Father John Misty - Genius Or Bit Of A Dick?

The old art versus commerce argument can still take some odd turns. Case in point, a man who almost personifies the term ‘odd turns’, Father John Misty. The former Joshua Tillman – and I still haven’t quite decided just where along the genius-to-bit-of-a-dick spectrum he actually falls – is responsible for one of the week’s great quotes: “I don’t want your fucking burrito money!”. No, not a song lyric – although it kinda could be – it’s actually his pretty definitive answer from being asked by a big food corporation to roll out a version of The Backstreet Boys’ I Want It That Way for a Mexican takeaway ad campaign. Oh, did we mention he was offered $250k for the privilege? So, regardless of whether his objection was to boy bands or too much MSG in the nachos, he’s out. For the record, Alabama Shakes’ Brittany Howard and Jim James from My Morning Jacket ended up being the voices flogging the enchiladas – do you think any less of them for doing so? 

Back in the realm of his own music, the Misty one has taken a similarly idiosyncratic course. A few months back, a new tune of his own turned up on his Soundcloud account. It was pretty rough, and those who stumbled upon thought it was probably just a demo or leftover from Honeybear, but now Real Love Baby (Sub Pop) appears as an all-new proper and polished, mixed and mastered single. It’s of that downbeat Beach Boys model: sunset harmonies and a certain melancholy desperation. But then a line like “Wait until you taste me…” comes in the chorus, and you realise it could really only be him.

There are times you can make the commercial serve your art, though this is much rarer. If you weren’t aware – and I wasn’t – that’s the estimable Mia Dyson putting her quite individual take on that old Iggy Pop tune on the Volkswagen ad. Funny how the ad left out that line about “…the city’s ripped backsides…”, but that’s probably understandable. But the positive response to having her “la, la, la’s” flogging the people’s car leads to Ms Dyson releasing the full rendition of The Passenger (MGM). On its own terms, it’s a clever reading of a song you expect a certain way, and a rather neat bit of ‘art’ with it. But can you hear it without considering your next choice of SUV?

Lineball as best Iggy reference of week goes to The Wilson Pickers, where Ben Salter in one of his other roles beside solo artist brings his distinctive tones to his job here of fronting the folky/country/bluesgrassy combo – although they’re not really any one of those things. But you’re still not expecting that lyrical nod to Lust For Life that comes in Pulled Apart By Horses (ABC Music) – you’ve had what in your ear before, old mate? The Pickers’ jeans are just faded enough and the boots just scuffed enough not to be just for fashion, and the music feels just as comfortable.

That couple of references suggests the Igster is back on one of his semi-regular lurches in and out of fashion. This may also be tied to the surprise in his ongoing survival and making of music (see also: Richard, Keef; Osbourne, Ozzy). Other names are eternally referenced, however tenuously. Regina Spektor, merely because she tends to open-hearted – if sometimes poetic – conversations is getting not altogether accurate Joni Mitchell comparisons again, but then again so to a lot of women sitting at pianos. Some would appreciate them, many would not. But Regina’s Bleeding Heart (Sire) comes with typical honest that sometimes chimes quietly in the distance before speaking to you forcefully an inch from your nose. This is definitely on the art side of the ledger.

And if Joni is one of those names that will eternally be a means of comparison, you’d not be sure how a band would take to mention of Steely Dan in relation to their vision. The Dan tend to provoke ire and derision in days when louder guitars hold sway, but knowing nods when things swing back to more studied listening. But naming the band Mild High Club suggests they might share some of the dry mordant wit of Becker and Fagen. Skiptracing (Stones Throw/Inertia) is cruisy, with a slightly arched eyebrow. More problematic is if you start using words like ‘assured’ and ‘sophisticated’. As long as you don’t say ‘jazz’, I suppose.

Conversely, punk by the beach – an almost specifically Australian style – should never be out of style. Skegss revel in their scruffiness, but not deliberately so. That’s part of why you like them. But they know enough of what they’re doing to realise namechecking the ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ guitars through Mustang (Ratbag) will win them an audience, and probably lose some of the nerds who think too much about such things for that is the six-string favoured. It’s ok, he’s got a Telecaster too – and mentions that in the next line. This, as is usual for them, clatters along and the beer afterward would probably be well-earned.

When she was still Claire Whiting, the artist now known as Miss Pompeii was in a folkie-ish band called Inland, wrote songs on acoustic guitar, and things were simple. And maybe a little predictable. But one fateful night she collided with a few glasses of wine and a Micro Korg vocoder, led to a Eureka moment - up to and including the ending of a stale relationship – and Haru Haiku (Independent) is built on synth textures happy to be called Portishead-like while her voice lilts and puzzles openly in a manner apparently previously unable. It will stick in your head.

Jenny Hval’s muse and music have journeyed as well. Back when she was a student at the Uni Of Melbourne she was fronting hard rock bands, but returning to her native Norway saw her style become something more of a cold climate, if you think Bjork comes from somewhere somewhat chilly. Conceptual Romance (Sacred Bones) has a heartbeat of infatuation and doubt amongst its electronics, but remains human and just a bit fragile. And that’s its strength.