|Photo by: Amazon.com|
Key Tracks: "Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings," "Nancy From Now On," "O I Long To Feel Your Arms Around Me"
The frustrated writer stares at the screen while seated at his computer. His employers have been hounding him for a piece that is now a week late. Running his fingers through his hair, he lets out a sigh. Where to begin? He types the words "Fuck yes." This is funny. It's funny because this was his honest reaction when he first heard the album. The writer smiles. Finally, a start.
He continues. "Father John Misty is J. Tillman, formerly of a little band called Fleet Foxes." We're really rolling now, the writer thinks to himself. How clever I am! Everyone has heard of Fleet Foxes, ho ho!
"Although this isn't J Tillman's first solo release, it is his first as Father John Misty, a character whose good-natured cynicism lends itself to some very clever and genuinely funny songs."
He sits back. Such prose! Something worth waiting for! His wife enters the room. She has just put their four-month-old baby to sleep without a fuss. The house is quiet and still. She nibbles on his ear.
"What are you working on?"
Far too engrossed in his writing to answer, he plods on. Perhaps he will explain his favorite song from the record.
""Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings," undeniably the best track on the album, will be the road trip song of the summer--the song that will make those hot-as-fuck days stretch into years."
"Do you have to use that word?" she asks.
"It's funny," he responds.
His wife shakes her head. Years of marriage have taught her to expect nothing less.
"I'm going to bed. Join me if you like."
With sex dangling in his face, the writer begins typing at an accelerated pace.
"This album is refreshing in the sense it sounds very little like Fleet Foxes. While Fleet Foxes' arrangements are diverse and beautiful, an air of pretentiousness pervades across their albums like a black stain."
"Are you coming?" his wife's call echoes from the bedroom.
"Father John Misty, on the other hand, doesn't seem to think his music is particularly important, or good for that matter. It is good, of course, but above everything else it is fun. It is fun to listen to and it sounds like it was a lot of fun to make."
"I'll be right there," he finally responds.
He ends the review with: "Perhaps in 10 years it will be regarded as a classic, but for now we will just call it a damn fine album." He sends it to his editors and closes his laptop.
That wasn't so hard after all, he thinks.
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