Live Review: Father John Misty, Cameron Avery

The lithe figure of Cameron Avery appears on the large stage with little fuss nor fanfare, picking up his strategically placed guitar and muttering, "Here's some songs I recorded recently." Usually found out front of The Growl or amidst the machinery of bands such as Tame Impala or POND, Avery's solo guise is darker and more contemplative and his deep, expressive voice is given plenty of space to shine. The crowd is curious rather than captivated at first but seem quickly enough converted as he moves through a piano-based torch song and a fascinating spoken noir narrative, then finishes strongly with the restrained but refined Big Town Girl.

A mere half-hour later and the venue has bloated from full-ish to capacity almost by stealth, as a ragtag band of scruffs in suits wander onto stage to a sophisticated backing track followed after a pregnant pause by their unflappably elegant leader Josh Tillman — he of the Father John Misty persona. Tillman rakishly dives straight into the crowd and starts embracing fans in the front row with a semi-satirical solemnity, before clambering back onto stage and bursting into the title track from his most recent opus, I Love You, Honeybear. It seems so earnest and heartfelt but (in this guise) Tillman long ago blurred the distinction between reality and caricature to the point that it's barely recognisable, and his continued forays into the crowd during the opening song feel less exultant than driven by weary resignation (no doubt part of the pre-mapped theatrics).

Tillman grabs the acoustic guitar for the slightly louche Strange Encounter, then unleashes his full shamanistic bent during the electro-tinged True Affection, everything he does ringed by an almost evangelical nonchalance. The bearded singer is lit by a lone spotlight for the ecstatically received Only Son Of The Ladies' Man, then when speaking between songs for the first time instantly shows off a comic's timing for one-liners, before delivering the first of his trademark kneedrops with equal parts panache and conviction during When You're Smiling And Astride Me. All six men on stage are clad in dark suits and defined by the same scruffy coiffure, but the band aren't cut from the same enigmatic cloth as their frontman and remain mere props in the background as Tillman commands, even demands, full attention during numbers such as the country-tinged The Night Josh Tillman Came To Our Apartment and the relatively rollicking I'm Writing A Novel.

The crowd roars in recognition at the opening bars of Chateau Lobby #4 (In C For Two Virgins), then sings along en masse to Nancy From Now On (belting out the line "Oh, pour me another drink/And punch me in the face" with particularly noticeable relish) before the band leave stage left and Tillman initiates a lengthy and largely entertaining one-way conversation with the people of Brisbane. Eventually he snidely mutters, "Let's continue on with another meta-ballad about despair" and kicks into the piano-laced Bored In The USA, which smears pathos and humour in roughly equal doses, during which Tillman darts down and snatches an iPhone being used to film proceedings and serenades it for a couple of verses (a gambit which has become an established part of the set if a quick YouTube search is any indication). Nothing Good Ever Happens At The Goddamn Thirsty Crow comes on like yacht rock but features cool steel guitars adding a country blend to the mix, and halfway through Tillman unhitches his guitar and slings it blindly in the air to a sidekick in the shadows — a cool move but far from spontaneous — before continuing with This Is Sally Hatchet and the much-loved Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings. Throughout the whole set the overarching vibe is one of cerebral sleaze and it's completely captivating — like there's some master plan in action, one difficult to glean but super intriguing — and there's a pleasing diversity amidst tunes like the meandering epic Funtimes In Babylon — all hesitant and querulous — and the Laurel Canyon-inspired Holy Shit, which after a few minutes riots into sudden cacophony with Tillman holding court from the drum riser, a glimpse into the man's (or perhaps his creation's) insatiable dichotomy. They finish the set proper triumphantly with crowd-pleaser The Ideal Husband, which finds Tillman writhing on the ground with the mic inserted into the crotch of his strides, and then it's over.

But of course it's not over, and Tillman opens his obligatory encore in typically idiosyncratic fashion with a good-natured Q&A-cum-banter with the crowd — at one point claiming to have taken on the Father John Misty name and persona in the "spirit of absurdity" — before returning to the music with acoustic ramble I Went To The Store One Day, which like many of his songs eschews the traditional verse-chorus-verse structure in favour of a more freeform existence. After the affirming Everyman Needs A Companion Tillman and his FJM gang leave the fray again and this time it really is over, the lights coming on and leaving all present slightly reeling from this most enigmatic and inscrutable phenomena.