Father John Misty
The Vic - Chicago - April 3rd, 2015
I wanted Father John Misty to be my favorite concert ever really fucking bad.
I wanted his snark to translate even better than I had hoped it would. I wanted the people around me to be just as cheesed the fuck out as I was. I wanted to stare at the pictures I took of him for minutes at a time, absorbing every fucking pixel as unique miniature homages to one of my favorite musical personalities on the fucking planet. I wanted to be so enthralled with the dude as a performer, and he with me as an audience member, that he would shake my fucking hand afterwards.
WELL CLASS, MARK ALL OF THE ABOVE OFF THE LIST, CAUSE WE ALL CAME. AND THEMS ALL CAME TRUE.
Yes, there was ejaculate.
There was ejaculate everywhere.
Father John Misty is perhaps the only performer with the ability to tell a crowd of hundreds that his job was to get them off, and that by screaming his name repeatedly, it was hindering his ability to get the rest of us off. And yes, the person screaming his name was a guy, and yes I was also screaming his name, and YES, I got off, and YES, I am not ashamed to state that I fucking adore Josh Tillman and would happily have his children.
Father John Misty at The Vic on Good Friday, April 3rd, 2015, was one of my favorite concert experiences of my life. From the second Josh Tillman and his band started playing there wasn't a dry panty in the fucking venue. Smooth is almost an insult I think, as Tillman has a way about himself that's self deprecating as all fuck, but it's a confident self depreciation. He thinks of himself as just another guy with a mic and something to sing, and while we appreciate that he isn't a fucking egomaniac, even if he were conceited as shit, would it matter?
If I were Josh Tillman I'd have guys brushing my beard and women braiding my chest hairs I'd be so fucking awesome.
Yet, at the helm of one amazingly talented and adorable bunch of musicians, Josh somehow drove the ship, but let the crowd steer the momentum. It was as if he kept his hands off the ship's wheel so we all felt like we were in control, but when you think back on it, he had to've had his penis keeping the wheel on a path straight to orgasm, because everybody came last Friday. The power of this dude's fucking stage presence is all at once captivating and friendly. It's as if we were all made better fucking humans for having witnessed it, and whether our IQs all jumped a dozen points or our stock portfolios tripled in value, our lives are now better because of that fucking concert.
This show was an event for me, see. My best friend Tom is moving out of state, so it was our last show together as residents of the same state. We had purchased these tickets the second they went on sale last fall and had talked about how fucking amazing it would be MONTHS before we even heard the new Honeybear album, but we knew it would be balls. Me, my wife, Tom, Tom's wife, my cousin and his lady, two of my friends who work at my pharmacy, my friends Bart and Tony, our SYFFAL friend Shoe, WE HAD A CREW (AND A SHOE) FOR THIS SHOW, AND REGARDLESS OF THE PERFORMANCE, WE WERE GOING TO BALLS OUT WITH OUR BALLS OUT.
Thankfully, the whimsy and sarcasm being spurted across our willingly open mouths and hearts was better than anything I could have imagined. Going in and out of Fear Fun and Honeybear, a serenade of his lady friend (that even made me moist), and a Cohen cover I had never heard, my attention was kept, my smile bigger than my fucking face, and my pants were promptly tightened against the girth of my appreciation for such a fun fucking evening with one of the most originally inspiring musicians I've ever seen.
When a guy leaves the stage for like 50 seconds and then runs back on to give you AN ENCORE YOU WOULD GLADLY PAY FULL TICKET PRICE JUST TO SEE ON ITS OWN, you know the dude wants to give you all of this. But what's unexpected and hugely humbling to me, is once the lights come on in the venue as a way of saying "get the fuck out", there's fucking Josh Tillman at the front of the stage patiently shaking 95% of the hands outstretched to thank him for such an awesome fucking show.
But, and I'm stifling goosebumps and a single Misty tear here, I still can't figure out if we were thanking him or he was thanking us, because that shit was fucking magic.
So the recap: I got to attend one of my favorite shows of my entire life, my favorite and best show of the year, with a bunch of my favorite people, and then I got to shake Josh Tillman's fucking hand and stare directly into those fucking fuck me eyes of his. And not only was my wife supes (yes, supes) jealous of our new found best friendship that's bordering on love because of all the sexual tension, but she finally understood why me and Tom are such pussies for Father John Misty.
He's, just, everything.
If you get the chance, pay whatever is necessary to experience him.
Here's my shitty phone video below... Watch it. Seriously. Unexpected is an understatement.