As you may know, Father John Misty has recently been promoting his new album, Pure Comedy, by picking fights on the internet. In the last few weeks he has directly responded to music publications, music writers, and basically anyone who has mentioned his name online. And as you may also know, Father John Misty has over 250,000 followers on Facebook. So, in an effort to rile him up enough to solicit an angry post that will drive thousands and thousands of his fans to our website, we put together a bunch of good-ass owns on Mr. Tillman.
This seems mutually beneficial. We at Noisey are getting that sweet, sweet web traffic that keeps our dying industry of music journalism afloat, and FJM gets another opportunity to promote his album through the self-crafted narrative that his brilliant art goes over the heads of underpaid music bloggers who don't understand the layered irony of his first-world-problem songs. Pure Comedy is out today from Sub Pop!
Yo, Father John Misty… We tuned in to watch your performance on SNL and thought you were Jimmy Fallon doing his third-rate Neil Young impression.
Adam Sandler got a better audience response than you when he played "The Chanukah Song." Let that set in for a second, my dude.
You dress like Indiana Jones' nemesis in Raiders of the Lost Ark, my guy. Dr. René Belloq-looking ass twill blazer with tailored trousers as featured in GQ's Perfect Business Casual Looks for Men This Summer.
You have five different Google alerts set up for yourself. MINIMUM.
Josh Tillman… you got seventh grade boy-ass name. Name sounding like you just got marked as tardy in attendance for Mrs. Walsh's English class.
You seem like a guy whose apartment you go to and there's just, like, too much incense.
Father John… your mustache looks real bad, my dude. You're looking like if Jesus fell on hard times and started doing porn.
Your mustache looks like the first item in a Legally Required To Introduce Yourself To The Neighbors starter kit.
Father John, you're the only person in the world who cares what Stereogum thinks. You're basically yelling at an mp3 blog, my guy. You might as well start getting angry at the comments people leave on Soundcloud tracks.
Father John… you probably try to pick up women by bragging about your Pitchfork score. None of them are interested in seeing your 4.5.
You have your dry cleaner in Favorites on your phone.
You were into Serial before any of your friends but then it got too popular and you didn't want to talk about it anymore.
Every press photo of you looks like someone just played you your music.
You love talking about how you're a huge Lakers fan but can't name a single player on the team.
You go out to eat with friends and order, like, three cognacs and then say, "Why don't we just split this down the middle?"
You claim you would never be caught dead in Urban Outfitters but you most definitely ordered a decorative wall hanging from their website and told people you got it from "this little street vendor in SoHo whose work I like."
You practice being interviewed by Terry Gross in the mirror.
We can't name one of your songs.
You're like if Banksy went to Coachella.
You're like if Coachella took an Intro Philosophy class.
You're like if an Intro Philosophy class DJed at wine bar.
You're like if a wine bar started a podcast.
You're like if a podcast got really into barbershop culture.
Can we get two tickets to your Brooklyn show?
Look at this bug falling out of your 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner-looking hair like a goddamn chimpanzee:
You have read receipts on but you still take six hours to text people back.
Your dance moves look like if someone learned to dance from watching a salsa instructor fuck their mom.
Your Wikipedia page says this: "Through this album, he externalizes the stereotypical character of Father John Misty that he developed through the two previous albums in order to prevent himself from being constricted to the character's image, using his personhood and experiences to expose his outlook on life." LOL
Father John Misty… are you even a father?
You look like the star of a documentary about the decline of the American West called Cowboys Are Pussies Now.
You ever read Infinite Jest, bro? JK JK obviously you've read it.
You're like a slim Zach Galifianakis character.
You're always misquoting Derrida and saying it's Foucault.
You have multiple monogrammed post-sex kimonos.
You look like one of the Beatles crossing Abbey Road except we hope a car runs the stop sign.
You offer to cat-sit for your friends when they go out of town and then don't feed the cats.
More like Father John Misery because your music makes people feel so shitty.
You're a leaf of kale.
You've seen every episode of How I Met Your Mother.
You're definitely a rug guy.
Papa John Misty, your music is like the Papa John's pizza of music. (It is bad.)
Father John, you better hope Taylor Swift makes another album so people actually care about your music.
You have way too many bracelets, my dude.
Put some fucking socks on.
You would never claim to like the movie Sausage Party but you watched it on a plane and you LOVED IT.
You make people take their shoes off when they come into your house.
We're pretty sure you've been on Girls but we're not gonna check.
You still think Betty Friedan is cutting edge feminist theory, my guy. Pick up some bell hooks, you fuckin' dick.
Fleet Foxes sucked.
We caught your set at Bumbershoot in 2016 and when you played "I Love You, Honeybear," you were supposed to play an A7 with a Suspended Four on the bridge except that you TOTALLY FORGOT the Suspended Four, you fucking dummy!
You look like a bartender who has a New York Times article about himself hanging behind the counter.
You still listen to music on an iPod Nano to make a point about planned obsolescence.
You're a scarf.
You tried smoking a pipe but were like, "this is too much even for me."
You look like you own a record store that no one ever goes into.
You definitely make the barista redo your coffee order three times because she used the wrong kind of sugar and you have "a refined palette for that kind of thing."
Man, you fucking suck. God, you suck.
You can't walk past a colorful mural without taking a selfie.
You call all murals "street art."
You have six coffee table books about street art.
You can't wait to take all these insults about you and put them in a song that you post on Soundcloud and then delete it like 24 hours later and then get angry at music blogs for posting about.
Thanks for reading, Father John! If you'd like to yell at the people responsible for this article, let us know at @noiseymusic.