Fear Fun

Episode 371: God's Favorite Customer - Father John Misty

Episode 371: God's Favorite Customer - Father John Misty

Barely a year after releasing his apocalyptic magnum opus Pure Comedy, Father John Misty (aka Josh Tillman) is back with another sonic journey into depravity. God's Favorite Customer finds the embattled monarch of the "poem zone" taking a break from battling the evils of modern times to engaging in bloody combat with his greatest enemy and nemesis: himself.

Special guests Lindsay Hogan (Talking LIke A Jerk) and Seán Barna join Kevin and Drew as we follow this modern day lizard king down the rabbit hole of his deepest insecurities and regrets to find out what's on the other side for one of this generation's most relentlessly talented (and relentlessly misunderstood) voices.


Episode 101: Father John Misty - I Love You Honeybear

Episode 101: Father John Misty - I Love You Honeybear

On our latest podcast, we dig deep into the man, the myth, the legend that is Father John Misty as the gang breaks down his latest effort, I Love You, Honeybear. Is it the masterpiece that everyone expected or just another day in the Josh Tillman’s long strange trip? PLUS!!! New York City contemplates making subsidized housing available to “creatives”, Taylor Swift trademarks everything, Jack White’s guacamole makes the news, and much, much more. Time to shimmy into your sexypants and get comfortable for Episode 101 of ChunkyGlasses: The Podcast! 


REVIEW: Father John Misty - Fear Fun

It’s really challenging not to write a review of Father John Misty’s (ex-drummer of the Fleet-Foxes) debut album Fear Fun as if it was a Dennis Wilson solo record. References to the “Canyon” and “Malibu” certainly evoke his life story. That’s not to say the songs aren’t great. But if he wore his inspirations any more on his sleeves, he would have cufflinks with Charles Manson’s grin on them.

This is a moving-to-Los Angeles record. Not the Los Angeles of Guns N’ Roses Appetite for Destruction, of the Sunset Strip and heroin, lots of jack, Cantor’s in the small hours of the morning, then have a stroke after one too many speedballs. Instead, it’s the soft, hazy Los Angeles of canyons, beaches, and smog-painted sunsets, along with copious amounts of pot, and not a small amount of sadness.

J. Tillman has a voice that is warm, assured while still vulnerable. He surrounds that voice with a fairly spare and quiet accompaniment. While there are pianos, acoustic guitars and percussion, none of them assert themselves very much. Despite all the instrumentation he might as well as be singing a cappella somewhere off Topanga Canyon.