Sludge-stained heaps of snow left over from last weekend’s storm cage in the dwindling crowd hovering around Massey Hall. Whipping winds freeze my extremities as I wait impatiently on the cracked, icy sidewalk outside.
Hazy red light colours the faces of those standing in line around me, emanating from the neon sign hanging above the entrance. The venue’s doors opened 20 minutes ago, but the security guards checking bags and scanning tickets seem to be taking their sweet time.
Foggy vapours billow from my chapped lips as I exhale warm air into the glacial atmosphere around me. It’s ridiculously cold. I make eye contact with a tall, dark-haired man who has just barely dodged a spray of thick, polluted slush kicked up by a car racing past. We nod at one another in solidarity.
Winter will be over soon, right?
As the crowd lurches forward, I make a beeline for the entrance. Warm air emanates from the venue’s open doors and the closer I get, the more intrigued I become. Although I wouldn’t admit it to the hardcore fans behind me, I’ve never really listened to any music that Father John Misty, or Josh Tillman, has released. So why exactly am I at one of his concerts?
The tickets were cheap, February is the most depressing month of the year and live music makes me feel alive. It’s as simple as that.
Once inside, people mill around excitedly. Any ounce of cold that remains in my body is quickly destroyed by the four flights of stairs I have to climb to reach my seat which, mind you, is conveniently blocked by two massive speakers dangling from the ceiling, completely obscuring my view.
I don’t have long to ponder my bad luck though. The opening act, a band called Destroyer, takes the stage almost immediately.
Within seconds of being on stage, it is clear the band’s frontman, Dan Bejar, is the kind of guy who only exists in the industry because he genuinely enjoys making music. Exuding an aura of indifference and a healthy level of disinterest in the cheering crowd, it’s clear Bejar is there for the music first and foremost. At least that feels like the only plausible reason to continue to record music after nearly 30 years of relative obscurity.
Picking nervously at his gray khakis, long periods of expecting silence pass between Bejar and his pliant audience as he disregards any of the usual formalities related to performing for a crowd. In a stark departure from the usual facets of showmanship, Bejar spends much of his time on stage leaning on a half-extended mic stand like a crutch, sipping passively from a paper cup. His backstage pass hangs haphazardly from his neck, and I wonder in passing whether he forgot he was wearing it or if he just figured it would be easier if he didn’t take it off. Either way, its existence seems to be of little importance to him.
While the music filling the hall can’t seem to place itself in any one genre, there is no doubt that Bejar and the rest of the band that make up Destroyer are incredibly talented. The mood shifts dramatically from track to track, 80s synth-pop to new wave indie to saxophone-heavy lounge rock. All that remains the same is Bejar’s unique tenor, warbling and rasping through each verse like he’s about to wheeze out his last breath.
As Bejar takes his final bow, he disappears into the wings, never once introducing himself or the band.
As the lights come on, the hall is filled with the groaning hinges of seats as people get up and flood to the bar for overpriced alcohol. Waiting in line for the women’s washroom, an eclectic crowd of people buzz around me. Boyfriends with girlfriends, boyfriends with boyfriends, middle-aged dads and a very excited 70-year-old couple. Everyone’s got a cool haircut or a cool outfit or a series of cool piercings and they’re all hardcore about their love for Tillman.
On the journey back to my seat, I trail behind two university girls wearing long skirts and colourful scarves. They discuss school, work and a recent breakup, their flowy clothes fluttering behind them as they move. I don’t know a whole lot about Father John Misty, but they look like the kind of interesting people his music would attract, and I figure I must be in the right place.
After planting myself back in my ridiculously tiny chair with my ridiculously obscured view, I spot Tillman in the wings. Dressed in a dark-coloured suit, the musician pulls awkwardly at his jacket as people flit around him. Without the purpose everyone around him is sporting, Tillman seems small and insignificant. Yet, as soon as the lights dim, the clumsy, apprehensive man fiddling with his fingers transforms into something else. Someone else.
Josh Tillman becomes Father John Misty.
Throughout the night, Tillman plays a variety of tracks. While the setlist leans heavily towards songs from his most recent album, Mahashmashana, the artist also shares hits such as “Nancy from Now On” and “Funtimes in Babylon.”
Swinging back and forth from long, epic anthems to raw, heartfelt ballads, it’s hard to figure out where Tillman is going to go next. In fact, it’s hard to believe the musician wasn’t always a frontman, having briefly been the drummer for Fleet Foxes in his career’s early days. His larger-than-life charisma and cocky swagger captivate the audience’s attention and hold it for the entire two-hour set, never once letting the energy drop.
As Tillman and his band exit the stage, the audience roars with applause. Praise for the musician echoes through stairwells and on the street outside the venue, overlapping voices giddy with excitement about what they just witnessed.
The night might be over, but for me, a door to a whole new world of musical excellence has just opened wide.