ALBUM REVIEWS
“Who the folk is Father John Misty?” NME asked back in 2017. It was a fair question. Everyone knew by then that the singer-songwriter was a terminally online folkie – not the only contradiction about him – who’d followed an album of archly ironic love songs (2015’s ‘I Love You, Honeybear’) with a sprawling opus about the sheer madness of life in the 21st Century (‘Pure Comedy’). But who was he really?
An infamously agonising 6 Music interview had come no closer to uncovering the man behind the moniker, who was born Joshua Tillman but insisted that Father John Misty was not a character. If the answer to NME’s question lies somewhere in the liminal space between the earnest Tillman and the cynical Misty, the music has always been nakedly ambitious and rich with emotion. On his last album, 2022’s ‘Chloë and the Next 20th Century’, he threw his hands up at the modern world and retreated self-consciously into retro big band pastiche.
You’d think that capitulation might lead to a dead end, but ‘Mahashmashana’ finds Misty liberated from the obsession with contemporary pop culture that he’s grappled with since 2012’s ‘Fear Fun’. This might be related to his recent assertion that he’s experienced “a few non-elective ego deaths, where the self is receding” – including parenthood. So the gently psychedelic new record is named after a Sanskrit word meaning “great cremation ground”, its opening title track a string-laden epic ballad that breaks the nine-minute mark with surreal poetry hinting at “the next universal dawn”. You can only conclude it’s snarky old Misty who’s been toasted.
In his place has risen an apparently sincere engagement with spirituality that the phony Father only affected. On the loungey ‘Josh Tillman and the Accidental Overdose’, he seems to reflect on his own brief dalliance with celebrity. He once revealed that he was “completely fucked up” in that 6 Music interview, and here portrays another encounter, which leads him to confess: “Around this time, I publicly / Was treating acid with anxiety / I was unwell.”
Contrasting with this recollection, there’s a peacefulness to ‘Mahashmashana’, the tone grounded even when its author veers into psych-rock (the pounding ‘She Cleans Up’) and strutting funk (‘I Guess Time Makes Fools of Us All’). Half of its eight tracks spool on for more than six minutes and he’s not minded, these days, to explain them in interviews or on social media. Instead he’s bowed out from the spotlight to produce a record that tunes into love, ageing and the search for meaning without the compulsion for a punchline or wry aside.
As a result, the lush ‘Mahashmashana’ doesn’t quite mainline the zeitgeist in the same way that ‘Honeybear’ and ‘Pure Comedy’ did. Then again, there’s something to be said, in 2024, for logging off in favour of self-reflection. On the swooning ‘Mental Health’, Misty rejects the hive mind, concluding that his own particular “insanity” is “indispensable”. Whoever the folk he is underneath that beard, the good Father can’t help but share words of wisdom.
ALBUM REVIEWS
Grandeur sits at the heart of ‘This Music May Contain Hope’, RAYE’s second album, and the result feels nothing short of breathtaking. On this record, the singer born Rachel Keen explores a wide spectrum of sounds across its 73 minute length, moving from emotional ballads to lively funk moments and the jazz pop style she has become closely associated with. It can feel overwhelming at first, yet the magic that comes from RAYE fully committing to her vision makes the experience rewarding from start to finish.
‘This Music May Contain Hope’, a conceptual project about pushing through insecurity and heartbreak, unfolds like a lavish stage production. RAYE takes on the dual role of main character and guiding voice throughout the story. “Allow me to set the scene. Our story begins at 2:27am on a rainy night in Paris. Cue the thunder,” she says during the opening track ‘Girl Under The Grey Cloud’, which arrives with sweeping orchestral strings. Spoken passages appear across the album, helping shape the narrative and giving the project a sense of direction, almost like hearing the official recording of a Broadway show.
With this framework in place, the South London artist allows herself to fully explore the album’s diverse musical palette, and most of the time it works in her favor. Sometimes she fully embraces the theatrical side of the concept, especially during the closing section of the smooth R&B track ‘The WhatsApp Shakespeare’. Other moments are delivered more straightforwardly, such as the emotional slow building ballad ‘I Know You’re Hurting’. She also revisits her earlier dance influences with the impressive house track ‘Life Boat’.
Across the entire album, two things stand out clearly. RAYE’s flexible vocals sound better than ever, and her songwriting feels sharper than it has before. Take the playful highlight ‘I Hate The Way I Look Today’, a swing jazz inspired track reminiscent of Ella Fitzgerald, where she admits “I’m okay to be lonely / If I’m lonely and skinny / I have such silly self-loathing thoughts, it seems”. Then there is the emotional storytelling in ‘Nightingale Lane’: “It was right there, early June / Next to Old Park Avenue / Standing in the rain, I watched him walk away”.
Despite all the vulnerability and emotional struggles explored throughout the record, RAYE ultimately reaches a place of optimism, staying true to the album’s title. She gathers her close friends on ‘Click Clack Symphony’ with support from Hans Zimmer, finds closure with guidance from Al Green on the smooth seventies soul inspired ‘Goodbye Henry’, and reaches toward something greater alongside her sisters Amma and Absolutely on the uplifting ‘Joy’ as she searches to be “free of all the pain and every fear”. After the stormy opening imagery of that “rainy night” and “thunder”, RAYE eventually realizes that “the sun exists behind the clouds”, as she shares on ‘Happier Times Ahead’.
‘This Music May Contain Hope’ shows RAYE performing at her absolute peak. The album feels huge in scale and emotionally powerful, yet it remains rooted in honest experiences and real feelings. Yes, it asks a lot from the listener, but that is also what makes it so special. Every dramatic moment and musical shift feels like RAYE claiming her independence and finally creating music entirely on her own terms.
