Father John Misty - Pure Comedy

New album is incredible. His lyrics are like poetry. I'm a little conflicted; I was a fan of his last album but after his 20 minute rant at a festival where he didn't play and just ranted and left the stage, I was done with him. I don't like that stuff. People pay money and take time to see you and you don't play is pretty douche. I sold my albums and said screw this guy. But, I heard the first single Pure Comedy and was hooked again (check out his SNL performance of the song). Bought the new album, gave it a spin and it is beautiful in parts and the lyrics are so sharp, funny, melancholy, focused. True artist. I can only really compare him in tone only, to Tom Waits maybe. Love to hear thoughts/opinions (and yes, he can come off as pretentious and self involved but he kind of undercuts that on the album).

Comments

  • May 30thMay 30th Posts: 840
    Awesome album. Loved his first and then did not like his second one. This new one is wicked.
  • ledveddermanledvedderman Posts: 7,719
    I can't get past his schtict or character. I'm certain he's a talented musician and lyricist. But he's gone after Ryan Adams so much in the press the last couple of years that it's turned me off to him. Them's fightin' words to me. Ha.
  • Tim SimmonsTim Simmons Posts: 3,547
    I think he just mocked 1989 for a day on his soundcloud. I'm not aware of anything else. They did play some shows together in 2015.

    He does have a shitick, but he seems to have shed most of it for this promo cycle.

    I think the album is very good. I may enjoy it better than the other two.
  • Lyrics to "Leaving LA". Unbelievably honest and talented writer:

    I was living on the hill
    By the water tower and hiking trails
    And when the big one hit I’d have a seat
    To watch masters abandon their dogs and dogs run free
    Oh baby, it’s time to leave
    Take the van and the hearse down to New Orleans
    Leave under the gaze of the billboard queens
    Five-foot chicks with parted lips selling sweatshop jeans

    These L.A. phonies and their bullshit bands
    That sound like dollar signs and Amy Grant
    So reads the pull quote from my last cover piece
    Entitled "The Oldest Man in Folk Rock Speaks”
    You can hear it all over the airwaves
    The manufactured gasp of the final days
    Someone should tell them ‘bout the time that they don’t have
    To praise the glorious future and the hopeless past

    A few things the songwriter needs
    Arrows of Love, a mask of Tragedy
    But if you want ecstasy or birth control
    Just run the tap until the water’s cold
    Anything else you can get online
    A creation myth or a .45
    You're going to need one or the other to survive
    Where only the armed or the funny make it out alive

    Mara taunts me 'neath the tree
    She's like, "Oh great, that's just what we all need
    Another white guy in 2017
    Who takes himself so goddamn seriously."
    She's not far off, the strange thing is
    That's pretty much what I thought when I started this
    It took me my whole life to learn to the play the G
    But the role of Oedipus was a total breeze

    Still I dreamt of garnering all rave reviews
    Just believably a little north of God's own truth
    "He's a national treasure now, and here's the proof
    In the form of his major label debut"
    A little less human with each release
    Closing the gap between the mask and me
    I swear I'll never do this, but is it okay?
    Don't want to be that guy but it's my birthday
    If everything ends with the photo then I'm on my way

    Oh

    I watched my old gods all collapse
    Were way more violent than my cartoon past
    It's like my father said before he croaked
    "Son, you're killing me, and that's all folks."
    So why is it I'm so distraught
    That what I'm selling is getting bought
    At some point you just can't control
    What people use your fake name for

    So I never learned to play the lead guitar
    I always more preferred the speaking parts
    Besides there's always someone willing to
    Fill up the spaces that I couldn't use
    Nonetheless, I've been practicing my whole life
    Washing dishes, playing drums, and getting by
    Until I figured, if I'm here then I just might
    Conceal my lack of skill here in the spotlights
    Maya, the mother of illusions, a beard, and I

    2000 years or so since Ovid taught
    Night-blooming, teenage rosebuds, dirty talk
    And I'm merely a minor fascination to
    Manic virginal lust and college dudes
    I'm beginning to begin to see the end
    Of how it all goes down between me and them
    Some 10-verse chorus-less diatribe
    Plays as they all jump ship, "I used to like this guy
    This new shit really kinda makes me wanna die"

    Oh

    My first memory of music's from
    The time at JCPenney's with my mom
    The watermelon candy I was choking on
    Barbara screaming, "Someone help my son!"
    I relive it most times the radio's on
    That "tell me lies, sweet little white lies" song
    That's when I first saw the comedy won't stop for
    Even little boys dying in department stores

    So we leave town in total silence
    New Year's Day, it's 6 o'clock AM
    I've never seen Sunset this abandoned
    Reminds me predictably of the world's end
    It'll be good to get more space
    God knows what all these suckers paid
    I can stop drinking and you can write your script
    But what we both think now is
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