Opening at second billing for Father John Misty were Mosman Alder, six Brisbanites who pleasantly surprised the audience with a set so tight, intricate and captivating that all fears for the banality of Australian music evaporated.
Frontman Valdis Valdoze has the ironic cynicism of Morrissey with lyrics like “I never found you repulsive,” all elegantly delivered in a deep liquid monotone. He remains still: a master of minimalism contrasting with the rest of the bands energetic performances. It doesn’t irritate like it would if he were an introvert, but rather, it’s a prepared performance technique.
The group’s solid musical arrangements are technical masterpieces. The doubling of violin and piano lines, unusual harmonic intricacies, contrapuntal organ riffs and pulsating guitar mix were all particularly ingenious elements. They draw from a history of alternative Australian rock but have a fresh multi-faceted modernity. If there is one critique it is simply that the songs often felt too short, but each song still sparkled. Mosman Alder are a beacon of hope in Australian music.
Father John Misty’s (aka J. Tillman) hips should be insured. The former Fleet Foxes’ drummer so unashamedly gyrates them every few minutes he’s probably made every oxygen atom pregnant. His dancing is of the “so bad that it is cool” style, perfected by middle-aged fathers. If you were 60 you felt 20 with Father John Misty. The drummer was even dressed as a rockin’ Ringo Starr.
What Tillman has done is develop a set of classic indie rock genius, stained with folk through it lovingly painted. His world is an original Polaroid picture of the iconic 60s with elements and the imagery of Woodstock and Jim Morrison.
They’re brilliantly done with a tight band that shared his charisma and charm. Tillman’s voice was clear and understated; he didn’t need to shout to get your attention. He used his unnerving tone to seduce you into a complete fixation at everything he said.
The songs are bright glowing testaments to the past, but their brashness speaks of the future. Father John Misty is making up for lost time spent sitting behind a drum kit; his energy is effervescent and sparkling. Peppered in between the outstanding musical numbers are dry shots of his humour, playing with his audience (even getting a quick kiss from one of them). He’s not the wild partying over-the-top punk. He’s the sex-folk-rock master. All hail this guru of great music.
– Patrick Weyland-Smith
