattle under the name “J. Tillman” before joining the Fleet Foxes as the group’s drummer between 2008 and 2011.
Soon after leaving the band, Tillman tried hallucinogens for the first time and had a powerful enough trip to revamp his career and public identity under the name Father John Misty. He’s made six records since then, all as diverse in musical style as their underlying themes are similar, poking at the nature and nurture of Tillman’s relationships with his loved ones, himself, and God.
Although I haven’t been in his orbit for a long time, I have streamed his records front-to-back enough times in the past four months that I feel like a longtime fan. I find his lyrical style both fantastically complex and absurdly funny, and the range of musical style and technique that he employs throughout his discography is flat-out impressive. His second studio album, “I Love You, Honeybear,” is commonly ranked among the best of 2015. It’s a concept album about Tillman himself, echoing his hopes and fears surrounding his new marriage and establishing a life with his wife, Emma, in Los Angeles. Every single track on the record has the same raw vulnerability, even featuring a song written on his wedding day (titled “Holy Shit”).
This tour’s namesake, “Mahashmashana,” is named after a Sanskrit term translating to “the great cremation ground” and is a contender as his best record since “I Love You, Honeybear.” Its release on Nov. 22, 2024, was preceded by four singles: “I Guess Time Just Makes Fools Of Us All,” “Screamland,” “She Cleans Up,” and “Josh Tillman and the Accidental Dose.” All of these, and the rest of the record, have long since been added to nearly every single one of my playlists.
During my heavily detoured PRT route to North Shore, I met two others going my way. One was wearing a well-worn sweatshirt with Tillman’s face on it a dozen times, and the other was so worried about missing the opening band, Destroyer, that he sprinted from the yellow line of our T-rail compartment to the door of the venue. It’s become a habit of mine to pay attention to the crowd when going to see an artist for the first time, just to gauge what kind of energy I can expect to be met with during the show, and the cloud of excitement and joy enveloping everyone was infectious, even in the 10-degree windchill.
Armed with the survival skills I developed maneuvering around my overenrolled high school, along with my decidedly unintimidating punk vest, I weaseled through the sprawling GA crowd on arrival, ending up one row away from the barricade. The stage was set up for a six-piece backing band, which included one musician set up with no less than five types of reed instruments for use throughout the set. The upstage curtain’s entire middle section was torn out in a ragged circle, whirling into a shadowed illusion of a void that shifted in depth with the lighting.
After a few head-splitting minutes of interim music (featuring me realizing that I had forgotten my earplugs), the lights turned down. Surrounding me, people were already applauding, cheering their heads off for the departing setup crew. The band made their way across the stage and to their instruments, all clad in sharp suits, most with ties. The woodwind quintupler started them off, bursting the bubble of anticipation with the bold, crooning saxophone opening of “I Guess Time Just Makes Fools Of Us All.” The rest of the instrumentals came in, and Father John Misty strutted onto the stage. He looked the part of a classic jazz frontman in his blue suede suit as he surveyed his audience for the night, toting the carefully confident gaze of an experienced showman.
One thing to know about Misty’s tunes — they’re not exactly short. The tracks of “Mahashmashana” have an average playtime of about six and a half minutes, with the album’s title track being a little less than nine and a half. As much as I adore the album, I was a little worried that the crowd would disengage after minute five, at the latest. To my surprise, the vast majority of the crowd knew every word to even the longest (and ballad-iest) of the album’s tracks, many dancing to the music with Tillman, and just generally having a great time. Later in the show, Tillman articulately complimented that we were doing “real black belt audience stuff,” which I will keep as a badge of honor for weeks at minimum.
It’s hard not to get into it, though, when a performer is as skilled and gently intense as Tillman. Known for his expertise — and eccentricity — in delivery, articulation, tone, and general vibes, he is one of the most charismatic performers I have ever witnessed in person. I found myself jumping for my camera as he delivered rock-solid vocals, working the sizable stage in a way that was completely extensive and seemingly effortless. Along with the legwork, he adds somewhat choreographed elements to his performance, elevating the average frontman’s erratic movement to a structured aspect of his lyrical delivery. (For instance, during “Being You,” he talks to his puppet-serving right hand and acts out the scenes described in the song.) The light show was nothing to balk at either, each shift immaculately timed to the beats and color-matched to the lyrics, blending the visual and auditory aspects of the performance in a way that only elevates the brilliance of Misty’s songwriting and orchestration.
My favorite part was the encore, though, both because of the “Honeybear” heavy mini set and the slight shift in Tillman’s demeanor between the preordained concert and the after-show bonus. He was exhausted, as one tends to be after singing and dancing for an hour and a half straight, but the sheer amount of fun he was having on stage was completely obvious and utterly charming. He played one of my favorites from “Honeybear” named “When You’re Smiling And Astride Me,” a truly beautiful song with a truly silly title, mirroring the dualistic joy and embarrassment that accompanies being known in the little ways. The final song, the title track “I Love You, Honeybear,” ended with an uproar from the audience, the seated sections rising in a standing ovation.
This show was artfully crafted in a way that spoke to both the creativity of the artist responsible and the sheer expertise of his supporting crew. When I started to walk home, I overheard a conversation gushing about how “he sounded exactly the same as he does in recordings,” which I vigorously agree with and respect. The time, effort, and skill that it takes to execute a show like that is almost inconceivable, and I wouldn’t have believed it without witnessing Misty’s performance firsthand.
P.S.
Remember those T-rail delays I noted at the beginning of this? I opted out of that mess on my way back from the show, choosing instead to walk across an anonymous yellow bridge and make my way down to 5th and Wood where I found… a decommissioned bus stop. I walked a few blocks more and was welcomed to Smithfield by another yellow card. I don’t know what, exactly, determines if a bus stop is working or not, but in my personal experience, if there is a road that you can stop on, then it is a working stop. Port Authority’s definition differs from mine because I walked for a WHILE and waited for longer before seeing the elusive 71B to Highland Park. (Did I mention my phone died while I was still at the venue?)
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